The arena shimmered with the aftermath of fire and light.
Orion landed hard, boots sliding across the heated stone. His breath dragged in sharp and quick, lungs stinging. Across from him, Sena straightened with a slow exhale, crimson flame coiling from her shoulders like a living cloak.
The crowd was hushed now—not out of disinterest, but reverence. Two lights clashing. Two wills refusing to yield.
Orion twirled Lunaris in his grip, letting the blade hum faintly under his palm. The runes pulsed with Selene's faint glow, not quite bright, but steady—anchoring.
Sena tilted her head. "You're not what I expected, Child of Moonlight."
He raised an eyebrow. "And what did you expect?"
"A quiet silver prince. Soft-footed. Shining, maybe, but hollow."
Orion gave a tired smile. "You're not wrong about the shining part."
With a burst of speed, Sena lunged again, fire sweeping with her. The Star of Crimson roared to life across her back, flaring in wild arcs. Orion darted forward to meet her, their blades ringing as they struck.
Each clash echoed like a heartbeat.
Steel hissed. Cinders burst. Moonlight flickered.
"You've got discipline," Sena said between strikes, their movements now a dizzying dance of steps and swipes. "But your instincts—they're too careful. You think before you move."
Orion ducked under a spinning kick, swept his blade upward, and caught her across the shoulder—but only lightly. She was already moving, rolling with the blow.
"And you don't think at all," he replied. "You burn first, talk later."
Her grin flared like her fire. "Exactly."
They circled again.
Above, in the upper ring of the stands, Serah leaned forward with elbows braced on her knees.
"She's fast," she muttered.
"She's relentless," Azrael said, his voice low. "But Orion's adapting."
"Still," Iris chimed in, her fingers absently brushing her thread-spool bracelet, "his moonlight is flickering. That last strike—it was slower."
"He's reserving it," Azrael noted. "He hasn't used Moonveil once since the opening."
From behind them, other students were murmuring.
"I got five silver on Sena," someone hissed.
"No way. Orion's barely scratched. He's just—waiting."
"He's the type to pull something out last second. Typical Lunar drama."
"What's the deal with his star anyway? Thought he lost it in Forgewarren?"
"Yeah, but it came back. Creepy how it follows him like that."
A taller student leaned in. "Still think Vel could've beaten either of them. That mirror stuff? He barely tried."
"Vel didn't lose. He just gave up. Cyrus got lucky."
As the buzz spread like wildfire, it became clear: this fight wasn't just battle—it was a proving ground.
Back in the arena, Sena swept her arm outward and flame bloomed into a wide arc. Orion slid low under it, planting his blade and vaulting sideways to avoid the blast. He landed in a crouch, panting harder now.
"I've fought fire before," he said. "Yours is… different."
"It remembers," Sena murmured, stepping toward him. "Every bruise I've taken. Every wound I've earned. The Crimson doesn't burn clean—it scars."
She struck again.
And he blocked.
Their blades locked—Lunaris quivering against the edge of her ember-forged weapon. For a moment, they were nose to nose, sweat and breath mixing with ash.
"I won't hold back," Sena said, voice tight.
"Good," Orion replied, eyes glowing faintly. "Because I'm done holding mine."
Moonveil erupted—not as a full defense, but a precise flare of mirrored light that rebounded her flame back toward her. The echo of her own strike staggered her, and Orion followed up with a sudden burst of footwork, his form blurring with Echo Step.
One strike. Two.
Sena spun, deflecting one, parrying the second. She grinned even through the burn trailing down her arm.
"Finally," she breathed. "You're fighting me."
Orion's response was a flicker of a smile—grim and bright.
"You earned it."
Above, a hush settled over the stands as they clashed again.
And again.
Until flame clashed with moonlight and neither backed down.
Elsewhere in the Viewing Ring
"Did you see that switch?" Lirael of Stormglass leaned over the rail, watching intently. "He's fighting like he's reading her now."
Talon of Iron crossed his arms. "His blade work is too refined. He's been hiding skill."
"Sena's still pressing him though," Rhett noted. "Crimson's nothing if not pressure."
"She'll overextend," Mira added. "She always does when she wants to prove something."
Below them, Vel sat silent, arms folded, but his eyes never left the fight.
"She's trying to draw out the real him," she said softly. "The part that isn't polished. The part that burns."
Back With Orion
They broke apart again.
Sena's flame guttered at the edges now, and Orion's breaths came shallower. His knees were bruised. Her shoulder was burned.
"You don't let people see you," Sena said, one eye narrowed. "You hide in the calm. But your star's not calm. It's the moon—it watches. And it judges."
Orion lowered his blade just slightly.
"And yours?" he asked. "It screams."
She didn't deny it. "Because it was born in war."
They launched toward each other one last time—
But before contact struck, the scene cut away to the stands one final time.
Final Perspective: Cohort Reactions
Serah stood now, fists clenched.
"He's changing," she said aloud.
Azrael's eyes narrowed. "He's matching her tempo."
Iris exhaled softly, a slow smile pulling at her lips. "He's not just fighting her. He's seeing her."
"And that," Serah said, eyes gleaming, "is how you win."
Below, the two stars burned bright—crimson fire and silver moonlight—about to collide again.
And the crowd, for a breathless moment, leaned forward.
Sparks danced like falling stars as their blades clashed again.
Orion's breath burned in his chest. His fingers ached from gripping Lunaris, the weight of the starmetal dragging heavier than before. Across from him, Sena's shoulders rose and fell with steady defiance, her eyes burning brighter than the flames that licked her skin.
They were both running out of time.
Running out of strength.
But neither would be the one to yield first.
A slow hush had fallen over the arena, like the world itself was holding its breath. Even the flame that danced around Sena had quieted—coiled close to her form like it knew the final strike was coming.
"You fight like the moon's your mirror," Sena said, voice ragged, "but not your truth."
Orion blinked sweat from his eyes. "And you fight like you're trying to burn the past out of yourself."
The silence between them carried weight. Shared understanding.
And then Sena smiled.
"You're not wrong, Child of Moonlight."
Orion exhaled—and charged.
Moonlight burst from his limbs, not in a grand display, but in swift, fluid pulses. His feet glided with Echo Step, body a blur. Lunaris shimmered as it moved, arcs of pale silver clashing with Sena's red-hot blade as they met mid-air, exchanging a flurry of slashes too fast to follow.
Sena responded with a roar—Kindling Roar erupting from her like a shockwave of crimson heat. Orion skidded back, arms crossed to shield himself as Moonveil flickered to life, absorbing part of the blow.
She didn't stop. She rushed forward, every strike wreathed in the fury of fire—sparks trailing like falling embers in her wake.
Orion countered with fluid deflections, timing each block with precision. He wasn't faster, but he was calmer. Sharper. He began reading her motions in rhythm—anticipating the angle, stepping into her pressure instead of away from it.
"You learned," Sena said through clenched teeth. "Fast."
"I watched," he replied, parrying her next strike. "You showed me how."
Then, he turned the tide.
Stillness.
The moment froze—not in the world, but in himself. Orion's heartbeat slowed, everything sharpening to silence as Selene's power bloomed around him. For an instant, the battle became a pool of reflection, and Sena's flame met its mirror.
His blade shifted in one perfect arc—clean, focused, controlled.
It slipped past her guard.
Not to wound.
But to disarm.
With a clatter, her ember-forged blade struck the stone.
Sena stumbled back, blinking—and for the first time, unsure.
Orion stood still, not advancing. Not gloating. His blade was lowered, the silver glow fading.
He could end it.
She knew it.
So did the crowd.
But instead, he asked quietly, "Do you yield?"
Sena's eyes flickered with a dozen emotions—fury, pride, regret, and then… respect.
She lowered her fists.
"I do," she said, voice clear. "Well fought, Orion."
The crowd didn't erupt into cheers—not immediately.
There was only silence.
Then, like a wave breaking, the arena shook with applause.
From the stands, Serah leapt to her feet, grinning. "I knew it!"
Azrael offered a rare nod. "He didn't overpower her. He outlasted her."
Iris let out a deep breath and clasped her hands together. "He saw the person behind the flame. That's why he won."
Other voices began filling the air.
"Didn't think Orion had that in him."
"He tanked a Kindling Roar!"
"He made it look effortless."
"Effortless? He was bleeding from his mouth five minutes ago."
Up in the observers' gallery, Vel sat still and watched. "He chose not to break her. That's rare."
From another section, Talon's voice carried: "She yielded. First one to do that in a match."
"Yeah," Mira said, eyes narrowing. "Because she trusted him."
Back in the arena, Orion reached out and offered Sena his hand.
She hesitated, then took it.
As he helped her stand, she gave him a smirk. "Guess that makes you the real fire hazard."
"Don't let Serah hear you say that," he said.
Sena laughed—a dry, rasping sound—but honest.
"I'll see you in the finals, Child of Moonlight."
Moments Later
The announcer's voice echoed across the stadium. "Victor: Orion of the Star of Lunar."
The bracket board shifted.
Orion's name advanced.
Another cohort down. The path narrowing. Only a few battles left.
He turned toward his cohort—toward Serah, Iris, and Azrael waiting at the edge of the field.
They didn't speak.
But the way Serah nodded, the way Iris smiled, the way Azrael simply met his gaze and gave a slight tilt of the head—it was enough.
Another step forward.
The moonlight still burned.