The Collapse
The roar of the survivors still echoed through the arena when Lyra's knees buckled. Her blade slipped from her trembling hand, clattering against the stone floor.
Her breath came in jagged gasps, every inhale burning her lungs. Blood streamed from her shoulder, her thigh, and the fresh cuts carved during the final exchange. Her entire body screamed for rest.
Lyra (inner monologue, weak but fierce):
I… I did it. No… we did it. This isn't just my victory—it's theirs, too.
Her vision swam. She swayed once, then toppled forward.
But before she could hit the ground, Kaen vaulted over the barrier, ignoring the officials' shouts. He caught her in his arms, sliding to his knees as he cradled her limp form.
Kaen (voice breaking, desperate):
"Lyra! Hey, stay with me! You're not done yet—don't you dare close your eyes!"
---
The Survivors' Tears
Other survivors surged forward, pressing against the edge of the arena. Fin, though pale and trembling from his own wounds, forced himself upright with sheer will. His voice cracked as he shouted:
Fin (hoarse, emotional):
"Lyra! You're… you're incredible!"
Riku remained still, but his hands clenched behind his back. His usual mask slipped, his eyes reflecting both pride and the bitter recognition of the cost.
Riku (softly, almost to himself):
"…Foolish girl. You burned everything, just to prove us unbreakable."
The survivors' eyes glistened, tears spilling freely. Lyra's fight had been theirs. Every strike she endured, every drop of blood spilled—it had carried the weight of their shared suffering.
---
The Untouched Fury
But not everyone rejoiced.
The untouched trainees stood rigid, their faces twisted with disbelief and rage. Their spotless uniforms and unscarred bodies seemed mocking now compared to the bloodied survivor clutching victory.
One sneered, voice dripping venom.
Untouched trainee (snarling):
"She cheated fate. That fight was rigged—there's no way a half-dead survivor beat one of us!"
Another spat on the ground, glaring at the fallen Lyra.
Second untouched (furious):
"This is an insult! A disgrace to the squad! She should have been crushed!"
Their words hissed like poison, but none of the survivors paid them heed. For the first time, their voices sounded hollow. For the first time, the untouched no longer looked invincible.
---
Kaen's Fury
Kaen turned, his arms still wrapped protectively around Lyra. His eyes blazed like wildfire, voice thunderous as he shouted at the untouched.
Kaen (roaring, venomous):
"Shut your mouths! She bled for this! Where were your scars?! Where were your trials?! Don't you dare insult what she just endured!"
The arena shook with the raw force of his rage. Even the untouched flinched, taken aback by the ferocity of his words.
Kaen turned back to Lyra, brushing sweat-matted hair from her face. His voice cracked, softer now, desperate.
Kaen (whispering, choked):
"You did it, Lyra… you showed them. Just rest now. I've got you."
---
Verya's Judgment
And then—silence fell.
Because Verya moved.
His cloak shifted as he stepped forward from the shadows of the high seat, his boots echoing on the stone. His gaze swept over the arena, over Lyra's broken body, over the survivors roaring her name, over the untouched snarling in fury.
His voice boomed, cold and absolute.
Verya (booming):
"Victory—Lyra."
A hush swept the arena.
He let the word linger, heavy, undeniable.
Then his eyes narrowed, the faintest glint of intrigue flashing in their depths.
Verya (cold, calculating):
"The fire of the broken burns brighter than I anticipated."
The words sent chills through the survivors. Pride and terror intertwined.
For the first time, Verya had acknowledged their existence—not as failures, not as pawns, but as forces worth watching.
But in his tone lay no kindness. Only hunger.
---
The Survivors' Pride
The survivors erupted again, louder this time, their voices trembling but unyielding. They pounded their chests, raised their voices to the sky.
Survivor (screaming):
"She's one of us! She's OUR flame!"
Another (weeping, roaring):
"Survivors stand!"
Even the wounded who could barely raise their arms lifted them, shouting through sobs.
Their pride wasn't just for Lyra—it was for themselves, for the proof that their suffering, their scars, their pain could forge victory against those untouched by hardship.
---
The Shadow of What's Next
But amid the cheers, dread lingered.
Kaen's eyes lifted to the high seat, meeting Verya's gaze. His chest tightened.
Kaen (inner monologue, grim):
He's not proud of us. He's studying us. Like predators study prey.
He looked down at Lyra in his arms, her body trembling but her lips curled in the faintest smile.
Lyra (whispering, weak but defiant):
"Did you see, Kaen? We… we're not nothing."
Her voice cracked, fading, but Kaen felt it burn into his chest like fire.
As healers rushed forward to carry Lyra away, the survivors pressed their hands against their chests, silently vowing to carry her flame forward.
The untouched seethed in silence, their pride fractured.
And from above, Verya's shadow loomed. His lips curved faintly, though whether it was amusement or malice, none could tell.
Verya (inner monologue, cold and ominous):
Yes… burn brighter, little flames. Only in the fire of agony will your true shapes emerge.
The camera pans out over the arena—bloodied dirt, trembling survivors, untouched scowling, Lyra's body carried away.
And above all—Verya's gaze, sharp and unblinking, like the sun itself watching without mercy.
Arc VIII – Blood Between Matches
---
The Survivors' Breathing Space
The arena sands still carried Lyra's blood when the next names were called.
Kaen sat hunched at the edge of the medics' tent, Lyra's faint breaths echoing in his mind. He hadn't been allowed to follow her further inside. His fists dug into his knees, knuckles white.
Kaen (inner monologue, burning):
You burned everything for us… now what's left? How many more will fall before this ends?
Beside him, Fin sat with bandages crisscrossing his chest and arms. His face was pale, lips pressed thin, but his eyes never left the arena.
Fin (softly, trembling):
"She… she did what I couldn't."
Kaen turned sharply.
Kaen (snapping, angry because he cared):
"Don't you dare say that. You stood, Fin. You're still here. That's more than most."
But Fin's silence afterward said more than words.
Around them, the survivors whispered, voices low but unshaken. Lyra's fire had lit something within them—a defiance, a refusal to let the untouched dictate their worth.
---
The Next Match Begins
The announcer's voice boomed, calling two more names.
A survivor named Joren staggered forward, his side still stitched from the riverlands. His opponent? An untouched trainee—tall, clean, smirking with disdain.
Untouched opponent (mocking as they squared off):
"I'll make this quick. You don't belong here."
Joren said nothing. His grip on the hilt shook, but his eyes stayed locked forward.
The clash began.
Within seconds, the untouched dominated. Every strike was precise, every dodge effortless. Joren fought desperately, his movements raw, wild—like Fin's had been.
The untouched sneered, cutting into Joren's shoulder, then his thigh.
Untouched opponent (snarling):
"You think your scars make you strong? They just make you slower."
Blood soaked the sand. Joren collapsed after a brutal blow to his chest, gasping raggedly. The untouched raised his blade to finish it—
But the officials called it.
Announcer:
"Victory—Reth!"
The untouched sheathed his sword, spitting at Joren's broken form before walking off.
The survivors raged from the sidelines, but none dared move. Kaen's jaw trembled with fury, nails digging into his palms.
Kaen (inner monologue, barely contained):
That wasn't a victory. That was slaughter.
---
A Montage of Matches
The next hour blurred into a storm of battles.
A survivor woman fought tooth and nail, scoring a shallow cut across her untouched opponent's cheek—the first blemish on their pristine ranks. She fell moments later, unconscious, but the cut drew cheers from survivors like it was a banner raised.
Two untouched clashed, their fight sharp, clinical, lacking the desperation of the survivors' battles. They ended with a clean finish, exchanging stiff nods—no emotion, no fire.
A survivor named Calen lasted longer than expected, parrying and dodging with a stubborn rhythm. The untouched sneered at first, then grew frustrated. When Calen finally collapsed, bloodied but unbowed, he smirked through the pain, whispering, "Still made you sweat."
Each fight was a reminder: survivors bled for every moment, untouched treated the arena as a game.
---
The Survivors' Growing Unity
Between fights, the survivors gathered closer, shoulders brushing, words low and sharp with fire.
Survivor (angry, whispering):
"They want us to break. To see our brothers and sisters fall until we doubt ourselves."
Another (gritting teeth):
"Then we won't give them that. Every step, every strike—we fight for each other now."
Even Fin, silent for so long, spoke up at last. His voice was shaky, but it carried.
Fin (whispering, fierce despite his injuries):
"If one flame can burn like Lyra… then together, maybe we're the wildfire that consumes them."
The survivors nodded, resolve hardening.
Kaen listened, his chest heavy but burning.
Kaen (inner monologue):
Yes… let them think we're broken. They'll choke when they realize we're uniting.
---
The Untouched Regain Confidence
But the untouched weren't blind. After each survivor fell, their sneers grew sharper, their arrogance rekindled.
They gathered in their own corner, muttering among themselves.
Untouched trainee (smirking):
"One lucky survivor doesn't change the truth. We'll crush their hope match by match."
Another (snide):
"That girl Lyra burned too bright. She won't last long after that. And the rest will follow her into the dirt."
They laughed, cold and cruel, their pristine armor glinting under torchlight.
---
Verya's Calculations
From above, Verya watched in silence. His cloak draped like shadow, his fingers steepled.
He had spoken only once since Lyra's victory, yet his presence pressed heavier than ever.
Verya (inner monologue, cold and distant):
The survivors burn in defiance, yes… but fire consumes as much as it protects. How long before they cannibalize themselves? How long before that unity shatters?
His gaze lingered on Kaen, who stood at the arena's edge, body taut with suppressed fury.
Verya (silent thought, intrigued):
You… the one who carries both restraint and rage. When your turn comes, will you break… or will you awaken?
---
The Build-Up to Kaen's Match
The announcer's voice thundered again, calling another untouched versus survivor battle. Kaen leaned forward instinctively, but it wasn't his turn yet.
Still, his heart raced, palms slick.
Kaen (inner monologue, tense):
Soon. Too soon. I can feel it coming.
Fin turned to him, his face pale but his eyes resolute.
Fin (weak smile, voice raspy):
"When it's your turn, Kaen… don't just fight for yourself. Fight for her. Fight for all of us."
Kaen froze, staring at him. Fin's words were weak but burning, like coals refusing to die.
Kaen clenched his fists.
Kaen (inner monologue, steady now):
For Lyra. For Fin. For every survivor. If I fall, I'll fall knowing I carried them with me.
---
Closing Scene
The camera pans across the blood-stained arena. Survivors cling to one another, their unity forged in fire. The untouched stand aloof, their laughter sharp, their pride unshaken—for now.
And above them, Verya's cold gaze pierces everything, unreadable.
Then the announcer's voice rises again, the next names booming across the silence—
And Kaen knows.
Announcer (booming):
"Kaen. Step forward."
The survivors stiffen. Fin grips the bench until his knuckles bleed. Lyra's faint smile echoes in memory.
Kaen rises.
The screen fades to black.