The arena had begun to glow.
Not from the lights above or the roaring crowd, but from the very center where two stars clashed—lunar and crimson, calm and fury, sword and blood.
Sena's blood traced red petals across the stone, falling in arcs with every movement. Her smile hadn't left since the match began, though now it had softened—no longer mocking, but intrigued. Across from her, Orion stood still as the moon, Lunaris held in a low guard, eyes locked on her shifting form.
"You don't bleed like someone who's losing," he said, voice calm but edged.
"I bloom," she replied, spinning once, the blood from her palm arcing into a shield that hardened mid-air. "You're not the first to think blood is weakness. And I doubt you'll be the last."
She lunged.
Orion moved—not to strike but to flow. His footwork was a whisper on stone, echoing in perfect rhythm to the rise and fall of Sena's tempo. Lunaris caught her blade, and for a heartbeat they were still—his moonlight against her living scarlet, pressure warping the space between them.
Then the moment broke.
Sena's foot stamped into a pool of her own blood, and the floor bloomed upward. Crimson vines—barbed and shimmering—erupted beneath Orion, forcing him to backstep. One nearly snagged his cloak. Another cut across his arm, shallow but stinging.
She followed the motion, sword reversed, carving a crescent arc that mirrored his mark. "Don't go quiet on me now, child of moonlight."
Orion parried, rotating Lunaris in his hand to slide the strike away. "You're quick to name others. Who named you the bloom?"
"No one," Sena said. "It named me. The blood, the fire, the pain. I made something beautiful from it."
Her eyes glinted. "You and your moonlight—you make it all look so clean."
Orion's breath fogged faintly in the cold air. He could feel Selene pulsing beneath his skin, steady and serene, and yet something else stirred deeper. A warmth. A flicker. A presence that hadn't spoken yet, only watched.
"I didn't ask for this light," Orion replied. "I just chose not to turn away."
The words landed heavier than he expected.
Sena hesitated. Then smiled, but not mockingly.
"You speak like someone who's broken and still beautiful. I can respect that."
She moved again—faster this time, blood trailing her steps like ribbons. She slashed, feinted, ducked, bled. Her wounds shimmered with radiant heat, and her strength seemed to grow with every drop lost.
Orion countered, his body in tune with Selene's grace. He redirected force, not wasting movement. He wasn't stronger than Sena. He wasn't faster either. But he was precise. Still. Watching.
Sena's blood-coils lashed at him from behind. He spun, eyes flashing silver-blue, and whispered, "Moonveil."
A halo of lunar light rippled from his form, catching the coils mid-strike. They dissolved in the glow, sizzling as the moonlight unspooled their form.
Sena laughed. "There it is! You were holding back!"
"You weren't ready," Orion said.
Sena charged.
What followed was blur and bloom—steel against essence, starlight against blood. Each clash sent shockwaves through the arena floor. Each dodge felt like the edge of a knife. The crowd was silent now, breath held, watching two prodigies collide.
Then it happened.
Sena stepped into a cut. Not by accident—deliberately.
Her shoulder caught the edge of Lunaris, slicing into muscle.
Blood burst forth—not uncontrolled, but purposeful—and wrapped around her blade like a serpent. Her sword ignited in crimson fire, pulsing with vitality. A second wind. A rebirth.
She came at him not as Sena the duelist, but as something else.
A force.
Kindling Roar.
Orion raised Lunaris and stood his ground. His mind focused. His heartbeat slowed.
Stillness, Selene whispered.
The two forces met—fire and moonlight. A nova of red and silver. A pulse that rocked the stone.
When the light faded, both combatants still stood—smoke rising between them, blades locked, eyes narrowed.
Sena's breath came in harsh, burning huffs. Blood shimmered across her arms, coiling with purpose.
Orion's chest rose and fell steadily, but sweat beaded on his brow. The light around him flickered slightly—less perfect now. Selene was pushing hard.
Sena grinned, eyes alive with heat. "Not done yet, child of moonlight."
Orion tilted his head, eyes gleaming with silver.
"Neither are you, Crimson Bloom."
Their blades slid apart.
They lunged again.
And this time, the arena howled.
The clash echoed through the arena.
Silver arcs laced with searing crimson streaked across the platform as Orion and Sena collided once more. Flame and moonlight spiraled in a dazzling dance of beauty and violence—neither side yielding.
Then the scene cut to the stands.
Gasps filled the viewing tier, followed by the sudden buzz of dozens of voices overlapping in awe, doubt, and pure excitement.
"Did you see that exchange? She didn't even flinch after that burst of lunar energy!"
"Yeah, and he parried her flame strike like it was nothing. That sword—Lunaris, right?—it's not normal."
"That's not a parry," another said, leaning forward with wide eyes. "That was instinct. Precision. Moonlight dancing on a thread."
"You think he's gonna win?"
"I don't know. I thought Sena was the clear favorite, but… Orion's something else."
Up in the Skybound viewing box, Cyrus leaned back against the stone wall, his arms crossed but his gaze sharp.
"She's not going easy on him," he muttered.
"Neither is he," Nyra added. "They're both digging deeper with every second. It's not about technique anymore—it's about will."
Varek let out a low whistle. "We might be looking at two finalists right now."
Cohort Three, the Ardent Blades, watched in their own reserved way.
Talon sat unmoving, fingers tapped together in thought. "Crimson and Lunar… that's an unstable match. Neither one has the advantage. It's who bends last."
Mira hummed softly. "No. It's who breaks first."
In the Silent Choir's section, Vel remained expressionless, but his head tilted just slightly toward Dorian.
"She's pushing him," he said simply.
Dorian gave a nod, arms folded over his robes. "And he's answering. I didn't expect that."
Down below, Orion's cohort sat at the edge of their bench.
Serah clenched her fists, firelight flickering faintly in her palm. "Come on, moonboy. Show her you can burn, too."
Azrael said nothing—his eyes narrowed, not at Orion, but somewhere distant, contemplative.
Iris exhaled softly, fingers tracing invisible threads in the air. "It's not just a fight for survival anymore. This is about identity."
They watched as the silver and scarlet met once more, the arena flashing in chaotic light.
The fight wasn't over.
But neither were the thoughts it stirred.