The courtyard had grown tense, the remaining relatives murmuring among themselves. The final match was about to begin—the one everyone had been anticipating. Eryndor's last opponent was a cousin far larger and stronger than anyone he had faced so far, known for his relentless endurance and tactical mind.
Eryndor's body ached from the previous rounds. Muscles still carried the memory of yesterday's duel, ribs bruised, knuckles sore. But he could feel the Ember Tier hum through him, steady and potent, and he forced himself to rise, eyes fixed on his opponent.
The match started violently. The cousin struck with calculated power, testing Eryndor with heavy, sweeping attacks. Eryndor dodged, countered with Arc Lash, and flowed into Gale Feint. The wind and lightning danced in perfect harmony, moving as extensions of his body.
But the fight was grueling. Each strike drained his energy faster than usual. Sweat ran down his forehead, and his vision blurred slightly with exhaustion. Despite the Ember Tier breakthrough, the strain of adapting mid-battle, combining every technique, every instinct, was taking its toll.
He saw an opening—a slight stumble in his cousin's defense. The final blow should have ended the match. Eryndor lunged, lightning crackling along his arm, wind carrying him forward. But before he could strike, his body betrayed him.
Muscles locked, breath caught, and darkness crept at the edges of his vision. He collapsed to the ground just short of victory, unable to finish. The crowd gasped as his cousin barely steadied himself, victorious in appearance, though exhausted as well.
Eryndor's chest heaved, arms trembling, and he struggled to stay conscious. Lyanna rushed to his side, panic in her eyes, but he waved her off weakly. He had given everything—and it still wasn't enough to claim the win.
His father watched from the head of the courtyard, expression unreadable. The room was quiet, the tension palpable. No one moved, no one spoke. And then his father stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
"Enough," he said finally. His voice cut through the murmurs. "He may have fallen short of victory, but no one—no one else in this family—has demonstrated the skill, control, and adaptation he has shown today."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The academy requires more than brute strength or winning matches. It requires potential. Strategy. Instinct. And the ability to rise, even when on the edge of collapse."
Eyes turned back to Eryndor, who lay gasping on the ground. A faint spark of lightning danced along his fingers, wind tugging at his clothes, subtle but undeniable.
"Eryndor," his father continued, voice softening, "you will represent our family at the academy. Not because you were the last to stand, but because you are the one capable of mastering power beyond what anyone else here can imagine."
Whispers ran through the crowd. Lyanna's eyes widened, and a small, proud smile broke across her face. Even in defeat, Eryndor had won.
He let the words sink in as darkness threatened again. Ember Tier had been just the beginning, but the path ahead was clear. He would rise, learn, and grow—and no one, not even exhaustion, would hold him back forever.