Sweat and blood. The undistinguishable scent of a fighting arena. Many would recognize it as what was commonly referred to as manly odour. It was the type of scene where testosterone levels were through the roof and ego's reached even higher. And those ego's were loud… Extremely loud. But that might also have been due to the style the arena they were in was built in. It allowed for sound to travel all the way across the giant circular room, bounce off the wall there and return to the other side only to repeat this process several times over. Besides the testosterone and adrenaline fueled men, the arena was also crowded with spectators. Indeed, these kinds of sports were mainly entertainment for the common folk. Even if the fights were rather short at times, it allowed for them to get their minds of the everyday struggle. A tiny moment in which they could forget their own problems and project their anger and frustrations onto the fighters. As such their cheers when their favorite landed a hit, and their boo's when the opponent did, reached levels even louder than the fighters. Something about strength in numbers. They had to do something to make up for their ragged and pale clothes and tousled hair. This made the appearance of a new arrival all the more apparent. Though her clothes were loose and baggy, they lacked the aged and worn look of everyone else. With her shoulder length brown hair all loose and shaken and remarkably common light brown eyes, she made a good attempt at blending in. Though it was clear that it was styled and well maintained. This earned her some weary glances from the commoners because, according to them, she clearly didn't belong in these circles. She was obviously high born. The thing she had going for her that might sell her look to the common folks was her skin tone. She, or her family at least, seemed to hail from a warm and sun bathed region which resulted in a shade between normal and light brown. The woman found a spot where she could watch the fight, just in time to see it end with one of the fighters unconscious on the floor. This was of course accompanied by a loudly cheering crowd. The tanned woman tried to blend in by joining the cheers. The arrival of a muscular bloke dressed in a tight fitting suit that accentuated his muscles even more, silenced the crowd and the cheering died down. He had a look of authority over him. This was definitely the referee. He spoke with a voice loud enough to fill the entire arena.
"The winner! You have all been rooting for him this evening!" He held up the victor's hand "Your favorite for tonight. You know him, you love him! Booooone Busterrrrrrr!" He laid his emphasis at certain points for added drama. And it Worked. The crowd went wild. His air of authority showed when he silenced them again with just a wave of his hand. Satisfied with having the attention again, he continued.
"He has fought countless opponents to get here, and still has energy to spare! He is truly unstoppable. Now he has earned a shot at the reigning champion.. No one knows her real name."
A thought immediately shot through the tanned lady's head. Her? A woman in this kind of scene? How can she compete with these men?
"Up to this day she remains undefeated! Some say she is gifted. That she gave up her sight so that she can see her opponent's moves before they do. They say she can punch straight through a man's spirit. Is she a witch? No. Casting magic is not allowed here. She is… The Diiiiiiivinerrrrr!" While he added drama to his speeches, he was also really good at building up tension. The crowd reached a new high at the mention of the champion. The tanned lady was new here and didn't know her. There was only one thing on her mind. She had been traveling for a while now but never saw a woman in a fighting ring. At least not one where no magic was to be used against one another. The woman in question appeared under tremendous cheering as everyone in the crowd wanted to catch a glimpse of her. She quite obviously wasn't a commoner nor did she try to pass as one. She had the same tanned skin as the not so common lady in the crowd and was dressed in a tight fitting top and same knee length pants. As the defender she was dressed in white, which accentuated her skin tone and toned muscles even more. Her hair was tied up in a tidy bun for the fight. But the most stunning and obvious feature was her height. She couldn't have been more than five foot two while her opponent towered more than a head's length over her. He tried to stare her into intimidation but she never wavered. In fact, she stared right back at him. Or rather, through him.The woman in the crowd went back into her thoughts.
She's a shorty… She's what… a hundred and ten pounds at max? How can she be the champion? That guy is gonna squash her like a bug!
Bone Buster spoke up with a voice befitting his size and muscular posture. His ego flowed through in the way he spoke.
"Bone Buster is feeling conflicted about fighting a frail little girl. He will let you concede and walk away".
The diviner revealed she wasn't only good at fighting. She was also the champion at taunting.
"How generous, but it sounds to me like you are scared, Buster!". She made sure the exclamation was on her last word.
Bone Buster blinked confused and quickly grew irritated.
"Bone Buster is over his conflicted feelings and ready to bust some bones!".
"Whatever" The Diviner rolled her eyes "Just don't bust your knee. Like the last guy that thought he could take me".
"You little bitch!".
"OooOooh, you kiss your mommy with that mouth?".
The lady in the crowd blinked with a terribly confused look on her face. Did that just happen? She's insane getting him all worked up like that. Now he is going to squash her even mo-... She got abruptly torn from her thoughts by a shoving crowd. "Move it Ritchy! We wanna see the champ!". They were clearly not here for Bone Buster. Everyone on this side was rooting for The Diviner. Even though she seemed hopelessly outmatched, she stood there with a straight posture, full of confidence. Now both taunting her opponent and inciting the crowd with her lopsided grin. The tanned lady had no choice but to follow the flow of people. It was so that she got close enough to catch a good glimpse of the champion. She was definitely shorter than her by almost a full three inches. Now that she was this close she noticed that, apart from her clothes, her pale green eyes also stood out against the contrast of her skin. They weren't just pale green though, the pupil itself also seemed faded. Maybe she truly could foresee her opponents moves. The lady had already seen stranger things on her journeys so it was very well possible. Though the referee had specifically said casting magic was not allowed. She and the crowd would soon see her in action as a scarcely clad cheerleader came by holding a round one sign up. This one was quite obviously picked as a crowd pleaser, more specifically to the male audience, with certain supportive attributes of her attire missing. Cheerfully hopping, she made her exit all the more pleasing, especially to the male audience.
This also served as the cue for the Diviner and Bone Buster to take their positions opposite each other. Where the latter opted for an aggressive boxer stance, the Diviner chose a more rooted and ready stance, bending her knees with her feet wide and arms held up defensive with her palms facing outward. By now it was clear they had different styles. Both of them weren't wearing any shoes, which kind of made sense given it was a martial arts contest. The larger of the two seemed confident in his strength and abilities as he came in strong with some jabs and punches. Though he soon realised this was not going to be as easy as his previous opponents. The Diviner lived up to her name however as she effortlessly dodged or guided his punches away. Gliding across the field she looked in her element. Her movements were so fluent it almost looked as if she was dancing. The lady in the crowd looked flabbergasted with her mouth half open. She had never seen anyone move like this and with such confidence. For the moment she didn't even pull any punches of her own. She just dodged and guided, her gaze never faltering from its fixed position in front of her. This little habit of hers, and the fact that none of his punches landed, greatly annoyed Bone Buster, so he switched things up and tried to get a knee thrust in. Again this proved of little difficulty to the Diviner as she shifted her hind leg to adjust her stance and simply block the thrust with one arm while guarding her head with the other. But this was also an opportunity she had been waiting for. While her opponent thought he had her in a tight spot, she suddenly shifted her weight in to give a short, but powerful, push against her opponent's now bent leg. Having his entire weight on just one leg, this was an event he couldn't recover from. As unexpected as the thrust was, so was his tumbling to the floor without even having taken a single hit himself. The crowd went wild with cheering and whistling. The tanned lady among them only stared dumbfounded.
How did that just happen? He must easily be double her weight, if not more. Yet she just pushed him over.
Bone Buster hit the floor shortly. But taken over by the adrenaline rushing through his body now, he jumped up and tried to land a hit again, dashing forward to close the distance. This all proved futile as the Diviner once again lived up to her name and evaded the jab. She grew tired of what she considered a boring fight and decided to end it. She turned her foot and shifted her stance so that she could use the momentum from her hip and turning body. Her larger opponent took a palm right to his lower sternum. He saw the floor up close again but this time he also felt like he was choking. Unable to catch his breath he laid on the ground, gasping for air for the next few minutes. The champion already knew the outcome and turned to face a cheering crowd, her lips curling up into a lopsided grin as she raised her hands in the air. Her fighting prowess was impressive to the crowd, but the observant tanned lady with them noticed her gaze was still fixed ahead. Although she turned towards the sound, she never seemed to actually look at her audience. This made her wonder.
Can she even see them? If she can't, that would make this whole fight even more impressive.
Several days earlier the tanned lady, now properly dressed as a lady with all the accompanying jewelry, strolled through the mansion she lived in. The estate was located near the river Xao on the north side of Xaerona where the lands were lush. Unlike most of the continent that was covered in deserts. Their land stretched far and wide with multiple farms under their care, and command. Yes, they were indeed among the rich and noble of the continent.
'Talia! There you are' a loud voice boomed 'You're late for your training'.
Talia let out a loud sigh, letting her shoulders drop 'How was your evening Talia. Oh it was wonderful Dad'.
'Young lady!' her father boomed again, a tone of authority in his voice 'In this house we respect our elders. Perhaps we should refresh your etiquette lessons'.
Talia suddenly felt like a little girl again. She drew a breath, her hands clenched at her sides.
"I'm sorry, Father… but you keep treating me like a little girl. I'm not a child anymore. I want to see the world. All I ever do is train and study."
Her father's jaw tightened. "Then you must train harder. The world is cruel, especially for a young gi—"
A gentle hand pressed his shoulder, halting the list that was about to spill forth.
"Darling," Talia's mother's voice was soft, yet unyielding. "She has a point. Our little girl is a woman now. Perhaps it is time we listened to her."
Talia's lips parted in surprise. The tension in her face eased—her mother's support was a balm she hadn't known she craved.
"Faedhirsha…" her father began, but stopped at once. He knew the battle was already lost.
Her mother turned back to Talia. Her expression was kind, but her eyes carried the weight of a noble lady who had weathered storms. "She is old enough to hear the truth. If she hasn't already sensed it."
Talia's brows knit together.
"What truth?" Her words rushed out, eager and anxious. "I've only ever been to the cities, and always under guard. I saw the Kanjan Desert once, from An'rakar's walls."
She made sure to put the exclamation on the 'Once'.
Faedhirsha rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder, fingers curling gently, almost protectively. "When I was your age, child, that desert was nowhere near An'rakar."
Talia blinked. Once. Twice. The memory of standing on the walls returned—an endless sea of shifting gold, stretching for miles. She knew deserts could drift, yes… but not leagues upon leagues in a single lifetime. Her stomach sank as realisation hit her.
"How many towns?" she whispered.
Her father answered this time, his voice subdued. "Three that we know of. Swallowed. And the sands creep closer every day. An'rakar will be next."
The words landed like stones in her chest.
"Why?" The question broke from her throat, though part of her wished she hadn't asked.
Her father's gaze dropped. "No one knows. Our scholars have torn through the records, but the books hold nothing. We are blind."
Talia straightened. Heat rose in her chest—not fear this time, but resolve. "Then I will go to Tan'thalon. This is a threat to us all, to everything we've built and sworn to protect. If no one else can uncover the truth, then I must."
Her father met her eyes. His look was as steady as ever, regal and unreadable, but she felt the weight of it pressing on her resolve. For a moment, doubt crept in.
Then her mother's elbow nudged sharply into his ribs.
A long sigh escaped him. "Take Eldarion with you. He is top of his class among the paladins."
Talia's temper flared. "But he's—"
One stern glance from Faedhirsha stopped her cold. This was not a battle she would win.
Talia bit her tongue, the words twisting unspoken in her mind. Obnoxious. Self-righteous. Forever chasing after me…
Her fists curled tighter. Fine. If Eldarion came, then he came. But this was her path, and nothing—not her father's fear, not her mother's steel, not the desert itself—would turn her from it.
'He will keep you safe' Faedhirsha said, her tone soft 'And he comes from a good family'.
And there it was, her mother's hidden motive.
Talia didn't take long to pack. It was almost as if she constantly kept a pack ready to explore. The backpack itself was quite sizable and looked hefty, and even labeled "To adventure!". Luckily she was a strong woman. Literally. Her training as a paladin showed. Her companion awaited her at the gates to their estate. A young man with brown hair and eyes, typical for the continent. She didn't really like him. He always wanted to excel in everything he did, always had to be better than her. And he had to be in the center of everything. Even now that she was finally able to venture further than she had ever gone, he had to be there to rub her face in that he was better than her. Talia sighed, knowing she was going to be stuck with him for a while.
'Better make the most of it' she told herself and left for the gate, where everyone was waiting.
There was one thing she was grateful for though. His family had invested quite an amount in transportation. A great gleaming mechanical horse, driven entirely by the nation's greatest resource, Lazulli Magis, the magic stone. To showcase their status, parts of it were in purple and gold. This horse would not tire, not suffer from heat nor need to rest. She was going to travel in style. Better yet, there was a slightly smaller version of it behind it. It was almost as if someone had tried to make a steed and a mare. The mare was made in the same regal colors as Talia's armor that she had chosen to wear as a statement, gold and platinum.
Faedhisha wrapped her daughter in an embrace, whispering softly in her ear "Be careful out there, you hear?'.
Talia nodded softly. Neither of them showed any weakness on the outside as they had to present strong. Just like her stoic father, who patted her on the back.
'Don't worry my lord and lady, I will keep her safe" Eldarion finally spoke, his posture and voice full of confidence. Talia was thrown back to her earlier outing. He suddenly reminded her of someone who was just as confident and conveyed it through posture just like him, the diviner.
As the pair rode off on their gleaming horses, Faedhirsha slowly reached for her husband's hand.
"She's never been beyond the borders of Xaerona.. She's only ever interacted with other humans. Should we tell her about….?".
"No" her husband remained as unphased as ever "She'll find out soon enough".
After slipping away from the chaos of the Diviner's duel with Bone Buster, Talia kept to the narrow veins of Tan'thalon's alleys. The city dwarfed An'rakar in size, its spires and towers clawing at the sky, but its bones—the arches of stone, the tight-knit streets—still echoed the architecture she knew.
The great capital of Xaerona. Heart of magitech. A fortress and a beacon, they called it. From the alleys she could see only glimpses of its might: the Arc Wall curving across the horizon like a colossal crescent, Lazulli veins glinting faintly where the last sunlight kissed the stone. Somewhere beyond, cannons and bolt-casters bristled, guarding against desert and enemy alike. To Talia, it looked less like a beacon and more like a cage.
Inside the walls, safety was a matter of caste. Nobles walked the avenues in silks and jewels, secure in their wealth. Streetfolk watched them with hollow eyes, waiting for a chance. And Talia—noble blood, traveling alone—was an opportunity that gleamed like coin.
Her experience at the arena had taught her she didn't blend in as much as she thought she did. She felt it in the hush of her footsteps, in the shuffling behind her when she slowed, in the way laughter cut short as she turned a corner. She pulled her shirt tighter, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder.
Then the sky cracked open.
A hiss, then a steady patter—rain, spilling from hidden channels above the streets. Tan'thalon's famed weather-machines at work, timed to wash the city clean.
Talia cursed under her breath. Water slicked her hair to her cheeks, soaking her travel clothes until the fabric clung to her skin. Droplets traced down her jaw, dripping cold from her chin. She could almost feel the eyes behind her sharpen, calculating.
The rain would make her stand out even more.
"Elyndra's mammaries!!" she burst out, quickly followed with "Sorry! Sorry!".
The rain gathered in rivulets along the uneven cobbles, turning the alley into a sheen of glass. Talia slowed her steps, listening.
A splash echoed behind her. Too close.
She spun—nothing but shifting shadows and dripping gutters. But she knew. The prickling at her neck wasn't her imagination.
Her hand drifted toward the sigil at her belt. She wasn't supposed to carry a blade here—Tan'thalon's laws were clear on that—but her father hadn't raised a fool and was a genius at bending the rules when needed to. The paladin's sigil, meant to enforce the light in her.
Another footfall. A whisper. A snicker cut short.
Talia's jaw clenched. Cowards. Waiting for me to stumble.
The alley opened onto a broader street, dim lanterns casting weak halos in the misting rain. Merchants had shuttered their stalls for the evening, their canvas awnings sagging under the water's weight. She hesitated at the threshold. If she went out into the light, they would see her fully. If she stayed, they would close in from the dark.
Movement flickered in the corner of her vision. A figure—then another—slipping through the rain with practiced ease. Streetfolk. Men and women hardened by hunger and desperation. Eyes on her.
Talia's heart hammered. She couldn't let fear show. Nobles who looked afraid didn't walk away whole. She straightened, lifting her chin the way her mother had taught her, though the rain plastered her hair across her face.
"Lost, are we, my lady?" a voice drawled from the dark. Male, older, with the rasp of too many nights spent in smokehouses.
Another figure chuckled, stepping into the glow of a lantern. A woman, lean and sharp-eyed, her grin showing a broken tooth. "Or just slumming it? Can't say we mind either way."
Talia's fingers tightened around the sigil at her waist. Her pulse quickened—but her voice, when it came, was steady.
"You don't want to do this."
They laughed. The sound echoed off the wet stone, swallowed by the rain.
The older man spat into the gutter. "Out here, nobility's worth less than a rat's tail. Only thing that matters is what you carry."
He took a step closer.
Talia, who had been unaware of the dangers Xaerona's capital city held until this point, turned to face the two. Her face paled when she noticed what she was up against.
The rain-soaked alley pressed in tight, the air thick with the stench of oil and garbage. Not two, but eight muggers spread around her like wolves circling prey. She had no sword, no shield—only her clothes and the faint, sputtering glow in her trembling hands. One of them noticed something he was eager to show his comrades.
"Those aren't Elyndra's mammaries I see through that shirt there boys!" the raspy voice bellowed a loud laugh "Atleast we can get something tonight!".
Her breath hitched. The Light was fickle in her grasp, too bright one moment, vanishing the next. Without steel, she felt naked. Even more so when she noticed what he meant. She silently cursed herself.
You should have worn a bra, Talia! Stupid rain!
Still, she planted her feet, raising her hands as her mentors had drilled a thousand times.
Where is Eldarion when you need him… Well… If the Light is all you have, then let the Light be enough.
"You want me? Come get me!" she shouted, still riled from witnessing the arena fight and eager to prove she was just as good. Though she was nowhere near as confident in this situation as The Diviner was.
The first man lunged. She panicked, throwing up her palms. A burst of brilliance erupted, uncontrolled, washing the alley in white fire. The mugger staggered back, howling, clutching his eyes. The others cursed, blinking away spots.
Her heart raced. She hadn't meant to blind them all—she'd only tried to summon a shield. But maybe that was enough.
Two came at her, snarling. She ducked, clumsy but quick, raising a hand in desperation. The Light sputtered again—this time blooming into a trembling sphere of radiance between her palms. It hummed, unstable, flickering. She shoved it forward.
It detonated like a flare. The men reeled, their shadows stretched across the walls. She kicked one in the knee—messy, graceless, but enough to topple him. The other swung wildly, grazing her arm. Pain flared hot, but so did something else: anger.
She clenched her fists, forcing the Light to obey. It gathered around her like a trembling halo, casting jagged shards of illumination onto the bricks. Her fear gave it shape.|
"Back!" she shouted, voice breaking—but the Light carried her cry like thunder.
The muggers hesitated. Her glow wasn't steady, wasn't holy and controlled like the elder Paladins she idolized. But it was raw. It made the alley burn with a dawn-bright glare.
Another thug swung a chain. She tried to summon a shield, but the Light faltered, sputtering out. The chain cracked across her shoulder, driving her to her knees. Pain exploded through her arm. She bit down a scream, scrambling back.
Still she fought. She caught a knife-hand, forcing Light into her palm until it sizzled against his skin. The man yelped, dropping the blade. She flung him aside with strength she hadn't known she had.
Now the others wavered. The girl they had cornered was no helpless victim—she was a storm barely leashed, a lantern about to shatter.
Her glow dimmed, her knees shaking. She could feel the Light slipping from her grasp again, threatening to vanish. But she straightened anyway, chest heaving, palms open in defiance.
"Try me again," she said, her voice steadier than her hands. "And I swear by the Light—you'll regret it."
But she was slowing. Her glow sputtered, her shoulder throbbed from a chain strike, her knees shook with fatigue.
The muggers drew back, grinning.
And from the shadows behind them stepped a man unlike the rest.
His arms gleamed with arcane steel, jointed like insect legs, crimson runes burning down to his fingertips. From his back extended a lattice of machinery grafted along his spine, glowing with molten veins that pulsed beneath his skin. Lazulli tattoos snaked up his neck, fiery lines that seemed to pulse with his heartbeat.
The air thickened with heat as he entered the alley.
Talia froze. She had heard whispers of such things in her order: Ember Seekers.
He smiled, a rictus of cracked lips and teeth. "A fledgling of May'Jahan's flock. How poetic. I was denied your precious training. But Ba'ham gave me more than your priests ever would."
His arm rose, and the crimson runes blazed. Talia tried to summon her shield of Light, but the glow sputtered, faint and unsteady. The Ember Seeker's chest heaved with manic laughter as he loosed a blast of molten energy from his arm.
It hit like a hammer.
Her shield shattered instantly, light breaking like glass. She screamed as the heat slammed her into the alley wall, her breath ripped from her lungs. Her glow died entirely, leaving her slumped, smoking, gasping.
The Ember Seeker stalked closer, each step making the ground hiss. "See, girl? Your Light is a cage. Mine is freedom. Even if it consumes me, I burn brighter than you ever will."
He caught her by the hair and slammed her against the wall with a strength no normal man should have. Her vision spun. The light inside her flickered and broke, leaving her in darkness. She struggled, raising trembling hands—but they only glowed faintly now, no more frightening than candlelight. The muggers closed in, smelling her weakness.
And then—
The cobblestones trembled.
Slowly, deliberately, a small woman stepped into the alley. Rain dripped from her hair, her milky green eyes unfocused but unafraid. The dim lanternlight revealed she was a native here, with skin as tanned as Talia's. Her stance slid into mantis form, arms hooked, body coiled. The earth stirred at her feet.
"Let her go, trash can!" the woman called.
Talia, barely conscious, thought she recognised her, but that might just have been the concussion she received.
The Ember Seeker sneered. "Another of May'Jahan's pets? I'll burn you both."
He thrust out his arm—unstable fire roaring forth.
The woman snapped her wrist in a mantis hook, and the ground rose like a shield, the cobblestones fusing into a wall that absorbed the blast. Steam hissed. She flowed forward, striking with a mantis claw—and the earth struck with her, a pillar bursting from below to crack against the Seeker's chest.
For the first time, his grin faltered. His fellow muggers scrambled.
"She's an elementalist! She'll turn the elements on us! Run!" they shouted as they made their hasty retreat.
Talia, still gasping on the ground, stared in awe. She had fought bravely and failed, but this woman fought as though the earth itself knew martial arts. Slowly she started to realise she had seen this fighting style before.
The elementalist's voice was calm, steady, like stone grinding against stone. "Your fire devours you. My earth sustains me. This fight is over."
And for the first time, the Ember Seeker's flames met something they could not consume.
"We'll see about that" he said, wiping some grit from his cheek with the back of his augmented hand as he rose to his feet.
"Get back here you maggots!" he rallied his troops like a true tyrant "Kick her ass or I'll burn yours!".
The alley became a crucible.
The elementalist lifted her arms into the hooked, insect-like posture of the praying mantis style, rain dripping from her fingertips. She beckoned the men, the thin line of her lips curling up in a lopsided grin.
The muggers, afraid of both the seeker and the elementalist, decided they might stand a better chance against a small woman and went for her and Talia.
As one mugger lunged for Talia, a jagged stone pillar burst upward, flinging him into the wall. Another swung a knife—the elementalist snapped her hand in a mantis hook, and the cobblestones surged, sweeping his legs away like the strike of a claw.
Her every gesture was echoed by the earth itself: a spiraling wrist birthed a swirl of gravel, a stomp split the ground in a jagged burst, a hooked elbow raised slabs of stone that clapped shut like jaws.
Talia, half-dazed, stared in awe as the Elementalist danced—a seamless fusion of martial grace and elemental might. Where she had flailed and bled, this woman fought like the earth itself was alive in her body.
Her savior moved like a storm given flesh, every step flowing, every strike precise. Her head hardly turned toward the thugs, yet her body seemed to know exactly where they were.
A chain lashed from the shadows, aimed straight at her blind side. Without so much as a glance, her wrist flicked, and the metal bracelets on her arm charmed with lightning. The chain snapped against it with a hiss, sparks scattering into the rain.
Another attacker rushed her from behind. She pivoted a fraction too soon for it to make sense, slipping past the strike as though the wind itself had whispered the warning.
Talia's pulse hammered. It wasn't sight guiding her—it was something else, something deeper. But in the haze of blood loss and desperation, she only saw grace and fury. She only saw a savior.
One by one, the muggers fell—trapped in stone, slammed into walls, swept into shallow pits that closed over them like graves. The alley was a storm of earth and motion, and then, silence.
The fight was over almost before it began. Bodies lay groaning in the mud, their weapons scattered, the rain washing away their bravado.
The Elementalist lowered her arms. The ground stilled. She pointed towards the Seeker, not giving him the dignity of looking in his direction.
"You're next".
For a moment it seemed like it was just the two of them, facing off against each other. A stark contrast of a towering half machine man and a small woman, raindrops clattering all around them.
The Ember Seeker's runes flared, crimson molten light coursing through the machinery of his arms and spine. Steam hissed off the wet stones around him, the air trembling with unstable heat.
Across from him, the elementalist settled into her praying mantis stance—arms bent like hooked talons, feet anchored wide, her body coiled and patient. The cobblestones beneath her bare feet thrummed in answer, rising and falling like breath.
They circled, predator and sentinel.
The Ember Seeker struck first—his arm snapped forward, a blast of molten energy lancing across the alley. The Elementalist flowed sideways, one hand slicing through the air. The ground mirrored her motion, tilting up like a slab-shield. The fire struck stone, exploding in sparks, steam billowing in slow-motion arcs.
She stepped in. Her hooked hands darted like mantis claws—snatch, trap, strike. With each gesture, the earth obeyed: cobbles cracked upward into jagged spikes, sweeping toward the Seeker. He swiped his other arm in a wide arc, releasing a wave of unstable fire that shattered the spikes into glowing shards. The fragments rained down like meteors.
For a moment, time slowed—the alley lit half in flame, half in earthen shadow.
The Seeker lunged, moving faster than his warped body should allow, veins of molten Lazulli pulsing brighter. He slammed a fist forward, and the ground itself caught fire, flames racing toward her like a burning serpent.
The Elementalist sank low, her stance tightening. Her hooked hands snapped downward in a mantis "catch," and the cobblestones split open. The fiery serpent plunged into the crack, snuffed out as the earth swallowed it whole.
She rose with sudden grace, her arm hooking upward like a mantis claw striking prey. From below, a stone pillar erupted, smashing into the Seeker's chest and throwing him back against the wall. Machinery sparked, runes dimming for a heartbeat.
But he only laughed, coughing blood that hissed to steam on his lips. "Yes! That's it! Break me! Every strike feeds the fire!"
He thrust both arms skyward, his spine-implants glowing white-hot. The air screamed as unstable energy gathered, flames convulsing around his body.
Talia, half-conscious on the ground, shielded her face. "He'll burn the whole alley!"
The Elementalist stood firm, her gaze unfocused but her stance unshaken. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her arms into the Mantis's Closing Claw. The earth groaned in response. Walls shuddered, cobblestones cracked wide, dust swirling into the rain.
The Ember Seeker roared, releasing a cataclysmic blast of flame that painted the night in crimson fire.
The Elementalist's hands snapped shut. The earth itself rose like jaws closing—two titanic stone walls surged upward and inward, forming a crushing embrace. The fire crashed against them, bursting outward in a storm of sparks and embers. The alley thundered, shaking like an earthquake.
When the dust cleared, the Seeker was pinned in the stone's grip, his arms sparking, his fire sputtering. His tattoos glowed faintly, life and flame guttering together.
The Elementalist exhaled, lowering her stance. The ground stilled.
Talia crawled to her knees, trembling, staring at the impossible clash she had just witnessed. "You… you stopped him."
The Elementalist tilted her clouded eyes toward her. "No. He stopped himself. Fire without balance always burns its wielder first."
The Seeker laughed weakly, blood flecking his lips. "Better… to burn… than to kneel." His glow dimmed to nothing.
The woman's lips drew into a lopsided smirk again, something Talia definitely recognised. "Yet you are kneeling before me right now" With just a small downwards gesture the stone slabs obeyed her will, bringing the Seeker to his knees.
Talia sagged, shaken but alive. She blinked through rain and tears. "I… I tried. But I couldn't hold them off."
The woman tilted her head, listening to her trembling voice. She reached out, touching Talia's arm gently. "You stood, even when you knew you would fall. That is the first step."
"You didn't have to risk yourself for me" Talia said, feeling embarrassed. She had already figured out who this woman was. Now the arena fight made a lot more sense to her.
The elementalist, turning her clouded gaze to the groaning seeker, said softly,
"That's what heroines do."
She offered Talia a steadying hand, her voice soft but unyielding.
"Stand. You have the Light. But remember—discipline shapes power, or power consumes. That is the difference between a weapon… and a heroine."
She tilted her head again, noticing hurried footsteps in the distance.
"Enforcers.. They'll help you" she said, running towards the darkness of the alley, pausing just long enough for some final words "And thank you for cheering for me earlier!".
Talia just stared dumbfounded. Maybe it was everything just catching up to her, but her emotions got the better of her and she started blushing.
"I knew it! You're The Diviner!".
Said Diviner disappeared into the night with the rumble of the earth, the darkness swallowing her.
The footsteps weren't her pursuers after all, but Eldarion, flanked by a pair of guards. A shadow loomed behind them—taller than any man. An automaton, its chest aglow with Lazulli light, runes of Kaelor traced along its plated arms. Even in her half-dazed state, Talia recognized the holy glyphs: the mark of a protector.
Eldarion broke from the group the moment he saw her, just in time to catch a glimpse of the Elementalist before she disappeared in a haze of fog.
Talia sagged against the wall, rain plastering her hair to her face. Eldarion was there in an instant, one arm curling around her waist to steady her, the other braced against the wall beside her head. The closeness was suffocating—protective, possessive.
"Lady Surifarah! By Kaelor—what happened? Who was that woman?"
Talia tried to steady her breath. Her clothes were torn where blades had nicked too close. Blood trickled down her arm from a cut she hadn't been fast enough to avoid, her shoulder already darkening with a bruise where a chain had struck.
Talia's lips parted, but her voice caught. She replayed it in her mind instead:
The chain strike.
The blade from behind.
The way the Diviner's eyes had never truly fixed on her enemies.
Her stomach tightened. She hadn't been looking at them at all. She hadn't needed to.
The Diviner was blind.
And yet… she fought with a precision that made Talia's years of drills and discipline feel clumsy by comparison. Elemental force bent to her will, wrapping her in power as natural as breathing.
"She didn't even look at them," Talia whispered. "She fought as though she could see… but she couldn't."
Eldarion stilled. His arm tightened against her waist, fingers pressing a little too firmly, as though grounding her—or anchoring her to him. Then he gave a low chuckle, too sharp to be amused.
"Talia, you're bleeding and half-delirious. Always with the flair for exaggeration. Next you'll say she descended from the heavens to sweep you off your feet."
She caught his look then—too lingering, too close. His voice brushed her ear as he leaned in, almost daring her to acknowledge it.
"Besides," he added, tone lower now, "you make her sound like some kind of legend. A blind savior, rushing to your side? That's not how this world works. Heroes don't crawl out of alleyways, and you—" His gaze dipped, briefly, to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "—you don't need saving. Not from anyone."
Heat climbed up her neck. For a moment she was acutely aware of how close he was, of the weight of his arm against her waist. Her pulse stuttered—not with attraction, she told herself, but with irritation. She pushed lightly at his chest, enough to make space, enough to breathe.
"You're a Surifarah," Eldarion pressed, softer now, thumb brushing the back of her hand before he caught himself and pulled away. "A paladin. You've been trained to see clearly. Don't cheapen that by spinning fantasies about common street magi. It's… unbecoming."
Talia looked away, but not before another memory surfaced—one small, impossible detail that set her heart racing all over again.
In the chaos of the fight, when the knife had grazed her arm, the Diviner's head had turned—not toward her attacker, but toward her. As though she had heard the sharp intake of Talia's breath, felt the shift of her fear. Their eyes—sightless as they were—had turned directly to her, steady and unwavering.
It wasn't chance. The Diviner had noticed her.
The sting of Eldarion's words dulled, swallowed up by the weight of that realization.
The world tilted again, but steadied enough for her to catch Eldarion's gaze. He wasn't looking at her wounds.
Heat flared in her chest. She balled her fist and drove it into his ribs.
"My eyes are up here."
He grunted, staggering back a step, then scowled.
"I told you not to come here. Why sneak off like this?"
Talia's voice sharpened, fueled by both pain and pride now.
"You should have come with me. None of this would have happened."
Eldarion pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation plain.
"Honestly, Talia… We're nobles. I don't understand your obsession with playing at commoners' games. Look at you—drenched, bloodied, dressed like…" He gestured at her torn shirt, lips curling. "…like someone beneath your station. Why?"
Talia looked away, jaw tight. The shame burned—shame not from her wounds, but from the way he spoke, as if her curiosity, her choices, were nothing but dirt on his boots.
Talia's jaw tightened. She kept her gaze fixed on the rain-slick stones at her feet. If she looked at him now, she might strike again—harder this time.
Eldarion, oblivious, pressed on.
"Your mother and father entrusted me with your safety. And this is how you repay them? Sneaking out, dressed like… like a gutter-thief, bleeding in the street? If word of this reached the court—"
Her head snapped up.
"If word of this reached the court, it would tell them I'm not a caged songbird."
Her voice cracked with anger, but she forced it steady.
"It would tell them I'm willing to risk myself for answers while you sit polishing your armor and titles."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes sliding toward the automaton as if the machine might intervene. Its runes glowed faintly, impassive… for now. It too seemed to look away, though it was most likely scanning the environment for signs of danger.
Eldarion's lips thinned.
"You think you understand the dangers of this city? You don't. You're reckless, Talia. Reckless and—"
His gaze flicked, unbidden, once more to her torn blouse. He caught himself, but too late.
Talia's hand clenched around the sigil at her belt. For a moment, the urge to summon her light, to make him look her in the eyes, burned hot and wild. But she swallowed it down. Violence now would prove him right—that she was nothing but impulsive.
Instead, she stepped closer, so close he had to meet her gaze. Rain streamed down her face, washing blood into rivulets along her arm.
"If I'm reckless, Eldarion, it's because someone must be. While you waste your breath lecturing, the desert devours another town. Keep your titles. Keep your paladin's pride. But don't think for a moment you can chain me."
For once, Eldarion had no retort. His jaw worked, but no words came. The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the artificial rain on stone.
Finally, he turned away, signaling to the guards.
"We're done here. Get her back to the manor."
Talia's lip curled. She wanted to spit back, to scream—but she held her tongue. Let him think he'd won. The fire in her chest told her otherwise.
She wasn't done. Not by a long stretch.
The walk back to the manor blurred into flashes of lantern light and wet cobblestones. The guards flanked her like shadows, Eldarion striding ahead with the stiffness of a man who wanted to be seen in command. The automaton's runes pulsed steadily behind them, its heavy steps shaking droplets from the rooftops with every impact.
By the time they reached the manor's private atrium, Talia's limbs felt heavy, her shoulder throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She let the servants fuss over her wounds, their hands cool and efficient, though she bristled at the way Eldarion hovered, arms crossed, as though she were a child being scolded.
When the physicians had finished and withdrawn, he gave a sharp gesture. The Lazulli node in the center of the chamber flared to life, threads of light weaving into the familiar figures of her parents. Holographic though they were, their presence filled the room.
Her father's projection stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was grave, the echo of distance sharpening every word.
"Talia. We were told you were attacked. Explain yourself."
Her throat tightened. The old instinct to shrink under his gaze stirred, but the sting of the alley was still fresh, hot in her blood.
"I went to see for myself what you keep trying to hide from me. The desert doesn't wait, Father. Neither will I."
His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing.
"And this recklessness nearly cost you your life. Were it not for Eldarion—"
"Were it not for me," Talia cut in, her voice rising, adding the Diviner in thought "I would already be dead. I fought back. I bled for it. Don't you dare tell me that proves I should be locked away."
The silence that followed felt thick enough to choke. Eldarion shifted uncomfortably, as if caught between defending her and defending himself.
Then her mother's projection stirred. Faedhirsha's hand lifted, her gaze softer, though her eyes gleamed with the same quiet steel Talia had always known.
"She speaks true, husband. The girl bleeds, yes—but she bleeds and still stands. That is no small thing."
Her father's projection flickered faintly, the Lazulli node humming with the strain of distance. He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp as a blade being sheathed.
"If you insist on walking this path, then you will do so under guard. That is final."
"With me," Eldarion interjected, stepping forward as though his place were self-evident.
Talia's teeth clenched, words boiling up in her throat. But before she could speak, her mother's eyes found hers. The slightest shake of her head — not disapproval, but warning. Choose your battles.
Talia swallowed the retort, her nails digging crescents into her palms. She bowed stiffly, the gesture more defiance than respect.
"Very well. But understand this—I will not stop. Not until I find answers."
Her father inclined his head, regal as ever. Her mother's projection lingered a moment longer, the ghost of a smile curving her lips before the Lazulli light guttered out, leaving the atrium dim once more.
The silence that followed felt louder than any scolding.
The Lazulli light guttered out with a faint hiss, leaving only the dim glow of wall sconces and the muted patter of rain outside the atrium windows. The room felt cavernous without her parents' presence, as though the echoes of their voices still lingered in the air.
Talia exhaled slowly. Her chest still ached from the fight in the alleys, and every movement pulled at her wounded arm, but she forced herself to stand tall. She would not let Eldarion see her weakness.
Of course, he broke the silence first.
"You see now why I was right," he said, tone maddeningly patient, like a tutor addressing a wayward student. "Your father's concern is justified. You could have been killed. This isn't the life for you."
Talia's head snapped toward him. The simmering fire from the projection reignited in an instant.
"Not the life for me? And what life is that, Eldarion? Smiling at court dinners? Nodding politely while others decide the fate of our world?"
He frowned, clearly unsettled by her defiance but unwilling to concede ground.
"We are nobles. Our duty is to guide, to command, not to sully ourselves in the mud with commoners and cutthroats. You think this is strength?" He gestured toward her bandaged arm. "This is recklessness."
Her laugh came sharp, bitter.
"You mistake fear for wisdom. Strength is not commanding from safety—it's facing danger when no one else will."
For a moment, his eyes softened, but it passed as quickly as it came. He turned away, stripping his gloves with a practiced motion.
"Your idealism will get you killed. And when it does, do you know who will be blamed? Not you. Me. Your father entrusted you to my care. Remember that."
Talia clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was nothing but a leash her parents had strapped around her neck. Instead, she forced her voice low, steady.
"Then I suggest you keep up, Eldarion. Because I'm not slowing down."
His jaw worked, but he didn't answer. With a curt nod, he strode from the atrium, the guards trailing behind him. The automaton lingered a moment, its Lazulli core pulsing faintly, before it too withdrew, heavy steps fading into silence.
Alone at last, Talia sagged onto the nearest bench. The ache in her body caught up with her now that the fire of defiance had cooled. She pressed her palms to her eyes, forcing back the sting.
She thought of the alley—the knife glinting in the rain, the laughter, the blood running down her arm. She thought of her father's cold decree, her mother's fleeting smile, Eldarion's patronizing tone. And beneath it all, she thought of the desert, swallowing towns faster than anyone could explain.
Her body trembled, though whether from exhaustion or rage, she couldn't tell. But one truth cut through the haze:
She couldn't stop. Not now. Not when the sands kept moving.
Talia lifted her head, the fire still alive in her chest. Whatever it took, she would find the answers.
But as the silence pressed in, her thoughts wandered back to the fight in the alley. To her.
The Diviner.
The woman who had moved like a storm given form—lightning at her fingertips, the earth itself bending to her will. Elemental magic. Raw, untamed, breathtaking.
She had read about elementalists before, of how rare they were. She had always wanted to see one in action but never dreamt it would ever happen.
Talia flexed her hand, still trembling faintly from the memory. She was a paladin, forged in discipline and oath, her power drawn from years of training, ritual, and the steady guidance of Kaelor. But standing in that alley, drenched and bleeding, she had felt something else—an echo of the Diviner's power stirring deep within her, as if some long-silent part of her had awakened.
Why her? Why now?
She remembered the Diviner's eyes: steady, unyielding, yet carrying the same fire that burned in Talia's own chest. Not pitying, not lecturing—just fierce, protective, alive. The fight she held against a mob.
The memory unspooled in fragments—the gleam of Lazulli lanterns in the rain, the hiss of steel, the flash of elemental force cutting through the dark. She remembered how the Diviner's hand had moved in an arc, catching a chain strike mid-swing without even looking at it. Another blade had come from behind, and the woman had turned just enough, as though she'd felt the attack before it came.
At the time, Talia had been too dazed to notice. Too distracted by Eldarion. Now, in the silence of the atrium, the realization struck her like a hammer blow.
She wasn't looking at them at all. She couldn't have been.
The Diviner was blind.
And yet… she fought as though her sight was sharper than anyone else's. Each movement was deliberate, every strike precise. The air itself seemed to whisper to her, guiding her hands.
Talia clenched her fist. She was a paladin—trained, tempered, sworn to discipline and the steady will of Kaelor. Her strength came from years of drilling form into instinct, of hammering hesitation into obedience. And yet this blind woman had outshone her in the span of a single, rain-soaked fight.
Her jaw tightened. A part of her admired it—envied it even. But another part rebelled.
"I won't be overshadowed," she murmured into the still air.
She touched the bruise on her shoulder, her lips curling into something between a grimace and a smile.
"You saved me, Diviner. But next time… I'll prove I can stand as your equal. Maybe even more."
Thunder rolled across Tan'thalon, low and defiant, as if echoing her vow. The rain rattled against the atrium windows in sharp bursts, like the clash of steel on steel.
The desert was moving. The world was shifting. And somewhere in its heart, the blind Diviner was waiting.