Elior tightened the straps of his leather armor vest with his good hand, wincing whenever the bandaged arm brushed against the buckles.
Grace sat on the edge of the bed, watching him in silence. Her eyes held worry, but her lips didn't move.
"You don't need to look at me like that," Elior said, forcing a faint smile. "I'm not walking to my funeral."
Grace lowered her gaze. "You almost did against Vincent." Her voice was soft, as if speaking too loudly would hurt him.
He chuckled dryly. "Almost doesn't count. I've lived off 'almosts' for a long time now."
"You don't have to keep doing this," she whispered, standing up, her hands curling into fists. "You're hurt, Elior. You should rest. Let them…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Let someone else take this."
Elior fastened the final strap and turned toward her.
His eyes were calm, but beneath that calmness lay steel. "If I sit still while people bleed, then what is the point of surviving this far? I'm not here to rest. I'm here to fight."
Grace's lip trembled. She wanted to argue, but she saw the weight in his words, the quiet conviction that had kept him alive this long.
"I'll come back," he said softly, placing his left hand gently on her shoulder. "And when I do, you'll be the first person I look for."
Before she could respond, he turned and left, the cold air outside wrapping around him like an oath.
The arena was alive again. Starlight draped over the ruined stone, shadows stretching long and sharp.
Sassy Star stepped forward with a casual sway, her nice brown hair catching the moonlight, her smirk widening as her eyes locked onto him.
"Well, well," she purred, pulling a massive shuriken from her back. Its edges gleamed hungrily. "Looks like it's my turn to dance with the broken knight."
Elior stood still, his face unreadable. His broken hand hung lifelessly by his side.
The crowd roared as the clash began.
Sassy Star flicked her wrist, and the massive shuriken cut through the air with a wicked whistle, circling wide like a predator hunting its prey. She didn't throw it blindly—each arc was angled, rebounding off stone pillars and fragments of wall, forcing Elior to move exactly where she wanted him.
Elior shifted low, dagger in his left hand. His broken arm dangled, wrapped in tight bandages, a painful reminder of yesterday.
He kept his stance tight, every step calculated, never wasting motion. One arm or not, he refused to give her an easy opening.
The shuriken curved back toward him, but he ducked, letting it slice a few strands of his hair. In the same motion, he dashed forward, dagger flashing toward her ribs.
Sassy grinned, twisting smoothly, the shuriken already flying back into her palm. With a sharp push of her heel, she spun, using the weapon's momentum to force Elior off-balance.
"You're slower than yesterday," she teased, her green dress flowing like a leaf in stormwind.
Elior didn't answer. His breath was steady, eyes locked on her movements. Every twitch of her fingers, every shift in her stance, he read them. He wasn't fighting her shuriken; he was fighting her rhythm.
The shuriken shot out again, bouncing between walls like a deadly echo. Elior parried one strike with his dagger, sparks bursting, the vibration numbing his wrist. His body tilted, struggling to keep balance with only one arm to steady himself.
But he forced his feet into the stone, sliding rather than stumbling. He used the imbalance letting himself fall forward, ducking under another spinning arc, his dagger lunging dangerously close to her thigh.
Sassy's smile faltered for the briefest moment.
"You're stubborn," she hissed, twisting away, the shuriken whipping past and returning once more.
Elior didn't deny it. He couldn't. Stubbornness was the only reason he was still standing.
The arena filled with metallic sound and sharp wind as dagger and shuriken clashed, their duel like a deadly dance.
One balanced on steel, the other on will.
The shuriken cut through the air again, hissing like a storm-wind.
Elior leaned to the side, his body tilting dangerously, but his feet stayed rooted. He couldn't afford wasted movement.... One misstep, one stumble, and her weapon would carve him open.
Sassy Star moved with fluid grace, her steps tracing arcs across the arena. She wasn't rushing him; she was herding him, corralling him into angles where the shuriken always had the advantage.
Every throw was deliberate, rebounding with perfect geometry, forcing Elior's dagger into desperate deflections.
A metallic clang rang as steel kissed steel. The impact numbed his arm, and his broken right shoulder burned with pressure he couldn't use.
Elior staggered, then rolled, letting the momentum carry him under another rebound.
"You're clever," Sassy murmured, green dress swirling as she caught her weapon mid-spin. "But clever doesn't fix a broken arm."
Her tone was playful, but her eyes were sharp. She flung the shuriken again, only this time, two pieces split off mid-air. Hidden blades. Elior barely ducked the first, feeling the second graze across his cheek, hot blood trickling down.
He hissed quietly but didn't stop moving. His dagger slashed across the stone floor, and in one smooth motion, he pressed his boot against the carved mark he'd been etching earlier. A faint glow rippled.
The air shifted.
Sassy frowned as her shuriken slowed unnaturally, its return curve faltering for half a second.
Just enough.
Elior lunged forward with explosive force, dagger stabbing for her midsection.
She twisted, the blade cutting a shallow line across her arm. Blood bloomed, staining her sleeve.
Her smile sharpened. "You laid traps while dodging? Not bad."
Elior didn't answer. His breathing grew heavier, sweat running into his bandage.
Every clash felt like tearing his own body apart, but his silence unnerved her more than words could.
She leaped back, flicking her wrist. The shuriken expanded, segments unlocking into a wider star, edges glowing faintly green. Its orbit quickened, cutting grooves into the arena floor. Elior crouched, eyes narrowing.
One arm. One dagger. His body shaking slightly.
The arena blurred around him. The noise of the crowd, the echo of shuriken steel, the scrape of his own boots. All of it slipped into a muffled haze.
Inside, Elior stood before himself. Two figures. One cloaked in the quiet calm he'd always clung to, the other a warped reflection, his face twisted with rage and cruelty.
"Don't do it," his better self whispered. "Don't turn into them. You've seen where blood leads. You swore you'd protect, not destroy."
The mirror self laughed. A harsh, broken sound. "Protect? Look around you. Everyone here is cheering for your death. They'll rip you apart, and that timid oath of yours will mean nothing. You're already failing them. Again."
Elior gritted his teeth. His chest felt heavy, like chains dragging him down.
The truth was sharp. If he held back, if he refused to cut deep, Grace would die. The boy Radahn would die. Strangers who had hope to him, even in black, would die.
But if he unleashed himself, if he embraced that darker edge.... what would be left of him? Would he still be Elior?
"You can't save both," the mirror hissed. "Mercy or victory. Pick."
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Elior muttered, his voice shaking.
Sassy twirled the massive shuriken one last time, lips curling into a sharp grin. "So much talk, Elior. So much weight in your eyes. But in the end… you're just another broken piece."
She hurled it with a brutal spin, already stepping forward, ready to end it with a blade through his throat the moment he stumbled.
The crowd roared for blood.
Elior didn't move. His body was trembling, his bandaged arm dangling useless, his dagger barely lifted. For a second, he looked done like all fight had bled out of him.
Then the shuriken curved back toward Sassy's waiting hand.
But before she could catch it, her laughter cut into a sudden scream.
Her left shoulder ripped open, flesh tearing as if some invisible claw had slashed through bone and skin. Blood spilled in a sharp arc across the arena floor.
Everyone got stunned.
Sassy herself staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief, clutching the wound. "W–what the hell…?" she coughed, her voice was breaking.
Elior stood there, chest rising and falling, his eyes no longer calm. They were hollow, black with exhaustion yet burning with a sharpness that felt inhuman. His lips pressed into a flat line. His face was pale
He stopped holding back....