Elyno closed the door behind him with a soft click that felt louder than any roar of the arena. He stood there for a moment, his hand still resting on the rough wood. His fingers trembled—so faintly that anyone else might have missed it. But he felt it in the marrow of his bones.
His breath came in slow, shallow drags. The metallic scent of dried blood clung to his skin, the echo of Sergi's last words ringing in his mind:
"Don't kill me…"
He pressed his palm to his eyes. It was too vivid, too close. Even the triumph, the surge of power that had followed—the glowing panel announcing the kill—couldn't wash away the sour taste of it.
He set his dagger down on the table. The steel was cold, slick from his grip. For a moment, he stared at it, wondering if it was the dagger that had changed him, or something deeper, something he had carried long before Kaos ever whispered his name.
Slowly, he turned toward the window. The moonlight painted the stone floor in pale silver. Far in the distance, the towers of the arena still gleamed red like dying embers.
His gaze lingered on that crimson glow. He remembered the moment Liora had fallen in the semi-final, the defiance in her eyes when she pushed herself to her feet. No fear, no desperation—only will.
She doesn't break, he thought.
He didn't know if that was what he admired, or what unsettled him most.
Tengri had curled into a tight ball on the couch, his breathing slow and steady. Elyno envied that simple calm.
Maybe all of us… are just trying not to be alone.
A memory flickered—Jager, lying in the grass, eyes already losing their focus. Elyno swallowed, his throat rough. That had been the first time he realized how thin the line was between survival and oblivion.
A cold shiver passed over him. He exhaled and closed his eyes.
"Kaos…" he whispered.
At first, there was no answer. Only the deep quiet of the room and the soft sound of Tengri's sleep.
Then the shadows around him seemed to deepen, drawing in every mote of light.
"I am here."
The voice was neither loud nor soft. It simply existed, a presence that settled into the cracks of his thoughts.
"Why…" Elyno's voice caught. He swallowed and tried again. "Why didn't you tell me who you were from the start?"
Silence pressed against him like a hand.
"Because names are chains," Kaos said eventually. "If I had given you mine too early, your mind would have clung to fear or worship. You needed to decide who you were without the burden of my title."
Elyno clenched his jaw.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I'm tired of lies."
"It was not a lie." The voice softened, not kinder, but almost… understanding. "It was truth in a different order."
His shoulders sagged. Some part of him had expected that answer, though he wasn't sure why.
"What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.
"Only that you grow."
He turned his face away from the window. The answer was so simple—and so impossible.
And if growth means becoming like Sergi? he wondered, but he didn't ask aloud.
The voice faded, leaving the room colder than before. Elyno opened his eyes. The arena lights were starting to dim in the distance.
He didn't think he would sleep.
⸻
Elsewhere in the City – Liora
Liora sat alone in one of the guest rooms set aside for the Sett Clan's officers. The walls were lined with banners, dark blue and silver, and a single lantern burned low on the table.
Across from her, Gelar of the Glory Clan waited, hands folded neatly behind his back. He had delivered the message without preamble: that the artifact called Star Consumption was no myth.
"And you're sure," she said, her voice low, "that this isn't some tale to waste my time?"
Gelar inclined his head. "The readings are consistent. A relic of that magnitude hasn't stirred for centuries. If we wait too long, someone else will reach it first."
Liora's fingers drummed against her cup. Her gaze dropped to the map spread between them. A single red mark burned in the center of the northern forest.
Star Consumption. A name spoken only in old stories—an artifact that could devour energy itself, making any wielder unstoppable.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
"If we retrieve it…" she began.
"Sett and Glory will hold a power no other clan can rival," Gelar finished. "You know this as well as I."
Liora exhaled slowly. Her throat felt tight.
"Sett Clan is already in turmoil," she murmured. "Sergi's death left a vacuum. If we pursue this artifact, it will look like we are abandoning our people's grief."
"Or it will look like you are too strong to be challenged," Gelar countered calmly.
The lantern's flame danced in her peripheral vision. She could not deny he had a point.
Her thoughts drifted—unbidden—to Elyno. The boy who had killed Sergi, the boy who stood alone with the blessing of a god none dared name aloud.
Is that why you haunt my thoughts? she wondered. Because you're a threat… or something I haven't yet defined?
She pressed her palm to her forehead. This was not the time for doubts.
"We will proceed," she said finally. "But this alliance will be temporary. Sett will not kneel to Glory."
"Of course," Gelar said with a small smile. "No one expects otherwise."
Liora did not smile back. She felt the weight of what was to come, as if the very air in the room had thickened.
If he appears in that forest…
She didn't finish the thought. It was easier not to.
⸻
Elyno – Later That Night
Elyno sat with his back against the cold stone wall. The dagger lay across his knees, its edge catching the lantern's last flickers.
His eyes ached, but he didn't close them. Sleep felt dangerous—an invitation for memories he couldn't face yet.
He wondered, briefly, if Liora was awake somewhere, staring out another window, thinking of him as he was thinking of her. Not with affection, not yet—but with that strange, restless curiosity he couldn't shake.
We are both trying to become something we don't understand, he thought.
A breeze crept through the cracked window, stirring the air. It smelled faintly of ash and old stone.
He swallowed.
"Kaos…" he whispered again, though he didn't expect an answer. "When you say you want me to grow… you mean you want me to become a weapon."
This time, there was no voice—only a heavy silence that felt like confirmation.
He exhaled, and for the first time, he let the fatigue drag him down.
If he slept, he knew the dreams would come: Sergi's last plea, the blood on his hands, the distant echo of Liora's measured voice.
But for now, the night was quiet. And in that quiet, he could almost pretend he was still just a boy with nothing to lose.
Almost.