The girl wasted no time explaining her plan. She moved straight toward the queen mother and pulled the sword from the body of one of the fallen dead beside her. The boy — dismembered, with part of his jaw and torso missing, his eyes glazed over — still seemed to stare at her in horror. It was clear that his death had been traumatic, that he had felt every second as he was slowly torn apart by the Troll.
Yet, to all who knew him, he had fulfilled his role with bravery. He was the weakest among them, and for that reason, he had chosen to remain by the queen's side to protect her. Unfortunately, some gates gave way too quickly for the stronger ones to arrive in time to rescue him. In the end, he became a plaything for two Trolls greedy for his flesh, so entertained by the brave boy that they ignored the woman who stood tall, head held high.
He paid with his life, but at least for the nobles thrown into the arena, he fulfilled his purpose. This was evident by the pieces of his body scattered in different directions — still close to the queen.
The girl, meanwhile, saw for the first time, clearly, the horror stamped on the faces of those who had fallen in the arena — youths like her, no older than eighteen, whose bond with their winged beasts had only recently occurred, just like hers. Synchronizing with a wyvern required time and caused pain; for many, it was a slow and cruel process. For her, however, the trauma she had lived through and the intense emotional connection with her wyvern opened a dark and inexplicable shortcut, allowing her to access the creature's powers with an ease that would make anyone believe they had been bonded for months — and, if not for the size of her wyvern, perhaps even suspect for years.
Unfortunately, for those too weak, cunning and training weren't enough. Wyverns and riders formed a symbiosis: one could not live without the other. While the rider gained access to mystical powers tied to the creature they bonded with, the winged beast inherited the emotional traits of its rider — be it fear, courage, or uncertainty.
Thus, even the wyverns — mythological beings, alone at the top of the food chain — lay lifeless on the ground. Some had hidden and watched their riders die, knowing they too would die. Others made wrong decisions, driven by conflicting and disordered emotions. In the end, most of those lying there had not fallen to the enemy's claws, but to the incompetence and unpreparedness of their riders.
Still, for the audience watching, something else was clear, between the blood and sand: even the most powerful creatures they knew started from the bottom, climbing a ladder of pain and sacrifice — trusting only in the weak link that, through mastery or incompetence, would either doom them to death or lead them to the glory of victory.
"What are you doing?"
murmured Noah, his voice choked with confusion.
When the sword split the wood that held the queen mother, the woman realized. The cut, the gleam of metal, the smell of iron mixed with earth — all made the girl's intention clear.
"You're going to die for this,"
warned the queen mother, her voice trembling after being freed.
"If we don't win here, we'll die anyway. Leave the "after" for later,"
the girl replied without hesitation.
"Help me gather the weapons."
For the nobles, there was a taboo around wielding the weapons of the dead: it was believed that using them would bring bad luck — or even death. But commoners, aware of the cost of a good blade, preferred to believe that every weapon found was a unique opportunity — and that it should never be wasted. For them, what determined a weapon's effectiveness was not its origin — it was having it in hand. A blade in the hands of the incapable was a possibility of death; in the right hands, it was the difference between being buried alive or walking out victorious. And for those who had nothing, it was a chance.
"What are they doing?"
someone in the audience whispered, stunned.
"I think she's looting the bodies…"
another replied, their voice fading amid the shock and disbelief.
The crowd had barely had time to grasp the queen mother's release when they saw the young ones rummaging through the corpses, gathering swords, spears, and shields — preventing them from being buried with their owners. Some members of the audience were scandalized by what they saw as disrespect; others, more pragmatic — like the bearded old man and the academy instructors — watched with morbid curiosity. In the arena, between hatred and despair, there were always those who chose survival.
"Everything's here. Now what?"
Time seemed to be running, yet paradoxically, nothing was happening. Even the arena's executioners watched in silence, curious to understand what those children were plotting. The girl cast another glance at the still-closed gates, and then a terrifying scream echoed from the other side, reminding her that she had to act fast.
"You,"
she pointed at the twins.
"I saw you have water wyverns. Can you use the cutting jet?"
The natural way she addressed nobles from the highest houses sounded almost like an insult. Many were taken aback, but the Hohenzollern twins didn't hesitate to reply:
"In battle, not yet… But we can channel it for a few minutes."
"Don't worry. It's not for fighting. I want you to cut a piece off this big guy here."
The girl, covered in dried blood, struck the petrified body of a troll. The monster, dead, had turned to stone — as was common for its species. Another scream, louder this time, made the young Hohenzollerns abandon any curiosity about the reason for the request and act immediately. Both channeled the power of their wyverns and, with effort, tore a large slab of stone from the troll's body.
While she waited, Noah approached the girl, clearly intending to understand what was going on — and the real purpose of such a request. Anticipating his approach, the girl replied without taking her eyes off the slab or waiting for any greeting, focused on the plate that was starting to take shape:
"When a troll dies, its exterior turns into a rock very similar to sandstone. But it's a very specific type — and very resistant. One that withstands even the breath of an adult fire wyvern."
As she spoke, the Hohenzollern twins finally finished cutting a massive shard from the petrified carcass — nearly two meters tall — and dropped it at the girl's feet. Without wasting time, she placed the weapons they had collected from the dead onto the slab.
"This type of sandstone only melts at temperatures higher than steel's, which makes it an excellent base. In fact, not even adult fire wyverns could melt a slab of this size and thickness,"
she said, eyes fixed on two specific youths: Noah Hohenstaufen and the Nassau heiress.
"But it's not the slab I want to melt… it's the steel."
A glimpse of her plan was finally revealed. Noah and the Nassau heiress exchanged glances and, in silence, began channeling their wyverns' powers over the pile of weapons. The growing heat spread through the air, warping the surroundings, making the metal vibrate — and weep.
Suddenly, a crash shook the arena: a brutal blow against one of the gates almost made it give way.
"You'd better hurry up…"
said the girl, with a macabre smile.
The two youths clenched their teeth from the strain. If their wyverns were adults, the process would take seconds. But they were still young — and it was clear that the Nassau heiress's flame did not match the power of the Hohenstaufen heir. The metal began to yield… but time was running against them.
As the steel melted, the girl did something unexpected: she conjured her ice magic to mold the desired shape. The contrast was brutal — the searing heat against the biting cold — and in seconds, thick vapors rose, covering everything in a suffocating fog. Each new strike on the gate reminded them that time was short; whatever was trapped inside wouldn't wait much longer.
After a few moments of effort, the mold was complete. When the smoke finally cleared, everyone could see: a colossal shield, nearly two meters tall, had been forged. The crowd held its breath; some already understood the plan, but one problem was obvious — no one there had the strength to lift something of that magnitude. The idea seemed insane.
The girl, however, didn't back down. With more ice, she sculpted a groove into the metal, creating a firm grip, a support point. In the process, the hot steam rose again, burning her arm. She screamed in pain but didn't retreat. The smell of burnt flesh spread through the air.
"She's insane!"
someone exclaimed, horrified.
Finally, the shield was ready — just as the gate began to creak and lift. Time was up. The girl tried to lift it, staggering under the weight, until Noah helped stabilize it.
"And now?"
asked the young Hohenstaufen, confused. A shield that heavy seemed impossible to handle. To him, it was useless. Even so, a strange confidence made him follow the girl, who ran toward the queen mother.
"Your Majesty, help us… be our shield!"
Silence fell heavy over the arena. Everyone looked at each other, stunned. The queen mother didn't have a wyvern. It was a known fact, repeated like a dogma. But in response, the woman only smiled. She picked up the shield — and, to everyone's surprise, lifted it with ease. She tested a few movements, still limited by the chains on her wrists, but it was clear: she could be their bastion.
"How did you know?"
asked Noah, incredulous.
The girl took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her burned arm.
"All of her children, without exception, were winged. That alone already makes it unlikely that she never was one herself. As you well know, being winged is genetic — it's no coincidence that your whole family shares the same wyverns. By now, I imagine you've realized: this isn't coincidence… it's selection."
The girl spoke naturally, while only her mouth was visible beneath the hair covering her face. She didn't seem to mind revealing theories that, in any other situation, would be considered blasphemy. Her wyvern licked her wounded arm as she tore a piece of cloth from her clothes to improvise a bandage. She wanted to be as prepared as possible. Even so, she didn't leave the boy without an answer and continued her theory:
"In the queen mother's case, I always thought maybe she hid the truth out of shame… or because she was forbidden from revealing it. Later, I realized there's only one type of wyvern capable of provoking both those feelings."
A murmur swept through the arena, growing like thunder. Even the most ignorant among them understood the revelation. The queen had a wyvern. Not just any — but the weakest, the most cursed one. The one that couldn't fly… but that granted its bearer immeasurable strength.
"You have a stone wyvern!"
the Hohenzollern twins shouted, putting into words what everyone already suspected.
The queen merely nodded. And in that gesture, all understood the hidden reason behind everything that had happened until then.
"How were you so sure?"
the sovereign asked again, her eyes fixed on the girl, full of suspicion. She knew that everything said so far was mere speculation; the young woman would never risk her life for something so uncertain. Noah also didn't believe that was enough of a reason to justify everything she had done.
The girl, however, kept her eyes fixed on her own arm. Only when she was certain the makeshift bandage — made from a large piece of the cloth covering her body — was secure and that she could now move, did she finally give voice to her thoughts.
"You're still beautiful, even at nearly eighty. What do you think could cause that?"
she said lightly, trying to break the tension.
It was a foolish answer to an equally foolish question: the truth, though hidden from all, still provoked a surprised murmur that swept through the arena like a cold wind. There was something unsettling in how that truth remained veiled — and the mysterious girl had no intention of lifting it anytime soon.
The sound of metal creaking announced that the gate had risen high enough to reveal what lay beyond. The queen mother cut off any further thought with a sharp gesture. There was no more time for speculation. It was time to act.
"It's coming out…"
she said, her voice firm.
"Stay behind me and take the creature down while I hold it."
Noah was nervous. His blood pulsed hot in his veins, burning with anticipation for what might emerge — and perhaps kill him in seconds. He wanted to clear his mind, to breathe, anything to make him forget the weight of that moment.
In front of him, the unknown girl remained still, eyes locked on the gate being battered and slowly rising. She exuded an almost unsettling serenity, as if death itself were just another detail to be calmly observed.
And then, without thinking, Noah spoke. Maybe it was the nerves… or a poorly timed curiosity — he wouldn't be able to say. But the words escaped before he could stop them.
"I'm sorry… I still don't think I know who you are. What's your name, noble warrior?"
For a moment, he thought he would be ignored — or that his question was too stupid for the moment. The girl didn't shift her gaze, nor move a muscle. Even the queen mother, who listened in silence, seemed curious about that broken figure who still held such indomitable strength.
Then, against all expectations, she answered — in a voice low, firm, and at the same time melancholic:
"Lena. Lena Vogel."