Kai blinked awake to the soft glow of the healer's lanterns. His body felt whole again, the ache in his side gone as though the stab wound had never happened. Only a faint tightness remained where flesh had knitted back together. The healer—an older woman with silver threads braided into her hair—gave a satisfied nod.
"That's forty-five credits," she said. "Paid in full. Drake covered it."
Kai sat up slowly, flexing his fingers. He hated owing anyone, but he tucked the thought away. The Azura didn't waste time on gratitude. The Tower kept its own ledger.
It was his turn next.
---
The arena's sand smelled faintly of rust and ash. Across from him stood not a man but a beast—a spirit guardian, hulking and pale, crouched over a crumpled corpse. Its spectral claws hovered protectively over the body, swaying as though warding away carrion. Its master had clearly fallen in some previous match, yet the guardian lingered, bound by loyalty.
Kai tightened his grip on Flicker. The crowd leaned forward, waiting for blood. But the sight dug at something in him. He saw the creature's trembling jaw, the way it pressed its head close to its master's chest though no breath would ever rise again.
He lowered his weapon.
"Your master's gone," Kai said, voice low enough that only the guardian could hear. "I feel you. But this Tower isn't where you belong anymore. You should leave… just know your master is watching you, wherever he is."
The guardian stilled. Its eyes—white flames in hollow sockets—searched his face. Then, slowly, it released the corpse. A low sound rolled from its chest, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. It stepped aside.
Kai exhaled. The announcer's booming voice carried across the stands:
"Combatant passes… without combat."
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd.
Kai smirked under his breath. "Huh. Diplomacy works too."
---
Back in room 35, he leaned against the wall, still replaying the moment. The guardians weren't mindless tools. That much was clear now.
Matt stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck before stepping toward the door.
"My turn," he said simply.
Kai gave him a half-hearted thumbs-up, then followed him to the viewing edge of the arena.
---
The fight below started fast. Matt's enemy was lean, sharp-eyed, armed with twin daggers. He rushed forward with practiced speed. But Matt's shadow flared at his feet, black and liquid. With a single drop, Matt vanished into it.
The enemy froze, scanning—too late. Matt surged up from his own shadow behind the man, seizing his legs. Before the fighter could slash down, Matt pulled hard and fell back through the shadow again, dragging his opponent with him. The dirt swallowed them both.
A heartbeat later, only Matt emerged, brushing dust off his arms as if it were nothing. His opponent lay sprawled, unconscious and beaten, the daggers clattering to the ground.
The crowd erupted in cheers, stamping the stands.
Kai cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted over the roar:
"Atta boy, Matt!"
Matt just shook his head with that quiet grin of his, but the flash in his eyes told Kai he appreciated it.
The cloaked warrior on the arena floor moved like smoke. No weapon, just his spirit guardian wrapping him like a second skin, each strike landing with the force of a hammer. The opponent crumpled quick, bones rattling on sand. The crowd roared, but up in the viewing box, Kai found himself staring through it, quiet.
Matt leaned on the railing, eyes following the cloaked fighter. "Guy's insane. No blade, no chain, nothing. Just trust in that guardian."
Kai hummed in agreement. His mind was drifting, replaying his own match earlier—the moment he'd told the guardian to go free instead of fighting.
Silence stretched until Matt elbowed him lightly. "Hey. Favorite color?"
Kai blinked. "…What?"
"Favorite color. Don't tell me you've never thought about it."
Kai shrugged. "Black, I guess."
Matt smirked. "That's cheating. Everyone says black. Pick again."
"Fine. Gray."
"That's just light black."
Kai gave him a side glance, deadpan. "Then it's gray. You asked."
Matt chuckled and leaned back against the wall. "Alright, gray-boy. What about hobbies? Don't tell me you just sit around meditating all day."
"…I do meditate a lot," Kai said honestly. "Keeps me alive. Clears the noise."
"Yeah, but when you're not trying to clear the noise? What then?"
Kai thought for a moment, staring at the sand. "I walk. Cities, rooftops, back alleys. Doesn't matter where. I like moving. Seeing things."
Matt raised an eyebrow. "So, sightseeing. With extra trauma."
Kai's mouth twitched—almost a smile. "Something like that."
Matt tapped his fingers on the rail, considering. "I used to sketch. Dumb stuff—faces, weapons, whatever. Haven't done it in years. Too busy trying not to die."
Kai glanced at him. "You're not bad with words, either. Always got something to say."
"That's called coping, Kai. Different flavor than meditating, same reason."
The cloaked warrior below finished his fight with a brutal sweep. The crowd thundered, stomping until dust rained from the rafters.
Kai folded his arms, voice low. "Wonder how long someone like that lasts. Fighting because they're bored."
Matt's jaw tightened. "Not as long as someone who has something—or someone—to fight for."
For a moment, Kai didn't answer. The two of them just watched the cloaked warrior bow, the corpse at his feet already cooling.
Finally, Kai said, "Gray. And walking. That's me."
Matt nodded once. "Good to know."