The streets of Sayo shimmered under the late-morning sun, the aftermath of the championship still vibrating through the city. Kael walked confidently, lightning crackling faintly beneath his skin, wings tucked neatly behind his back, when Ylva paused abruptly. Her silver eyes widened, frost crawling along her fingertips. "Kael… I feel something—someone awakening." Loki flared in annoyance, sparks flickering along his body. "Impossible. The suppression field is still active. Whoever awakens now must be exceptional." A faint humming echoed through the alleys, growing louder as a crimson-scaled, winged figure materialized from the shadows. Her eyes glimmered like molten silver, wings folding and unfolding with predatory grace.
"I choose you," she whispered, landing lightly before Ylva. "You will be my master." Fjorn hissed, circling Ylva instinctively, flames flickering. Loki sparkled indignantly. "This is absurd. No Awakened can simply choose a master like this. Preposterous." The new Dajin—sleek, agile, with faint blood-red markings—looked between the familiars. "Systems don't lie. Stats don't lie. Power will obey the worthy." Ylva's jaw set. "Then prove it."
Immediately, the two familiars began flexing. Loki flickered sparks and lightning, showcasing Kael's battle data projected in holographic runes. "Observe: Strength 142, Agility 132, Intelligence 135, Charm 141, Luck 127. Skills include Lightning Surge, Partial Form Shift, Short Levitation, Storm Sense, and Dajin Absorption. Precision unmatched." Fjorn hissed, frost sparkling. "Minor as it seems, my master is cunning and tactical. Precision: 88, Stealth: 92, Ice Constructs: 95. Even at ten percent power, efficiency is higher in tight combat." Loki bristled. "Insulting." Fjorn's new Dajin coiled around Ylva's shoulder, wings flaring. "We shall see whose master is superior. Systems will decide."
Kael crossed his arms, smirking. "Fine. Dajin-style. You two show me your tricks." Loki blinked. "Master…" Kael waved a hand. "Don't overthink. Just fight. You obey me, I command the strategy." Fjorn's Dajin hissed and crouched, frost crawling across the ground. Loki flickered sparks, electricity arcing along his wings. The two Dajin faced each other, aura clashing, stats and skills projected midair like holographic cards—speed, strength, elemental mastery, adaptability.
The arena formed instantly in Kael's mind, a perfect square of empty space. "Battle start!" he barked. Loki surged forward, lightning slashing like spears, arcs of electricity lighting the air. Fjorn's new Dajin countered with frost barriers, sharp shards, and a flash of agility that belied her size. Sparks met ice, frost evaporated under lightning, and the familiar battle became a whirlwind of elemental chaos. Kael's hands moved constantly, issuing commands, shifting Loki's strikes, directing Fjorn's maneuvers, testing speed, efficiency, and skill.
"Strike left! Evade! Overload the central node!" Kael barked, watching holographic stats update in real time. Each movement from Loki and Fjorn produced data—accuracy, damage potential, reaction time—stacking into a growing picture of their respective power systems. Fjorn twisted, evading a lightning thrust, countering with an ice spike that Loki barely blocked. Sparks flew, frost hissed, and the air itself trembled.
After several intense cycles, the Dajin froze, both exhausted but intact. Kael laughed, brushing a hand across his face. "Enough. That's enough flexing. I approve. You're both strong… but you obey me." Ylva smirked, frost fading from her hair. "He's ruthless." Kael shrugged. "I don't need your approval. I just need results." Loki and Fjorn glared at each other, smoldering sparks and frost licking toward one another, but neither dared break Kael's command.
The crowd of street spectators, magically pulled into the invisible arena, gasped. "Did… did he just orchestrate a familiar battle?" murmured a merchant. Kael ignored them, turning toward the massive forge at the edge of the square. "Now, the weapon." The blacksmith was waiting, molten metal glowing in the sun, tools arranged like ritual implements. Kael approached, every step measured, wings flickering faintly as if sensing the energy in the forge. "I need a sword," he said simply. "Lightning-infused. Amplifies my power. Channels it. Beam strikes from the edge of the blade to anywhere I wish." The blacksmith's hammer rumbled against the metal like a heartbeat. Sparks flew, molten steel glimmering, lightning crackling faintly as it fused into the weapon.
Loki hovered nearby, projecting stats and energy flow, while Fjorn's Dajin leaned forward, frost misting the air. "This weapon will define your dominance, Master," Loki said proudly. Fjorn hissed, circling Ylva. "Our master deserves a weapon worthy of precision. Don't ruin it." Kael smirked. "Relax. You'll both get to test it soon enough."
As molten steel cooled into a sword that pulsed faintly with Kael's own storm aura, a subtle tremor ran through the city. Someone—or something—watched from the rooftops, aura flickering crimson. Kael picked up the weapon, feeling it hum in resonance with his blood, lightning surging along the edge. He flexed his hand, small arcs dancing across the blade. "Perfect," he muttered. Behind him, the familiars preened, still flexing silently, and Kael knew that Sayo had just witnessed the calm before the next storm.