Chapter 7
Zeroth Step
The arena had gone quiet.
Not the silence of fear—but the kind that came when everyone realized they were watching something that should not exist anymore.
Klous pushed himself upright, breath ragged now, legs trembling beneath him. His body burned, every nerve screaming, but his eyes were clear.
Across from him, Drogan Rockmaw stood unmoved.
Lightning crawled along his hammer, slower now, heavier—like it was waiting.
"You're still standing," Drogan said, voice calm.
"Didn't expect that."
Klous straightened fully.
"Neither did I," he replied. "Guess we both learned something."
High above the arena, Master Shin's gaze sharpened.
"…Don't," he muttered. "You haven't mastered it Klous."
Klous closed his eyes.
Then he vanished.
Not fast.
Not sudden.
He simply wasn't there anymore.
The air folded inward.
Spectators felt pressure slam into their chests, as if time itself had stumbled.
Master Shin spoke, his voice low and heavy.
"Ancient Speed," he said.
"A forbidden path abandoned after the Era of the Stormbringer."
Klous reappeared—
—or rather, reality failed to decide where he was.
Afterimages layered over one another, not trailing behind him, but forming ahead, as if the world was reacting late.
"Stormbringer Afterimage," Shin continued.
"Zeroth Step."
Klous struck.
The blade moved without sequence—slashes overlapping, space tearing under precision. The impact landed from every direction at once.
Stone detonated.
Lightning erupted.
The arena collapsed inward, swallowed by force.
For a heartbeat, Drogan Rockmaw disappeared.
The crowd exploded into noise.
Stormhold froze.
Klous stumbled back, blood running from his nose now, breath breaking apart. His legs barely held him upright.
Silence followed.
Then—
A slow breath.
Stone shifted.
Drogan rose from the crater.
His armor was fractured. Smoke drifted from his shoulders. Lightning flickered unevenly—but his stance was firm.
He rolled his neck once.
"…That was real," Drogan said.
"Been a long time since someone made me feel it."
Klous stared.
Master Shin closed his eyes.
Klous tried to move.
His body refused.
Drogan lifted his hammer.
The runes burned deep blue—then white. Lightning didn't spread this time. It compressed, folding inward until the weapon vibrated with contained force.
Stonefist warriors leaned forward.
Drogan planted his foot into the cracked arena.
"You are one of the toughest i have fought ," he said quietly.
The hammer descended—not swung, not rushed.
"Fenrir:"
"Thunderfall."
The strike collapsed inward.
Lightning imploded beneath Klous, crushing him into the stone before sound could catch up. The shockwave rolled across Eclipse Ground, tearing dust and shattered rock into the air.
When it cleared—
Klous lay still.
Unconscious.
Defeated.
The Eclipse rune flared.
"Victory—Drogan Rockmaw of Stonefist."
Stonefist roared.
Stormhold remained silent.
Above, Lyra's expression didn't change—but her fists tightened once.
Master Shin exhaled slowly.
"He reached Zeroth Step," he said.
"…and still fell."
At the edge of the arena, a man in a long black coat watched.
A chipped sword rested in his right hand.
The Eclipse Mark did not answer.
But something beneath the ground stirred—
as if the world had just been reminded what true speed looked like.
The dust settled slowly.
Drogan Rockmaw turned away from the crater without celebration. He rested the hammer against his shoulder and walked toward the Stonefist side of the arena, boots heavy against fractured stone.
At the edge of the stands, Morrek waited.
Drogan stopped before him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Drogan dipped his head once.
Morrek returned the gesture, placing a hand briefly against his chest—pride, respect, and restraint all bound in the same motion.
"Well fought," Morrek said quietly.
Drogan exhaled. "He deserved this atleast."
Morrek's eyes followed the medics already moving toward the fallen Stormhold fighter.
"Strength arrives when it arrives," he said. "You honored it."
Drogan nodded once more, then stepped away.
Across the arena, Stormhold moved fast.
Klous was lifted carefully onto a stretcher, his breathing shallow but steady. His hands twitched once as they carried him toward the white-marked tent beyond the stands.
Inside the medical tent, the noise of Eclipse Ground faded.
Lyra stood at Klous's side.
Her expression was unchanged—cold, controlled—but her hands were clenched so tightly her gloves creaked. He was pale, sweat-soaked, eyes barely open.
"You idiot," she said quietly.
Klous managed a faint smile.
"…Worth it?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately.
She placed a hand over his, firm and grounding.
"You reached something that hasn't existed for generations," she said. "You did not fail."
His breathing eased slightly.
Lyra leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"Rest," she said. "I'll handle the rest."
Klous's eyes flickered.
"You… better."
Lyra straightened.
"I will," she said.
Outside, the Eclipse rune dimmed, already preparing for the next name.
But Stormhold had been seen.
And Lyra had not forgotten.