The bowl was still shaking from Raijin.
Dust hung in the air like a second velarium. People were on their feet, still yelling Aria's name, still replaying how the floor had cracked under her scream.
On the Mercy Deck, Aria walked off with her coat half-zipped, hair still sparking slightly at the tips. Med techs flanked her—one quickly scanning her ribs, another sealing a cut on her cheek with a soft hiss of green light. She waved them off with a tired grin.
In the Halo tunnel, Kai's ribs were wrapped under his gi, a faint livid bruise peeking where Lila's earlier seal-strips had bled color. He leaned on the rail, breathing easier now, watching her come in.
Lila stuck her head out first. "We are never letting you power up in the house," she said, eyes wide, laughing anyway. "You almost popped the windows."
Aria blew out a breath, still flushed. "Worth it."
Rin stood a little back, shadowed, mask up, Yoru Oni quiet at his hip. His eyes tracked her, quick once-over. "Tier Two," he said, matter-of-fact. "You're the only one of us who can hold that. For now."
Kai snorted. "We're coming for you."
"Please do," Aria shot back, smug despite the exhaustion. "Somebody's gotta keep up."
A bell tone echoed through the tunnel. Conversation thinned.
Up on the Oath Dais, the Oathmaster stepped forward again. Silver at his temples. Bright eyes over the roaring bowl.
He lifted one hand.
"Magnara," he said, voice riding the sound-net, soft but sharp. "Breathe."
The roar dropped a notch. Then another. The bowl settled into a heavy hum.
"You have seen flame," he continued, nodding toward the tunnel where Aria had vanished. "You have seen river and storm. Our first two matches have shown you power, will, and the mercy that keeps both in check."
A ripple of pride washed through the Janoah sections. Chant fragments for Kai and Aria swelled, then faded as he raised two fingers.
"For our third match..." His smile twisted just slightly. "We offer you something... special."
The Colos-Lens shifted to his face, then widened to frame the Mercy Deck.
"On one side," he said, "a son of Britannia. A duelist of the BLADE guild. Quick as rumor, sharp as his reflection."
A wave of blue-and-gold flags rose on the west tiers. "BLADE! BLADE!"
"On the other," the Oathmaster continued, "a hand-picked Iron from our own Halo. Silent weave. Black steel." His gaze shifted toward the Halo tunnel. "And... a child of a clan the world once tried to erase."
That word hit differently.
Black Clan.
It shivered the upper tiers. A low murmur skated across the benches—old stories, old hunts. A few older Seekers sat forward, eyes narrowing.
In the skybox, Johnny Joah's fingers drummed once on the rail. General Rage's jaw clenched. William Lockhart's eyes flicked down tunnel-side, then softened.
The Oathmaster spread his arms. "Seekers of Halo. BLADE of Britannia. Walk."
The Mercy Deck responded.
Sigils along the Engine Spine lit up in sequence, racing toward the floor. Lines of light webbed the arena surface, snapping bright—
—and the field changed.
Half the deck sank with a heavy grind, then rose again layered in Chun.
Sigil rails pulsed faint blue. Pagoda silhouettes climbed from the tile in hard light and composite—tiered roofs, lantern-lines, narrow bridges. A tram car frozen mid-track hung over one quadrant, aura-filaments humming.
On the other side, stone thrust upward in blocks—cobbled streets, a low plaza, the broken suggestion of a fortress wall. Britannian banners unfurled in golden-white hard light. A chapel tower grew from the deck in slow segments, snapping together with a boom, a heavy bell hanging over the fight line.
A clean seam cut the world in half down the center.
Chun night. Britannian dawn.
The crowd erupted.
"HO-LY—"
"LOOK at that tower—"
"Chun side vs Brit side?!"
"ARE WE GETTING A CITY FIGHT?!"
The Oathmaster laughed once, delighted. "Magnara. You are in for something special."
Boots rang on composite.
From the Britannia side tunnel, Finn Lancaster stepped into the light—cloak flaring, long blond hair tied back loosely, baby-blue eyes catching lens glare as if he was born in front of a camera. Britannia-cut coat, open at the throat, silver thread catching the light. Arthur's Bane rode his back, the claymore's hilt over his shoulder, pommel engraved with the sun-sigil of his homeland.
He walked like he'd already won—like the only question was whether the lens caught his good side.
He paused just long enough to rake his fingers through his hair and flash the crowd a smile that said, "You're welcome."
The Britannia fans howled. "LAN-CAS-TER! LAN-CAS-TER!"
From the Chun side, shadows moved.
Rin Kairo stepped out of the Halo tunnel, Nightweave coat drinking the light, mask up. Yoru Oni rested at his hip, the black hilt plain, scabbard matte. No crest. No shine. Just that faint wrongness where the metal seemed to eat the glare around it.
For a heartbeat, some in the bowl didn't see him.
Then the Colos-Lens focused on his eyes. On the cut of his mask. On the black blade with the night-kanji tag.
Black Clan, someone whispered reverently.
Halo's section found its voice.
"RIN! RIN! RIN!"
In the tunnel, Aria leaned her shoulder against the frame, still bandaged, watching him go. "Go get him, ninja."
Lila, quietly: "No one as beautiful as him, huh? Please." She snorted. "My boy's literally wearing the night."
Kai watched quietly, ribs aching under the tape. "Rin versus a Britannian prettyboy duelist on a split city map," he said. "Yeah. We're spoiled."
William was a shadow at their backs, hands folded, aura dim but steady. "Watch his feet," he murmured. "And watch Finn's shoulders. BLADE trains pretty; they hit ugly."
Rin reached the seam line.
Finn hopped down off a small rise on the Britannia side, cloak flaring just to flare. He landed lightly. Boots scuffed stone. For a moment, they just... looked at each other across the half-world.
Wind tugged Finn's hair.
Air stilled around Rin.
Hillary Black walked out between them, coat crisp, eyes already tracking lines and angles. He lifted a hand.
"Match Three," he called, voice sharp and clean. "Rin Kairo of Halo vs Finn Lancaster of BLADE. No killing. Win by yield or inability to continue. Anchors set. Deck locked." A beat. "Begin when I drop my hand. Not before."
He stepped back out of range.
Finn rolled his shoulders once, loose. His hand went over his shoulder to Arthur's Bane. The claymore scraped free in a smooth, showy arc—steel singing, air shuddering as the big blade settled in his grip like it weighed nothing.
"Try not to blink, Magnara," he said to the stands, crooked smile. "You might miss my good side."
Scattered laughter, some boos, more cheers. Someone yelled, "NO ONE IS AS BEAUTIFUL AS ME!" along with him, turning it into a chant.
Rin didn't react. He just slid a thumb under Yoru Oni's guard and eased the blade a handspan free.
Light died along the steel.
The seam line felt colder.
He stepped forward. Bowed. Slow. Precise.
Finn blinked. Then, to his credit, he bowed back just as deep, claymore angled respectfully.
When he came up, the smirk was back. "Finn Lancaster," he said. "BLADE guild. Future most beautiful man to ever carry a Seeker license."
Rin's voice was quiet behind the mask. "Rin Kairo. Halo." A pause. "I don't care about your face."
"Ouch," Finn said, hand to chest. "He has jokes." Then his eyes sharpened. The duel heat lit. "Let's make this worth the field, yeah?"
Hillary's hand cut down.
"Begin."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Finn did what he did best.
He ran.
Not away.
Through.
Down the Britannia street, boots pounding cobblestone, cloak snapping like a banner behind him. He used the terrain instantly—one step on a low wall, a vault up a broken stair, Arthur's Bane caught one-handed as he swung himself onto a balcony rail.
The crowd roared as he sprinted above street level, claymore trailing low, brick dust kicking behind him. He flipped the big blade into a reverse grip for a breath just because he could, then rotated it back forward as he hit the end of the balcony and jumped—
—across the seam.
Wind from his passage slapped loose flyers off a Chun lamppost.
Rin walked.
One calm step at a time through the Chun half—past a frozen yak cart, under a hard-light lantern. Skirt-rails hummed above his head. His Boots made almost no sound on the composite stone.
His hand rested on Yoru Oni's grip. Not tense. Just... there.
He watched Finn's shadow arc.
Calculated the angle.
The claymore came down.
Steel met black steel with a sound like a bell being hit sideways. SPANG. Sparks burst white-gold. The impact blew chips from the seam tile and sent a pulse up the nearest Chun pillar, sigils flickering.
Rin took the hit on a high guard, both hands braced, feet sliding half a shoe back. Arthur's Bane was all weight and flash and show; Yoru Oni was all spite and control. The blades ground, skreeee, until Finn twisted his wrists and let the claymore skate off.
He landed lightly, already spinning, cloak whipping. "Nice draw," he said. "Thought you were just gonna stand there and look cool."
Rin flowed with the momentum, letting the push turn his shoulders, letting the blade roll to a low guard without ever leaving the line.
"Im the best," Finn said brightly, resetting. "Let's see if you can keep up."
Up in the Halo tunnel, Aria exhaled. "Okay," she murmured. "This is gonna be stupid pretty."
Lila hugged herself. "If either of them mess up their footwork on those fake balconies."
Kai watched the grind of steel, the way Rin barely moved more than he had to. "He's reading already," he said. "Finn's giving him a lot of noise."
William's eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "And Rin loves quiet."
Down on the Deck, the first clash lines had been drawn.
No Muti yet.
Just steel and stone and the promise of everything about to happen in a split city under the roar of Magnara.