The stone still hummed from Eryndor's strike.
Even as the runes dimmed and the dust settled, faint ripples of mana twisted through the air like aftershocks of something alive.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was reverent.
For a moment, even the elders seemed unsure how to proceed.
Then Elder Maerin cleared his throat, his composed voice masking the faint disbelief beneath.
"…The test continues."
And just like that, the spell was broken.
One by one, the next heirs stepped forward.
A tall figure cloaked in dark crimson approached — his aura wild and fierce, licking at the air with heat. His name was Rhaev Solvik, second son of the Solvik patriarch, and known for his brutal combat style.
He grinned toward Eryndor as he cracked his knuckles.
"Don't think you're the only one who can make noise."
Rhaev's eyes flared red. Fire gathered around his arm, veins glowing like molten cracks beneath his skin. He took his stance, inhaled once — then drove his fist into the pillar.
BOOOOM.
Flames roared upward, spiraling into a tornado of crimson heat that scorched the air itself. The pillar shattered violently, burning fragments scattering before the runes repaired themselves with a hiss. The resonance reading flashed:
[Resonance: 92]
Cheers erupted from the Solvik branch.
Rhaev turned, smirking at Eryndor, sweat trickling down his temple.
Eryndor just smiled faintly, hands in his pockets.
"Not bad," Eryndor said.
"Not bad?" Rhaev scoffed, heat still dancing around his arms. "You call that not bad?"
"If you didn't break a sweat, maybe," Eryndor replied, that lazy grin tugging at his lips.
Even some of the elders chuckled quietly.
Caelis stepped forward again, his expression calm but focused. The lightning that rippled along his form this time was finer — more refined, deliberate. It wasn't about raw destruction anymore.
He struck cleanly.
CRACK.
The stone flared with silver arcs, fragments hovering in stasis before they clicked back together.
[Resonance: 89]
Consistent, powerful, controlled. Zephyr nodded faintly from the stands.
"He's polishing his flow," murmured one of the elders beside him.
"He'll make a fine successor."
Zephyr's eyes, though, lingered on Eryndor.
"We'll see."
A young woman from the Vaelith branch stepped up next — Serin Vaelith, her hair a cascade of pale gold, eyes bright with turquoise light. Her aura shimmered like the air before a storm.
She closed her eyes, exhaled softly, and twisted her body mid-strike — a spiral motion that carried wind and focus in perfect harmony.
The pillar didn't explode. It vibrated.
A sound like a deep resonant bell filled the arena before it cracked halfway down and split cleanly in two before regenerating.
[Resonance: 87]
"Beautiful," one of the elders whispered.
"A strike without waste."
"She inherited the Breath of the Sky technique. Elegant."
Serin turned toward Eryndor, offering a polite nod.
He returned it — genuine respect in his eyes.
She smiled slightly, then stepped back beside Rhaev, who rolled his eyes.
"Always showing off."
"I just hit cleaner than you," she teased softly.
Then came the one that many had forgotten — until the pressure shifted.
The air changed.
Not heavy — just sharp.
Kaelus Magna walked toward the pillar, his coat fluttering behind him. His dark brown hair fell loosely across his forehead, and those steel-gray eyes held a glint that never quite gave away what he was thinking.
He wasn't from any of the three Nasarik branches.
He wasn't even of direct noble descent.
But he was a Magna — the family known for birthing warriors who didn't bow to bloodlines or gods.
"Kael/Kaelus Magna," the announcer called.
"Independent heir of the Magna lineage, standing representative of the Outer Circle."
Murmurs rippled through the arena.
Outer Circle heirs weren't supposed to keep up with the Great Branches — not in theory.
Kaelus didn't care. He's friends with Aldric Vaelith and Eryndor.
He rolled his neck once, raised his hand, and struck — no aura, no chant, no buildup.
Just motion.
The stone exploded from the inside out. Not in flame or lightning — just a raw kinetic burst that sent a shockwave ripping across the platform, making nearby heirs stumble.
[Resonance: 95]
Gasps.
One of the Solvik elders leaned forward.
"No elemental aura?"
"He used pure internal force—no mana reinforcement…"
"That's… impossible."
Eryndor's grin widened as he watched Kaelus shake out his hand, unbothered.
"Still using the Eightfold Steps?"
Kaelus smirked. "Still pretending you invented them?"
"I improved them," Eryndor shot back.
"Then show me one day," Kaelus said, eyes gleaming.
"Maybe when you're not breaking rocks."
The two shared a grin that was both rivalry and friendship — two storms circling the same sky.
Not everyone shattered the pillar — but some came close.
Veyra Deynár, Lyanna's cousin, known for her tranquil aura and mastery of defensive arts, struck softly — her blow forming a blooming lotus of blue light on the stone.
[Resonance: 78]
The pillar didn't crack — but the ground beneath it did, in perfect circular lines.
Then there was Irus Velkar, the prodigy of the flame-forged clan. His punch didn't just break the stone — it left scorch marks across the runes that refused to fade.
[Resonance: 90]
He turned to Rhaev Solvik, smirking.
"Looks like you're not the only fire that burns."
Rhaev scoffed.
"Keep talking, ember boy."
The entire arena buzzed — laughter, murmurs, tension all swirling like the build-up to a storm.
But amid it all, the one name they couldn't stop whispering was still Eryndor Nasarik.
From the viewing platform, the patriarchs sat in silence.
Zephyr Nasarik leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"The next generation," he murmured. "Not as dull as I feared."
Vaelith chuckled. "Your boy broke my record before breakfast. You must be proud."
Zephyr didn't answer. His gaze lingered on Eryndor, who stood below — relaxed, expression unreadable, but that spark of challenge never fading from his eyes.
"Pride," Zephyr said softly, "comes after understanding. Right now, I'm still trying to understand that boy."
Beside them, Solvik's Patriarch, Lazarus Solvik, smiled faintly, shadows flickering beneath his hood.
"The storm that carries no color," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "He'll either be the bridge… or the blade."
The other elders turned toward him, but Lazarus had already closed his eyes.
The faint hum of mana around him whispered in languages the wind had forgotten.
When the tests ended, and the other heirs dispersed, Eryndor remained behind.
He stood before the repaired pillar, hands in his pockets, watching the faint runes pulse.
Kaelus/Kael walked up beside him, arms crossed.
"Still thinking about that score?"
"No," Eryndor said quietly. "Just wondering what comes next."
Kaelus smirked. "You really don't know when to rest."
Eryndor shrugged. "Rest is for those without something to prove."
Kaelus tilted his head. "And what are you trying to prove?"
Eryndor's smile turned faintly distant, eyes flicking toward the horizon.
"That my blood doesn't decide what I am."
They stood there for a moment, two figures beneath the shimmering sky, the floating arena glowing faintly around them like a sleeping god.
The tournament's next stage awaited — and this time, it wouldn't be against stone or measurement.
It would be against each other.