The medical ward of the high court was a place of white linen and the smell of ozone.
Jace Vane lay on a cot, his face covered in bandages. He was breathing, but every breath was a struggle. His Aur channels were in shock, his "perfect" physique shattered by a boy who didn't even have a family name.
Kael Vane stood over him. The patriarch didn't look like a father. He looked like a man who had just seen his bank account emptied.
"He broke the Fang," Kael whispered. His voice was trembling. "With his bare hand. That... that shouldn't be possible. A commoner shouldn't have the density to resist a forged artifact."
"He isn't a commoner, Kael."
The voice came from the doorway. Selene the patriach of the Nyx clan stood there, her shadows lengthening across the floor. "I've been watching the recordings. The way he moved. The way he absorbed the recoil of the impact. That's not a common technique."
"What are you saying?" Kael hissed, turning to face her.
"I'm saying you were looking for a rat and found a wolf, or probably a dragon" Selene said. She stepped into the light. "The Council is already asking questions. They saw the eyes, Kael. The violet flecks from his eyes. They remember the stories."
Kael's face went pale. "The Morn? Impossible. We killed them all. Every infant. Every elder. The Ghost lily shouldn't leave survivors."
"The Ghost lily is a poison of the blood," a new voice interrupted.
One of the Arbiters walked into the room, her obsidian staff tapping against the floor. She didn't look at either of them. "But the spirit... the spirit is harder to kill. The boy is a variable. He has tilted the scales, and now the world must find its balance again."
She turned her blind face toward the window.
"The tournament will continue," the Arbiter said. "The Sola successor will face Participant 402 in the finals. If the boy is what we think he is, he will reveal himself under the heat of the sun. And then... we will seal the wound once and for all."
Ren was back at the inn.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand wrapped in a bloody bandage. The pain was rhythmic, a throbbing reminder of the price he had paid. The Ironheart was working, the cells in his palm knitting back together, but it was slow.
Thorne was sitting at the table, a bottle of cheap wine in front of him.
"You're a fool," Thorne said. But for the first time, there was a trace of pride in his voice. "Breaking an artifact with your hand. You almost lost the fingers."
"I needed them to see it," Ren said.
"See what?"
"The fear," Ren said. He looked at the blood soaking through the bandage. "When the blade snapped, Jace didn't look at me like an enemy. He looked at me like a ghost. He knew, Uncle. Somewhere deep in his blood, he remembered what it felt like to be afraid of a Morn."
Ren leaned back against the wall. He was exhausted. The fight had lasted less than two minutes, but the mental cost of maintaining the blueprint of what he envisions had been immense.
"Sol is next," Thorne said.
"I know."
"He won't use a sword. He won't use Void step. He'll use the light. He'll try to burn you before you can even see him."
Ren closed his eyes. He saw the sun rising over the capital.
"Let him burn," Ren whispered. "The darker the shadow, the brighter the light needs to be to find it. I've been in the dark for ten years. I'm used to the heat."