The arena roared as Tomas stepped onto its sand, Solvaris's sun blazing overhead. Thousands filled the stands—Gifted in silks, their Sparks a kaleidoscope of power. His pickaxe felt small against their might, but he gripped it tight, chest steady. Hard work beats talent. Time to prove it.
Elara watched from the sidelines, her nod a quiet boost. Gavric sneered nearby, waiting his turn. The gate rumbled open, and a beast charged—an Etherfiend, smaller than the wasteland's but vicious, its claws gleaming.
Tomas circled, sand shifting underfoot. It lunged, and he rolled, slamming his pickaxe into its flank. The crowd gasped as it roared, blood spraying. He dodged its swipe, using the arena's pillars to trap it, then struck again—headshot. It crumpled, dead.
Cheers erupted, mixed with jeers. Councilor Mara watched, unreadable. The next gate opened—two Gifted trainees, fire and ice at their hands. Tomas sprinted, closing the gap before they could range him, knocking the fire-wielder out with a swift blow. The ice Gifted froze the sand, but Tomas smashed through, tackling him down.
Breathing hard, he stood victorious, the crowd split—half awed, half enraged. Mara rose. "He stays. For now."
As Tomas left the sand, a figure slipped into the stands' shadows, whispering of a Dull who defied the odds—and a secret that couldn't stay buried.