The lower markets had never seen anything like it.
Word spread faster than Kade's punches. By the time Blaine and Kade reached the old training chamber—a reinforced stone arena used by hunters for high-stakes practice—the gallery was already filling. Hunters who had been on patrol drifted in. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Even Voss appeared at the entrance, his sharp smile replaced by something approaching genuine curiosity.
"You're attracting a crowd," Blaine said.
"That's the point." Kade rolled his shoulders, loosening up with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. "They've been feeling your aura for days. They felt the silence retreat. They know you did something—they just don't know what. Let them see. It's good for morale."
"This isn't about morale."
"No. It's about me trying to land a hit on you before you leave again." Kade grinned. "Same rules as the platform. No killing. First to yield or get pinned loses. And don't hold back—I want to know what eight hundred feels like."
Blaine drew the Severing Edge. The silver thread along the blade pulsed once, then dimmed. He set it aside, against the wall. "No blade. You're not using one."
"Fair." Kade cracked his knuckles and stepped into the center of the arena. "Ready?"
Blaine moved.
The gap was immediately obvious. Kade was fast—faster than he'd been during their rematch on the platform, faster than he'd been during the farewell party sparring stories. He'd been training. Pushing himself. His Strength had climbed since Blaine left.
But Blaine was 800.
He sidestepped Kade's opening strike without conscious thought. The enhanced reflexes from the Abyssal Convergence made the world feel slower than it was. Kade's follow-up combination—a left hook, a right cross, a low kick—was technically perfect. Blaine let each strike come within a hair's breadth of landing, then shifted at the last instant. Not dodging. Demonstrating.
"Stop showing off," Kade growled.
"Then hit me."
Kade pressed harder. His combinations became faster, more aggressive, less predictable. He was fighting like Blaine had taught him—tactically, adapting mid-exchange. For a full minute, he drove Blaine across the arena floor, forcing him to block, to parry, to give ground. The gallery murmured.
Then Blaine stepped inside Kade's guard. One step. His palm pressed against Kade's solar plexus—not striking, just resting there. A full stop.
Kade froze. His fist was half-cocked for a strike that would never land. The murmur in the gallery went silent.
"I could have hit you fourteen times," Blaine said quietly. "Since the start of the exchange. Your left guard drops after combinations. Your recovery from the low kick is too slow. You telegraph the right cross with your shoulder."
Kade lowered his fist. "Fourteen?"
"Maybe twelve. I was counting."
Kade stared at him. Then he laughed. Loud. Unrestrained. The same laugh from their first rematch, when Blaine had beaten him with tactics instead of power. "You're an ass, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"I missed this." Kade stepped back, rubbing his chest. "You're stronger. A lot stronger. But you're still you. I was worried—after the White Expanse, after the silence, after all of it—I was worried you'd come back different. Colder. Like Sol used to be."
"The silence tried to make me that. I didn't let it."
"I know." Kade's grin returned. "Alright. Your turn. Show them what eight hundred can really do. Don't hold back this time."
Blaine looked at the gallery. The hunters were leaning forward. Voss had his arms crossed, his sharp smile finally back in place. Even Kellan had appeared, crystal tablet in hand, ready to record data.
He turned back to Kade. "You're sure?"
"Hit me. Hard as you can. I want to feel it."
Blaine exhaled. The black-gold shimmer along his skin flared. The threads on his wrist pulsed. He didn't move at full speed—that would have broken something, probably Kade. Instead, he stepped forward and threw a single punch. Controlled. Precise. Maybe a third of his full strength.
His fist stopped an inch from Kade's chest. The air itself cracked. A shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact, shattering a loose glowstone on the far wall and ruffling the clothes of every hunter in the gallery. Dust rained from the ceiling. The stone floor beneath Kade's feet had splintered in a perfect circle.
Kade hadn't moved. He stared at the fist hovering an inch from his sternum. Then at the cracked floor. Then at Blaine.
"That was a third."
Kade swallowed. "A third."
"Maybe less."
"Good. Great." Kade stepped carefully out of the blast radius. "I'm going to sit down now. For a while. Maybe forever."
The gallery erupted. Not in fear—in something closer to awe. The hunters who had feared the convergent entity, who had felt the silence's pressure, who had braced for annihilation—they were cheering. Not for a display of power. For proof. Proof that their side had someone who could do that.
Blaine retrieved the Severing Edge. The silver thread pulsed once—acknowledgment, or amusement. He sheathed it across his back.
Kellan was already scribbling on his tablet. "The shockwave propagation alone—the energy density—I need to recalibrate my instruments—"
"Later," Blaine said.
"Later. Yes. Later." Kellan didn't stop writing.
Kade was leaning against the arena wall, still catching his breath. "You know, when I first met you, you were Strength six. Six. I was nine. I thought I was doing you a favor."
"You were."
"I know. That's the worst part." Kade shook his head. "You could have killed me back then. You could have killed me this morning. But you didn't. You never do. That's why they trust you. Not because you're strong. Because you don't use it on them."
Blaine looked at the gallery. The hunters were dispersing, but some were still watching. Not with fear. With something that looked like hope.
"I'm leaving again," he said. "Tomorrow. Before dawn. There are still Originators to find. Still layers to climb."
Kade nodded. "I figured. You wouldn't be you if you stayed."
"But I'll come back."
"I know." Kade pushed off the wall. "And when you do, I'll be stronger. Maybe seven hundred by then. Maybe eight."
"Maybe nine."
"Don't push it." Kade clasped his forearm. Soldier's grip. Mercenary's respect. "Go climb. Do what you need to do. We'll hold things down here."
Blaine looked across the arena—at the cracked stone floor, the shattered glowstone, the fading shimmer of black-gold still clinging to the air. The threads on his wrist pulsed warm.
One more night. Then the climb resumes.
He walked out of the arena. The city was waiting.