The Neutralis arena does not reveal itself all at once. You discover it in stages.
First, the noise—a constant, living roar, almost organic. Thousands of voices tangled together: shouts, bets, laughter, and the occasional insult. Then comes the smell: stone heated by the sun, incense burned to mask the scent of sweat, and metal worn thin by the tread of a thousand boots.
And finally, at the main entrance, the tournament board.
It is a massive slab of white stone standing like a monument. Glowing runes form the "tree of battles," with names carved deep and unchanging. Some already shine brighter than others. The crowd gathers before it, their voices hushed or frantic.
"Look at that one." "Fire against Water in the first round? Seriously?" "Carmine... it burns through everything, doesn't it?" "Against Primordial Ice? No way."
Coins pass from hand to hand as bets grow loud and confident. I read the board without lingering.
Aydan Arin — Kaedor Frostide Eldric Valroche — Maëron Terfall
Lower down, other names pull murmurs like magnets. "Brontios Orageval..." "Superbolt." "That one... he's not human."
I look away. This board is not a promise of glory; it is a list of forced collisions.
We move forward—Me, Brask, and Oryn. The tunnel leading to the arena slowly swallows the noise. The screams become muffled, the air turns cooler and denser, and the stone reflects our steps with an almost military rhythm.
"Feels like a courtroom," Brask mutters. "No," Oryn answers, devoid of emotion. "A stage."
I stop just before the tunnels split. "No matter what the crowd does," I say calmly, "no matter the bets. We fight clean. Clear." Brask nods. "I'm not dying for their entertainment." Oryn looks at me. "You stay calm, Arin." "It's the only advantage I have."
A gong sounds—long, deep, and final. We separate. I walk alone.
When I step into the arena, the noise hits me full force. It is a wave. Tens of thousands of spectators rise, screaming and chanting names. The stands overflow with color: banners, nobles, and commoners mixed together without distinction. I don't look at the crowd. I look across the sands.
Kaedor Frostide.
He is tall, lean, and calm. His breathing is steady. Around him, the air feels colder—not visibly frozen, but filled with a biting tension, as if the temperature itself refuses to stay still.
Fire against Water. Carmine against Primordial Ice.
I descend the steps, and that is when I feel it. A stare. I turn my head slightly and see him: Tharok of Granroc. He sits in the Earth fighters' section—massive, silent, arms crossed. His body looks as if it were carved from raw stone. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He simply watches me.
It isn't contempt or a challenge. It is something older. Unease crawls through me—a sense of déjà vu, as if I have felt that gaze before, somewhere my mind refuses to rebuild. Heavy. Dark. Deeply wrong.
I look away. I ignore him. But my heart beats a little faster.
The referee raises his hand. "RULES OF THE ELEMENTAL ACADEMIES TOURNAMENT!" he bellows. "Victory by knockout, surrender... or death!"
The crowd erupts. "FIGHT!"
Match 1: Aydan Arin (Fire) vs. Kaedor Frostide (Water)
Kaedor moves immediately. The ground whitens beneath my feet as a thin layer of ice spreads—fast, vicious, and unstable. I slip, catching my balance at the last second. I do not release the Carmine flame. Not yet. I draw my sword; the steel is cold, real, and reliable.
Kaedor lifts his hand. A wave surges forward—dense, heavy, and compressed by the cold. It isn't an explosion; it is a pressure meant to swallow me whole. I run. The wave slams into my side, ripping my cloak away and throwing me against the stone. Cold seeps in instantly, and my muscles protest.
I roll and stand. Kaedor advances. "You choose close combat," he says calmly. "Bad calculation."
I charge. My blade strikes a wall of solidified water. The impact is brutal, and cold crawls up my arm until my fingers tingle dangerously. He counters with a low attack. I jump, sliding as I land. I breathe. I control.
I strike again, faster and more precise. I use the terrain—the uneven stone and the blind angles. Kaedor is powerful, but he is methodical. He depends on distance and total control. I force him back.
He shifts strategy. The ground bursts into ice spikes, and one slices my thigh. Blood flows, and the cold tries to seal the wound shut. I clench my teeth and keep moving.
An opening. My blade finds his side. It isn't fatal, but it is deep. He grimaces. "Interesting..."
He begins to gather mana. The temperature drops violently. Primordial Ice finally speaks. Each breath becomes painful; the air burns my lungs and my muscles slow to a crawl. I fall to one knee.
For a fraction of a second, Tharok's gaze returns to my mind—heavy, still, as if he is waiting for something. I crush the thought. Focus. A thin layer of Carmine appears—not around me, but on the blade. Just enough to keep the ice from eating the steel. I rise and strike. Once. Twice. Three times. Kaedor tries to freeze the impact, but he is too late. My sword sinks into his shoulder.
Blood bursts out, bright red against the pale ice. He staggers back, breathing hard. His concentration breaks.
"...I surrender."
The gong rings. "VICTORY: AYDAN ARIN!"
I pull my blade free and salute. There is no triumph in me. In the stands, the reactions are explosive. "He won?" "Against Primordial Ice?" "He used fire with restraint... dangerous. Very dangerous."
In the boxes, politicians exchange looks. Some smile, but not all in the same way. I leave the arena.
Match 2: Eldric Valroche (Earth) vs. Maëron Terfall (Earth)
I watch from the tunnel. Two Earth students. They salute before fighting—friends. The battle is short and brutal. Eldric's Metallic Earth is precise and unforgiving. Maëron is strong, but too direct. One clean hit leads to a knockout.
Eldric helps Maëron back up, and the crowd applauds. I look away.
When I return to the fighters' stands, Brask is watching me. "You won." "Yes."
Oryn says nothing. His eyes are already elsewhere—on the lightning, on Brontios Orageval. I feel it. The showcase is open, and the world is watching.