Vale sat on the cold stone floor, his back pressed against one of the arena's massive pillars. His breath came in ragged pulls as he tilted a battered canteen to his lips, drinking greedily. Cold, clean water flooded his throat, and he didn't stop for several long seconds, as if afraid the relief might vanish the moment he did.
From the center of the arena, the Shade watched him.
The towering figure stood motionless, its greatsword resting beside it, arms crossed over a broad chest. Its presence was oppressive even at a distance. Crimson eyes burned faintly beneath a thick, cloudlike veil of shadow that completely obscured its face, making its expression impossible to read, though there was something about the way it stared that felt almost surreal, almost contemplative.
Vale finally lowered the canteen with a faint sigh. Water dripped from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and exhaled.
His face was no longer the same as it had been days ago. Bruises darkened his cheek and jaw, his lip was split, and faint discolorations marked the places where the Shade's blows had landed again and again. Calling the last few days "training" felt generous, it had been a beating, plain and simple.
Vale glanced back toward the Shade, meeting those crimson eyes. After a moment, he drew one knee closer to his chest and tilted his head slightly, studying the massive figure with tired curiosity. Then, almost casually, he lifted the canteen again and extended it toward the Shade.
"You want some water?" he asked, eyes widening just a little.
The Shade didn't respond right away. It looked at the offered canteen, then back at Vale. After a pause, it raised one hand and gave a small, deliberate motion, polite, unmistakable refusal.
Vale chuckled under his breath. "Suit yourself," he said, lifting the canteen back to his lips for another drink.
Scattered beside him were the signs of the past three days. Several books lay stacked against the pillar, volumes he had devoured in small moments between fights. Nearby sat five plates, once piled high with food, now scraped clean save for faint stains and crumbs. Against the stone rested his spear, its shaft nicked and worn, while his blade remained secured at his waist, untouched for most of this ordeal.
Vale lowered the canteen again and wiped his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly, letting his head rest against the pillar as his breathing slowly steadied.
One final match.
That was the plan. Before he left, before whatever came next, he would face the Shade one last time. The moment was close, but not yet. There were still thoughts gnawing at him, questions he hadn't been able to shake since the first day.
Zellion had told him to search for the Black Lion.
Yet the creators themselves had banished the Black Lion and his allies. And Zellion, Zellion was one of the creators, or at least something born of them. Their servant. Their will made flesh.
So why?
Why would a minion of a creator urge Vale to free those who had been sealed away by that same authority?
The question had festered in his mind for three days straight. There were no clear answers in the texts he'd read. No detailed records, only vague mentions of rebellion, of defiance, of exile. Nothing that explained why the Black Lion and his allies had risen against their makers… or why Zellion seemed to believe they deserved freedom.
If Zellion trusted them enough to guide Vale toward them, then surely they hadn't always been enemies. At least not to him.
Vale opened his eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling of the arena. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Figures," he murmured.
He pushed himself to his feet, one hand brushing over the chest of his armor. Even that had changed during his stay. As a gift, the high priestess of the temple had modified it, five slim dagger pouches now lined his chest, each holding a narrow, agile blade. The daggers were long and thin, their grips just barely wide enough to fit his hand comfortably.
Vale reached up and drew one free.
He held it between three fingers, weighing it for a moment, then tossed it into the air. The blade spun once before he caught it cleanly, by the blade itself. He studied it with a hunter's eye, calm and focused, before turning toward the Shade.
The Shade had uncrossed its arms. One massive hand now rested on the hilt of its greatsword, fingers tightening slightly, ready to draw at a moment's notice.
Vale smiled faintly.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he threw the dagger.
It cut through the air like a whisper, flying straight toward the Shade's head. At the last instant, the Shade lifted its hand. The dagger pierced straight through its palm without resistance, then stopped. Embedded, but harmless.
Sharp as they were, the daggers lacked the sheer force needed to go any farther.
Vale scoffed quietly and reached down, gripping his spear with one hand.
The Shade looked at the dagger lodged in its hand, then plucked it free. It examined the small blade with mild curiosity before letting out a dismissive scoff, as though surprised Vale had expected anything else. Its gaze flicked back to Vale, who was already moving closer.
With a lazy motion, the Shade tossed the dagger back.
Vale caught it midair and, without breaking stride, slid it neatly back into its pouch. He adjusted his grip on the spear and lifted his gaze to meet the Shade's once more.
"All right," he said, rolling his shoulders as he came to a stop. "One final match?"
The Shade looked at Vale with a strange expression, one that needed no words. Its crimson eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement as it reached down and closed its hand around the hilt of its greatsword.
With a single, effortless motion, it ripped the blade free from the cold stone floor.
Rock fractured and split apart beneath the force. Cracks spider-webbed outward as fragments of stone were torn loose and dragged along the blade's ascent, scattering across the arena with a dull, grinding echo. The Shade didn't even glance at the damage it caused. It simply lifted the massive weapon and turned its gaze back to Vale.
This time, it moved differently.
The creature of living shadow shifted into a battle stance, deliberate, grounded, unmistakably lethal. The gesture was clear enough that Vale felt it in his bones.
'So that's it,' he thought. 'Now you're serious.'
Vale mirrored the respect. His expression sharpened, the fatigue in his body pushed aside by a rising, familiar thrill. He placed both hands firmly on his spear, lowering its shaft and angling the tip directly toward the Shade's center mass. His stance widened, knees bent, body close to the ground, every muscle coiled with intent.
His smile was slow, fierce.
"Finally taking me seriously, huh?" Vale said, eyes narrowing as his grip tightened. "Then this'll be one hell of a final match."
For a brief moment, nothing moved.
Vale breathed slowly, shallowly, measuring the rhythm of the Shade's presence. His gaze never left it, not for a heartbeat. He waited. He refused to be the first to move.
He'd learned that lesson the hard way.
Long ago, Evelyn had told him the truth of his fighting style: his attacks were honest to a fault. Efficient. Lethal. Designed to kill, but predictable. And the only way he'd ever found to break that pattern, to become something his opponent couldn't read, was to let them act first.
Against a normal enemy, it was risky.
Against the Shade, an opponent vastly stronger, faster, and more durable, it was borderline suicidal.
Still, Vale stood firm.
He adjusted his footing by a fraction, the stone scraping softly beneath his boots.
Then,
The ground trembled.
Vale's eyes snapped wide as the vibration surged up through his legs. He didn't need to look to know what was happening, but he did anyway, and there it was.
The Shade was charging straight at him.
Its movement was terrifyingly direct, each step cracking the stone beneath its weight. Its arms shifted mid-stride, the greatsword rising overhead in a smooth, practiced arc. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion, just raw intent.
Vale inhaled slowly, refusing to panic.
The blade came down.
At the last possible instant, Vale twisted.
His body spun sharply to the side, and he drove his spear upward, not to block, but to deflect. The shaft struck the flat of the greatsword with a ringing crack, knocking it just far enough off course that the edge screamed past him instead of cleaving him in two.
The moment stretched.
Vale didn't waste it.
Using the momentum of his spin, he turned his hips and lashed out with his leg, driving his heel into the Shade's lower abdomen with everything he had. The impact landed solidly, sending a shock through his bones, but it worked.
The Shade was forced back, its massive frame buckling slightly as it skidded across the stone. It caught itself by slamming the greatsword into the floor, the blade biting deep as it looked down briefly, recalibrating.
Vale straightened, breath sharp but steady.
A grin spread across his face.
"Come on now," he said, bringing his spear back into position, its tip steady and unwavering. "We're not done yet… are we?"
The Shade lifted its head.
No sound came from it, but Vale could feel the laughter, the way its shoulders shifted, the way its eyes burned brighter. Pure, almost manic amusement radiated from the shadow, as if something long-dormant had finally been stirred.
It stood tall once more, rolling its shoulders, greatsword rising again into a ready stance.
For the first time, Vale understood completely.
This wasn't just training anymore.
This was the fight the Shade had been waiting for.