The medical ward had cleared by morning. Cale was sitting up when Val arrived, his arm in a sling. His face was still pale, but a sharp glow flared in his eyes. Ethan was already on his feet, arguing with a healer about the tape on his ribs. Typical Ethan, always arguing with nurses, Valerie thought as she approached them. Riker sat in the corner, his shoulders heavily bandaged, his gray eyes fixed on the window. Rel was gone—probably discharged hours ago, or simply vanished as he always did.
Val dropped onto the cot beside Cale, her side still aching where the wind-spear had cut her.
"You look like hell."
"I feel like it, too," Cale said with a soft smile. "Don't worry, I'll be at the arena tonight. I'm fighting."
"No one's asking you to."
"That's for me to decide."
She didn't argue. She knew he was right; the tournament would not wait for wounds to heal, and the stubborn bastard wouldn't wait even if it did.
The morning matches were brutal.
Val watched from the stands, her fists clenched as blood spilled and bodies flew in all directions. Two teams fought before them—an Aethel team against another Aethel team. Two noble powerhouses with inherited Memories clashed in explosions of light and stone. The winners advanced, while the losers limped off—some carried, some walking, but all with shame borne across their faces.
After the brutal display, the winners emerged and the brackets updated.
Team {Caelan, Valerie, Riker, Ethan, Rel…} vs. Team {Cumen Varro, Ravi…}
Ethan read the name aloud, his voice flat. "House Varro. These guys are ranked fourth among the nobles. The fighters on Cumen's team are all close-range specialists. They don't use bows or ranged magic. They just… come at you."
Riker nodded slowly. "They're way stronger than Kade's team. Faster, and obviously more coordinated."
Val looked at Cale. He was silent for a while, his face unreadable, but she saw his hands clench into tight, white-knuckled fists against his thighs.
"We'll handle it," he said, brimming with deadly confidence.
She wanted to believe him. But could she?
They walked to the ring as the crowd booed. In the adrenaline-fueled rush to the platform, nobody seemed to notice—or perhaps they were all too focused to say anything—that Rel wasn't standing among them. Between the roar of the crowd and the sheer pressure of the coming fight, the missing fifth member was a detail lost to the chaos.
Cumen's team—a trio in black, durable battle suits who looked as if they'd been carved from stone. Their leader was a girl—Cumen—with close-cropped hair and arms that looked like they could crush a skull. Beside her stood a boy with a shaved head and a sword as wide as Val's torso; he balanced the massive blade on his shoulder without the slightest sign of discomfort. The third was smaller and faster, with knives strapped to almost every limb.
No healer. No archer. Just raw power emanating from the trio.
"These guys don't need strategy," Val muttered. "They just need to hit until you fall."
Cale, his face expressionless, summoned the Memory—Soul Drinker. The blade materialized in a flash of light, its edges pulsing with a blue glow. "Then we don't let them hit us," he said, tightening his jaw.
The announcer raised his hand. "Begin!"
The Varro team moved like a wave. Though smaller in number, they overwhelmed their opponents with almost no effort.
The girl came at Cale first, her fists glowing with concentrated Mauri. He dodged, but she was faster than she looked—her second strike caught his shoulder, and he staggered back. The boy with the sword swung at Ethan; his blade crashed against the wall of earth Ethan managed to raise just in time, shattering it in a single blow. Meanwhile, the knife fighter blurred toward Riker—too fast for illusions, too fast for Riker to react.
Val quickly threw a wall of flame between Riker and the knife fighter, saving him from the onslaught just in time. The assassin slid to a stop, his eyes wide for a split second as if surprised his perfect attack had been thwarted—but Cumen was already through the opening, her fist slamming into Val's ribs.
The world went white. Val saw stars and hit the ground gasping, her Ember Cloak flaring up instinctively.
"Valerie is down! Can she recover in time?" the announcer called.
She scrambled up, her side screaming and her fire roaring. But the girl was already moving toward Cale, her fists leaving trails of light.
The battle continued, but they fought like they were drowning.
Cale's Death Sense was the only thing keeping him ahead of the girl's strikes, and even then, he barely managed. He parried and dodged, giving ground, but she was relentless. Every hit sent shockwaves through his blade. His shoulder began to bleed again as yesterday's wound reopened.
Ethan threw up wall after wall, but the sword-boy cut through them like paper. He was fast—too fast—and his blade glowed with stored power. Ethan's defenses began to slow as his Mauri drained.
Riker's illusions held the knife fighter at bay, but only just. Every time he created a copy, the fighter sliced through it, leaving Riker sweating and pale as he struggled to maintain the ruse.
Val was the only one making "progress." Her fire pushed the girl back, forcing her to dodge and retreat. She poured everything into her cloak, feeling the flames rise and the heat build.
Burn, she thought. Burn them all. We just need a break.
But these guys were too strong.
Cumen broke through Val's fire, her fist connecting with Val's chest. The shockwave rattled her bones. She flew backward and hit the ground hard, her Ember Cloak flickering. She tried to rise, but her arms wouldn't move. Her vision began to fade at the edges.
Across the ring, the sword-boy shattered Ethan's last wall. The follow-up strike sent Ethan crashing into the corner, where he crumpled, unconscious. Almost simultaneously, the knife fighter found Riker; a blade flashed across his arm and the illusions died. Riker fell, clutching his wound, his face gray.
Cale was still standing. Alone. Three against one. Wonderful odds, Val thought bitterly.
He faced the girl, Soul Drinker raised. She came at him again, her fists a blur of strikes. He dodged, parried, and used his ice to try and slow her, but she was relentless. A blow finally caught his ribs. Another struck his thigh. He was bleeding from a dozen cuts, his movements heavy.
The girl's fist finally connected with his chest, and he went crashing down. Soul Drinker skittered across the stone, out of reach. He tried to rise, but she was on him, her foot pressing his chest to the ground.
Val watched from where she lay, her body refusing to obey. She tried to scream, to curse, to engulf them in flame—but nothing came. This was her first real loss, and she wasn't sure she could handle it. Normally, a loss meant death. But here…
The judges' heads tilted forward. One raised a hand.
"Team Cumen Varro wins! The opposition team is eliminated from the tournament!"
The crowd cheered—for Varro, for the victors. Valerie lay on the stone, staring at the sky. Her fire was dead; her body felt useless. Medics rushed past her to tend to Ethan, Riker, and Cale.
She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She could only lie there, listening to the roar of the crowd and feeling the crushing weight of defeat.
Someone helped her up—she didn't see who, and at that point, she didn't care. She walked off the platform, her legs numb and her ears ringing. The world was a blur of faces and noise.
She didn't stop until she was back in the medical ward, sitting on a cot with shaking hands.
The ward was quiet, and the tension was deafening. Ethan was in the next cot, unconscious, as a healer worked on his ribs. Riker was across the room, his arm bandaged and his eyes closed. Cale was somewhere else—she didn't know where. And she realized for the first time that Rel hadn't participated in the match with them—likely because he hadn't fully recovered from the previous fights. He was nowhere to be seen.
Her gauntlet chimed. She looked at it without interest.
```
Experience threshold reached.
Rank increased: C → B
Aspect upgraded: Flamebound → Flamebound In Light
New Flaw: Eternal Flames of Pain – When using flame-based self-enhancement, the user will experience the sensation of being burned alive. The pain does not cause physical damage but is otherwise indistinguishable from actual immolation. Grants accelerated regeneration during use. Prolonged exposure can induce a berserk state where the user loses rational control and attacks indiscriminately.
```
She stared at the words. Eternal Flames of Pain. She would get stronger when she burned, but it would feel like she was dying. Why couldn't the system just present a straightforward flaw? Now, every time she used her new skills, she would burn. If she pushed too far, she'd lose herself completely—becoming nothing but fire and fury, unable to tell friend from foe.
Her hands shook. She thought about the fight, Cumen's cold eyes, and Cale's sword flying from his grip. She thought about the judges' hands rising, declaring them done. She thought about loss.
She'd never lost like that before. She'd run, she'd hidden, she'd fought until she couldn't stand—but she'd never been declared a "loser" while she was still breathing.
Her fist slammed against the cot. The pain in her arm flared, but she didn't care.
"Val."
She looked up. Cale stood in the doorway, his arm in a sling and his face tired. He'd been bandaged and cleaned up. He looked almost human.
"You okay?" he asked.
She laughed—a hollow sound. "I just got my ass kicked by a girl who fights like a battering ram. I'm great."
He sat beside her and said nothing. They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the medical ward and the distant cheers from the arena.
"We'll just get them next time," he said.
She wanted to believe him, but she remembered the way Cumen's grip had felt and how she'd sent Val flying with a single punch. She remembered her fire dying in her hands and the crowd cheering for someone else. The images flashed before her, reminding her of the failure.
"What if there isn't a next time?" she asked. "What if we're just… not good enough?"
Cale was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Then we'll just get better."
She looked at him. His face was calm, certain—as if he'd already figured out how to win, even when everything said he couldn't. He hadn't lost an ounce of his earlier brimming confidence.
She let out a breath. "You're annoying, you know that?"
"I've been told once too often," he replied.
She almost smiled. Almost.
The matches continued without them. Val sat in the medical ward, her arm throbbing and her Flaw burning in her chest like a promise. She'd need to keep it secret. If the others found out, they'd probably try to use it as a strategy, making her burn until she lost herself.
She closed her eyes and let the pain wash over her. Eternal Flames of Pain. Every time she covered herself in fire, she'd feel it. The burning. The screaming. The certainty that she was dying.
But she'd heal. She'd get back up. And next time, she wouldn't let those judges raise their hands on her account.
She opened her eyes. Cale was still beside her, silent and steady.
"Next year," she said. "I'll make sure we win."
He nodded. "Yeah. For sure."