The arena at Thornhaven was a System-enhanced colosseum that made Millhaven's practice grounds look like a child's sandbox. Massive stone walls rose a hundred feet high, topped with viewing galleries that could hold thousands of spectators. The fighting floor was enchanted bedrock that could withstand even S-rank combat, marked with glowing boundary lines that shifted based on match type.
Kieran and Mira sat in the upper galleries—tickets purchased at shocking expense because Celeste had insisted they attend. From this height, the competitors looked like toy soldiers, but the massive illusion screens floating above the arena displayed everything in perfect detail.
"I can't believe we're actually here," Mira breathed, taking in the spectacle. Nobles in fine silks, merchants in expensive furs, adventurers in enchanted gear—all packed together to watch the best fighters in the region beat each other senseless.
Kieran couldn't speak. His anxiety had reached new heights, manifesting as a nauseating knot in his stomach. Somewhere down there, Celeste was preparing to fight with his sword, and if she lost—if she was injured, if Dawnbreaker failed her, if his work proved inadequate—
"Stop spiraling," Mira whispered, squeezing his hand. "Your sword is perfect. She's going to be amazing."
The tournament master's voice boomed across the arena, magically amplified: "WELCOME TO THE GRAND MELEE! Sixty-four competitors! Three days of combat! Only one will claim victory!"
The crowd roared. Kieran felt like he might vomit.
The first rounds were swift and brutal—C-rank fighters eliminating each other with efficient violence. Kieran barely watched, his eyes scanning the competitor staging area for any sign of Celeste.
Then her name appeared on the illusion screens: Celeste Varnham vs. Roland Steelhart - Ring Three
"That's her," Mira said unnecessarily, pointing to where Celeste entered the arena.
She wore lightweight armor in her house colors, her hair bound in an intricate braid that kept it secure while allowing freedom of movement. And at her hip, gleaming in the afternoon sun, hung Dawnbreaker.
Her opponent was a mountain of a man—B-rank Warrior, built like a brick fortress, wielding a greatsword that probably weighed more than Celeste did.
"Oh no," Kieran whispered. "He's going to crush her."
"Watch," Mira said with surprising confidence.
The match began.
Roland attacked immediately, his greatsword sweeping in a massive horizontal arc designed to end fights quickly. Celeste didn't retreat. Instead, she stepped forward, inside his reach, moving with speed that seemed impossible.
Dawnbreaker flashed—a silverpunctuation of light—and Roland's greatsword skittered off course, deflected by the smallest possible contact. Celeste flowed past him like water, her sword leaving a glowing trail as she scored a clean hit across his back armor.
"First blood to Varnham!" the announcer called.
Roland spun with surprising speed for his size, but Celeste was already gone, dancing to his blind side. Her movements were faster than Kieran remembered from the practice grounds—the enhanced agility was working, making her already impressive speed even more devastating.
Another exchange. Roland's greatsword carved through the space where Celeste had been a heartbeat earlier. She wove through his guard like smoke, Dawnbreaker striking in precise, surgical cuts that found every gap in his armor.
The crowd was starting to notice. Murmurs rippled through the galleries.
"Who is that?"
"House Varnham? Never heard of them."
"Look at her move! She's making Roland look slow!"
Roland changed tactics, activating his Warrior skills. His body glowed with red combat aura, strength and durability multiplied. His next swing came fast enough to blur, aimed to bisect Celeste at the waist.
She raised Dawnbreaker to block—a move that should have been suicidal, her light blade against his massive weapon backed by enhanced strength.
The swords met with a sound like a bell tower collapsing.
And Roland's greatsword stopped. Just stopped, held in place by Dawnbreaker's impossible edge and structural integrity. The shockwave from the impact rippled across the arena floor.
Celeste smiled.
She channeled her radiant abilities through the blade, and Dawnbreaker erupted with golden fire. The amplification was visible even from the upper galleries—power that should have been moderate became blinding, forcing Roland to release his weapon and stumble backward, his vision dazzled.
Celeste didn't hesitate. She was inside his guard before he recovered, Dawnbreaker's point pressed against the gap in his armor at his throat.
"Yield," she said, loud enough for the magical amplification to carry. "Or I end this."
Roland, wisely, yielded.
The crowd exploded with noise. Kieran realized he was standing, his heart hammering, his hands clenched into fists.
"She won," he breathed. "She actually won."
"That was round one," Mira reminded him, laughing. "She's got a lot more fights ahead of her."
But Kieran barely heard. He was watching Celeste bow to her defeated opponent, watching the way Dawnbreaker caught the light as she sheathed it, watching the utter confidence in her bearing.
That's my sword, he thought with fierce pride. That's my work helping her win.
The tournament continued through the afternoon and into evening. Celeste faced five more opponents on day one, each more skilled than the last.
Against a B-rank Duelist who specialized in speed, Celeste proved faster, Dawnbreaker's enhanced agility giving her the edge needed to land the decisive strike.
Against an A-rank Spellblade who combined magic with swordwork, Celeste's radiant abilities—amplified forty percent by her weapon—overwhelmed his defenses in a spectacular clash that left scorch marks on the arena floor.
Against a B-rank Assassin who fought dirty with poisons and tricks, Dawnbreaker's perfect balance allowed Celeste to react impossibly fast, turning what should have been lethal strikes into glancing blows before countering with devastating precision.
Each victory was more impressive than the last. Each fight showcased a different aspect of what Kieran had built into the sword—the speed, the radiant amplification, the perfect edge that could parry weapons three times its size.
By the end of day one, Celeste had advanced to the round of sixteen. House Varnham's name was on everyone's lips. The betting houses were frantically adjusting their odds.
And in the upper galleries, Kieran watched every moment with a mixture of terror and exhilaration, watching his masterpiece help someone achieve their dreams.
"She's going to win," Mira whispered as they left the arena that night. "She's actually going to win the whole thing."
Kieran thought about the System-binding promise they'd made. About the secret he'd have to reveal if Celeste took first place. About everything that would change.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think she is."
And despite the fear, despite the anxiety about exposure, despite everything that winning would cost him—
He couldn't wait to see it happen.
Day two of the Grand Melee dawned with storm clouds gathering over Thornhaven—both literal and metaphorical.
Kieran woke in their cheap inn room to the sound of rain hammering against the windows and Mira already dressed, reading a newspaper with an expression that made his stomach drop.
"You need to see this," she said without preamble, tossing him the paper.
The headline was bold enough to hurt:
MYSTERY WARRIOR FROM HOUSE VARNHAM DOMINATES GRAND MELEE
Six victories on opening day—Experts baffled by unknown noble's unprecedented performance
Below it, a detailed sketch of Celeste mid-strike, Dawnbreaker captured in a blur of motion that the artist had rendered as golden light. The article dissected her fighting style, speculated about her training, and devoted an entire paragraph to her "previously unknown enchanted blade of remarkable quality."
"They noticed the sword," Kieran said unnecessarily, his hands trembling slightly as he read.
"Everyone noticed the sword," Mira corrected. "There's already betting pools on what kind of artifact it is. The odds-makers are saying it's at least A-rank, possibly higher. Some people are claiming it must be a lost heirloom from the old royal vaults."
Kieran's chest tightened. "This is bad. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid."
"It's also inevitable." Mira sat on the edge of his bed, her expression serious. "Kieran, she's fighting with an A-rank artifact in front of thousands of people. Of course they're going to notice. Of course they're going to ask questions."
"But the confidentiality clause—"
"Protects your identity, not the sword's existence. Nobody knows you made it. Celeste is sticking to the family heirloom story. You're safe." She paused. "For now."
The unspoken concern hung between them: what happened if Celeste actually won? What happened when she was pressed for details in victory interviews? How long could she maintain the deception under intense scrutiny?
"We should probably still attend today," Mira said carefully. "Celeste got us tickets for all three days. It would be weird if we didn't show up."
Kieran wanted to argue, wanted to suggest they flee back to Millhaven immediately, hide in his forge and pretend none of this was happening. But that would be cowardice. And more than that, it would mean missing watching Celeste fight—watching his work in action.
"Give me ten minutes to get ready," he sighed.