Finally, we reached the Arena—or at least that's what they called it. To Kyle it was nothing more than a training center. A circular stone pavilion, carved into the southernmost point of the knights' grounds. On ordinary days, it echoed with the metallic clash of steel against steel, accompanying internal duels and minor ceremonies under the watchful eyes of veterans.
Or rather, it should have echoed. At that moment, however, the arena was drowned in silence—save for a few murmurs, young and excited.
"Come on, come on!"
Hurried footsteps hammered against the ground, followed by excited voices that seemed to pass through windows and walls as if neither stone nor wood could contain them.
"Hurry! We're going to miss the best part!"
"We can't miss this for anything!"
The streets gradually filled, taken over by squires, apprentices, descendants—all running in the same flow, as if pulled by an invisible, irresistible current.
The excitement vibrated in the air, growing with each second, until the murmurs turned into fragmented shouts of urgency.
The commotion was so intense that some tripped, colliding with one another.
"Hey, watch it! Ah, why were you so slow?"
"Do you think I wanted this? Did you forget I was assigned to clean the squires' quarters?"
"I can't believe this… Oswin is going to fight Beatriz!"
"It's happening! The south training field is already packed!"
"This is going to be amazing, amazing!"
My eyes scanned the crowd. Even guards and adult servants were rushing, smiles slipping onto their tired faces. The excitement was widespread—almost contagious.
"Oswin?" I muttered, frowning. I, unfortunately or fortunately, remembered that name very well. Something I would love to erase, but given the circumstances tying us together, I was condemned to carry it.
But the name of his opponent… that one made my body react.
"Beatriz."
The word left my lips in a soft breath. The sound echoed in my mind like a distant muffled bell, uncomfortable, persistent, held by a thin thread threatening to snap at any moment. I tried to push the feeling away, but it was useless.
And then it came, like the cold of a winter breeze that prickles the skin and carries the scent of wet earth. The memory did not ask permission—it simply opened itself before me, too alive to ignore.
✦ ✦ ✦
I was smaller, much smaller. I was in the gardens of the Dracknum mansion, walking beside Caesar, my only brother from both father and mother. The sound of grass breaking under our steps still seemed to echo somewhere in memory.
A man approached us. He was bald, and his upright posture resembled a spear planted into the ground. He had one red eye, burning like embers, and another golden one, calm like liquid gold under sunlight.
They talked. About what, I don't remember. My attention, however, wasn't on him, but on the figure walking beside him.
A girl, perhaps my age at the time, held onto the man's long coat with small fingers. Her hair was black, falling in waves, and her eyes… one red and one golden, perfect reflections of her father. Her features had an almost ethereal delicacy, and there was a palpable shyness in her, as if she were trying to hide inside her own shadow.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Beatriz…" I whispered again, now aware, my eyes returning to the crowd below.
And then it hit me with crushing weight.
"Beatriz, the daughter of Captain Charles."
The legendary commander of the Red Squad. One of the rare survivors of the mission to the Sea of Darkness. They said he was the youngest in history to ever reach the rank of squad commander. That his strength rivaled even the Patriarch's. A man of absurd achievements.
But what came to my mind wasn't the legend. It was something far more personal: the way he always looked at me whenever our paths crossed. As if I were an annoying insect, too persistent to be crushed in one go.
"And for some reason… he hates me," I muttered, my voice more bitter and confused than intended.
"Want to take a look?" Kyle, perhaps noticing the gravity on my face, pointed toward the arena.
I turned to him, trying to read his expression. After a few seconds, I gave up.
"Sure… why not?"
The gate of the southern training field looked like a dam about to burst. A sea of children, teenagers, and even some adults crowded around it, pushing, jumping to see over others' heads, shouting as if they were fans gone mad in front of a forbidden spectacle.
"Excuse me…" I muttered to a larger boy blocking my way. I nudged him slightly, but he didn't even bother looking. Others like me tried to slip between elbows and bags, exploiting tiny gaps in the mass of bodies.
"Why does it feel like they're handing out gold in there?" I grumbled, making a third attempt to squeeze between two boys twice my size.
The flow in and out was dense, noisy, but not completely chaotic. Guards and a few veteran knights maintained minimal order, controlling the movement like someone holding a restless beast on a leash.
Still, the crowd moved like a single creature—vibrant, with hundreds of eyes shining and mouths spilling rumors.
"Did you see Oswin yesterday? He broke a training dummy in half with ONE strike!"
"And Beatriz? Last week she defeated two squires at once!"
"They say she summoned flames just by looking!"
"Nonsense! That's a legend!"
"It's not! My cousin saw it himself!"
The voices overlapped, interrupted by laughter, boos, and nervous exclamations. The air seemed to vibrate with anticipation, almost metallic in taste.
Some guards only sighed, already numb to the chaos. Older knights watched with crossed arms, distant, as if searching in memory for the last time they too had been swept up in such youthful excitement.
Closer to the center, a few apprentices still insisted on training. A waste of time. Under dozens of curious eyes and constant noise, even the most disciplined stumbled.
I saw one of them drop his spear; it hit the sand with a dull thud. The boy blushed, swallowed by laughter.
I stayed close to Kyle, using his presence as a wall so I wouldn't be swallowed by the crowd. Alone, I would have vanished like a twig in a current.
Axel, meanwhile, was in my arms. Fully awake. His golden eyes scanned everything, alert. Ears raised, wet nose sniffing the tension. He looked like he was thinking: if I can't sleep, then I'll guard.
"Hmph… and I thought this would just be another ordinary training," I muttered, trying to regain balance after a heavier shoulder bumped into me.
Kyle flashed a sideways smile without even slowing his pace. "It is. It just happens so often it became a spectacle." His tone was almost mocking. "You'll understand once you start."
"A spectacle? Between two children?" slipped out of me with a hint of disdain.
He glanced at me sideways, eyebrow raised.
"What?" I asked, oblivious, as if I had forgotten the small detail that I was also, well, a child.
Finally, we reached the steps leading to the upper part of the arena. We climbed without delay. The morning breeze brought swirling dust. The deafening noise of the crowd dulled, as if we were suspended above the world.
From the top of the stands, the view opened completely. Down below, the central space looked like an improvised stage: broken targets, marks in the sand, training spears stuck at random. And in the middle of it all, surrounded by a ring of excited apprentices, they stood.
"There they are…" Kyle murmured, eyes narrowed.
Two small figures. But with the presence of giants.
The first was easily recognizable—short, messy hair with red-tinted tips. A beast-like posture ready to leap: lowered shoulders, loose arms, tension visible in bent legs. Oswin.
The other was the absolute contrast. Hair tied into a perfect bun, posture too upright—almost ceremonial. But the eyes… cold, hard as metal under snow.
Axel moved in my arms. A subtle motion of his muzzle pointed toward the girl's waist. I followed his gesture.
Two wooden katars were strapped to her simple training outfit. Short, wide blades, vertical grip—fist weapons. Atypical. Exotic.
"Beatriz…" the name escaped me, low.
Kyle raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"
"Childhood friend? Acquaintance?" I shrugged faintly with a crooked smile. "No idea… I think she bothered me a few times years ago."
I kept my eyes on her. "But that doesn't matter. Never thought I'd see this here. That's from the south, right?"
Kyle let out a soft whistle, almost amused. "Good eye. Those are katars. Few here have even seen one up close, fewer know how to use them. They say Captain Charles recommended them to her."
"Fair enough," I replied shortly.
No sooner had I spoken than a dry, muted sound rolled across the field. The murmuring crowd died in waves, as if even the air was waiting.
Down below, they both leaned forward. The squire raised one hand. Eyes sharp, evaluating. The tension was a stretched cord, ready to snap.
My chest tightened, though I didn't admit it. Kyle slowly uncrossed his arms. Axel, in my arms, leaned forward, eyes locked, tail low—like a small predator sensing blood.
The squire's hand fell.
"Begin!" The voice cut through the air like the sharp toll of a bell.