The arena stood silent now — no cheers, no trembling earth beneath clashing titans. Just stillness. A vast, open space that had once been a battleground of glory, blood, and transformation.
Zavier stepped in, his boots brushing against the cracked stone, still stained faintly from battle. The skies above had shifted from harsh gold to a calming dusk. Shades of lavender and cobalt drifted in lazy strokes across the heavens.
At the center of it all stood Lunaria.
She wasn't floating this time. Her bare feet touched the ground, cloak trailing in the wind like silk woven from starlight. Her usually radiant expression was subdued — not sorrowful, but distant, as though watching the end of something only she could fully understand.
"You've come a long way," she said softly as he approached, her voice echoing faintly in the air like the last notes of a harp. "Farther than most."
Zavier stopped a few paces from her, unsure what to say. She wasn't just a host anymore. She had been judge, executioner, protector… perhaps even a reluctant witness to something greater unfolding.
Lunaria didn't wait for him to speak.
"We only have a few hours before the portal to Grand Clinnore opens," she said, glancing toward the horizon where the silver rift would soon form. "Your friends are waiting. I thought you might want time... to say goodbye."
Zavier nodded. "Thank you. For everything."
"For surviving?" she asked, smiling faintly.
"For believing I could."
Her smile didn't fade, but her eyes did soften. "Go. It's rare to part with people when you still have the chance to choose your words."
He found Freya standing near the ridge of a tree-lined cliff, the dying light of the day casting long shadows across her back. Her figure was still, arms crossed tightly, a familiar tension in her posture. Despite all they'd been through, she still held herself apart — like a wolf too used to solitude to sit comfortably beside the fire.
She didn't turn when he approached. Just muttered, "Took you long enough."
"I wasn't sure if you wanted company," Zavier said.
"Did I ever?"
Zavier chuckled. "Not really. But here I am anyway."
A brief silence followed, broken only by the distant chirp of twilight insects and the occasional flutter of leaves in the wind.
Freya sighed and finally turned to face him, her expression unreadable.
"So this is it," she said. "You get punched into enlightenment and now we all go our separate ways."
Zavier rubbed the back of his neck. "Technically, I got punched into near-death, then woke up with dragon aunts and an invitation."
"Oh right," she smirked. "How could I forget your very normal family reunion."
"I'm just saying, you could still come to Grand Clinnore. It's not too late."
Freya looked away again, her voice quieter. "Maybe… I don't know. Crimson Apex feels like it fits better. They specialize in primal transformations, instincts, emotional volatility… people like me."
"You're not a monster, Freya."
"That's not what I said."
"You said it without saying it."
She turned sharply. "I killed my brother, Zavier. With one transformation. Crimson Apex has people who've done worse. They get it. They won't judge."
Zavier hesitated. He knew better than to throw soft words at her pain. But still...
"I don't want to leave you behind," he said quietly.
Freya stared at him, the hardness in her expression flickering — for just a second — into something more fragile.
"I know," she whispered. "But maybe… maybe I need to leave myself behind for a while."
He didn't argue. Just stepped closer and bumped his shoulder gently against hers. "Then just promise me you'll survive. That's all I ask."
She let out a breath. "Fine. But only if you don't get all righteous and die at your academy doing some noble bullshit."
"No promises."
The wind stirred again, and from it came Lyssira — graceful, deliberate, her long white braid trailing behind her like a comet's tail. She looked less like a healer now and more like a guardian, robed in the silver-blue hues of her house.
Zavier turned just in time to meet her warm, silent gaze.
She said nothing at first — simply walked up and pulled him into a tight embrace.
He didn't resist.
There were no words, just the quiet thrum of connection. She pulled back slowly, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment.
"I'll be teaching part-time at Grand Clinnore," she finally said. "Not often. But enough."
Zavier smiled. "You're not rid of me that easily."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied softly, then glanced toward Freya. "And you?"
Freya hesitated, hands clenched.
"I'm not sure yet. Crimson Apex calls to me, but…" she glanced at Zavier. "Part of me wants to stay close. For him. For myself."
Lyssira nodded slowly. "Whatever you choose, choose it with intention. Regret makes for poor company."
Freya frowned. "That sounds like something someone from Grand Clinnore would say."
"It is."
The ground rumbled faintly — a shift in the air, thick with ancient energy.
Then, a ripple of silver-blue light tore open the sky near the arena. From the tear unfurled a grand portal: elegant, vast, and humming with power. Its rim was inscribed with sigils — an open eye beneath a falling star, glowing faintly as though watching.
Only those who had earned the right could step through willingly. Others would be summoned later, evaluated, trained elsewhere.
Zavier turned toward it — then looked back at the two women who had been his allies, his teachers, and perhaps… something more.
Freya gave a half-wave. "Don't get soft, Dragon Boy."
Zavier grinned. "Don't get eaten, Wolf Girl."
Lyssira stepped forward, brushing some dust from his collar.
"May your path be clear, even when the stars are not."
Zavier stepped back. One last look.
The arena. Lunaria in the distance. The ridge. The wounds. The scars.
His hand curled into a fist, not in anger — but resolve.
He turned and walked through the portal.
The light swallowed him whole.