I arrived in Aetheria with nothing but the clothes on my back, a gauze-wrapped arm that still pulsed with a faint glow beneath the linen, and the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food. The city rose like a promise against the horizon, its towers catching the sunlight, its streets thrumming with the voices of mystics, merchants, and wanderers. Aetheria was a place where strength was tested, where names were made, where the ambitious came to prove themselves. For me, it was exactly where I needed to be.
Strength was all that had ever mattered. Not because I wanted it, but because my family demanded it. I was Vincent Ionis, youngest son of the Ionis line, and the latest in a long string of plasma mystics who were stronger, sharper, and endlessly more impressive than I had ever been. My victories meant nothing at home. Defeating non-plasma mystics? "Expected." Surviving duels? "Trivial." No matter what I did, I was still the weak one. The runt. The mistake.
So I came here, to the coliseum at the heart of Aetheria, where the strong carved their names into stone and the weak were forgotten. If I was going to surpass my siblings, if I was ever going to make my parents see me, it had to be here.
The plaza leading to the coliseum was crowded, mystics in every color of robe drifting through the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and spiced wine. I was scanning for a way to enter when I spotted him: an old monk with a rice hat, his beard long and white, speaking quietly to a taller man who stood with his arms crossed. The taller man would later give his name as Morro, but in that moment he was just another obstacle in my way.
The monk noticed me watching. He raised a hand, beckoning me closer, and with a voice as calm as still water told me where to sign up. The line stretched long, coiling toward a booth where a clerk sat recording names.
I joined the line. In front of me stood a woman who was impossible to ignore. She was tall, at least six feet, with a muscular build that suggested a life of training, her brown hair tied back, her sharp eyes scanning for direction. She asked a nearby man what the line was for. His answer was unnecessarily rude. Before I thought better of it, I placed my hand lightly on his shoulder and told him to ease up. He scoffed, turned away, and pretended I didn't exist.
The woman still looked confused, but before I could say more, three men joined the line behind me. They began talking among themselves. I didn't turn to look at first. Eavesdropping was easier if they thought I wasn't listening.
From their voices I gathered the picture: one with a beard, another broad-shouldered and tall, and a third with brown hair and a longsword at his hip. The swordsman introduced himself as Kaelen. The broad-shouldered man gave his name as Thalen and mentioned his use of crystal magic. The third, with a tone far too casual for my taste, admitted to being a thief. That last part soured me immediately. Thieves were dishonorable parasites. I had no desire to speak with him, even though I kept listening.
The line shortened. When I reached the front, I signed my name without hesitation. The woman at the booth explained the rules: a seven-man free-for-all, last one standing. Simple. Brutal. Exactly the kind of test I had come for.
As the others signed up, I stepped aside. Morro, the thief, darted off almost immediately, vanishing into the market. Good riddance. The bearded man wandered among vendors. That left me with Kaelen.
I studied him as the crowd shifted around us. He carried himself with quiet confidence, like a man used to holding the room without raising his voice. My parents would have praised him. They always did praise people who weren't me. I thought quickly. If I could ally with him, even briefly, it might keep me alive long enough to learn something.
"We should team up," I told him. "Split the winnings."
He arched an eyebrow. "You're not in it for the prize?"
"No." I met his eyes, steady. "I only care about getting stronger."
He seemed to weigh that, then gave a nod. "Deal."
Later that night, while we waited for the match to begin, we spoke more. He confessed that his magic wasn't simply fire, as he had implied earlier, but phoenix magic. Rare. Dangerous. His honesty deserved something in return, so I admitted what I rarely shared with strangers: I was a plasma mystic. His face didn't twist in disgust or fear the way some did. He simply nodded. That small acceptance earned my trust more than I expected.
Hours passed. In the streets outside the coliseum, a fight broke out. The same man who had mocked the tall woman earlier was thrown against a wall and dragged off by guards. I almost smiled.
Then the gates opened.
The coliseum loomed vast, stone walls climbing high, torches blazing along the tiers. The roar of the crowd shook the air as we stepped inside. To my left stood the tall woman from earlier, her eyes focused. To my right, Kaelen. Across from us were Thalen and Morro, standing side by side, the old monk between them. A robed figure lingered near the far wall, face hidden.
And somewhere in the arena, though I didn't know it at first, the clerk herself had entered. Veyra. The moment the horn sounded, she vanished, her body shimmering before disappearing entirely. She had turned invisible, choosing caution over bravado.
The fight began.
Morro and Thalen moved as one, the monk chanting behind them, his magic wrapping their bodies in speed. They charged Kaelen. He managed only a single burst of flame, which went wide and singed Morro's shoulder. Then they overwhelmed him, striking hard and fast until he collapsed. My only ally was gone before I could reach him.
The robed figure at the far side lifted her hands, hurling daggers of light at Thalen. Most missed. One scraped against his armor, useless against the strange crystal shield he carried, orange layered over white.
I had no time to hesitate. Plasma surged through me, my scars burning beneath their wrappings. I launched a volley, three bolts slamming toward the monk, one at Thalen, one at Morro. The monk barely reacted, his focus never leaving his spell.
I clenched my teeth. If he wanted to keep them fast, I'd need to be faster. I triggered a spell of my own invention, one that shocked my nerves into overdrive. Pain flared white-hot as my muscles twitched, but suddenly the world slowed. I moved sharper, quicker. For a moment, I outpaced Morro.
But Thalen was on me. A stone pillar erupted beneath my feet, binding me. I struggled, plasma crackling around my hands, but he loomed over me, weapon raised.
Then the world exploded.
Three concussive blasts ripped through the arena. The protective barrier above flickered and groaned. Stone dust filled the air. The healing crystals embedded in the coliseum walls activated at once, surging light across us, mending broken bodies. My own wounds vanished, but my arden reserves were nearly spent. My arm glowed faintly through the bandages, the scars pulsing with red light.
The fight was forgotten. Survival took its place.
I pulled people from rubble, my hands trembling. In the ruins, I found two children, their parents gone. Their empty stares cut deep, echoing the hollowness I had seen in my own reflection too many times before. The reflection of someone who had fought and fought and still never been enough.
Across the dust-choked floor, the robed figure stood frozen in shock. I approached slowly, careful not to frighten her. Then a voice called a name: Violet. Her head snapped up at once.
From the stands came three women. One was the tall woman from earlier. Evora, I finally learned. The second was Veyra, shimmering back into sight, her invisibility fading. The third, older, was Nartha, Violet's sister.
Their reunion was tense. Violet hurled a dagger, but Evora caught it with her arden and flung it aside. They spoke quickly, of partnerships and conspiracies, of robed figures who had slipped away before the explosions. At the mention of their robes, dread coiled in me. But when I asked if the mark had been the star emblem of my family, the answer was no. Relief washed through me, though it did not last.
Because even here, hundreds of miles from home, I still felt the weight of the Ionis name pressing on my shoulders.
When it was over, I walked with Evora. She searched for her companions, and I followed, my own reasons simple. I wanted to grow stronger. I wanted to prove myself. But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't walking alone.
And maybe, just maybe, that meant something more than another fight.