Three weeks had carved themselves into Eghosa's bones.
Three weeks of:
cold dawns,
burning muscles,
high-pressure water,
Theran's voice sharp as a blade,
and the quiet, relentless fire inside her refusing to dim.
Now, one week remained before the UNE arrived to carry the chosen candidates to the Empire Royal Academy.
And on this morning, the old sparring dome felt different.
The broken tiles, the cracked stone statues, the ancient training poles — all of it felt like it was watching them. The air was too still, too expectant, as if even the dust understood the significance of today.
Theran Solace stood in the center of the arena, back turned, adjusting the bandages on his hands. His red hair glowed under the morning light like a burning omen. His body — sculpted iron with no softness anywhere — radiated a calm, predatory violence.
Trisha clicked her tongue beside Eghosa.
"Look at him posing like some war god."
Theran didn't turn around. "You finally came early," he said. "Miracles do happen."
"Don't make me slice that red mop off your head," Trisha snapped.
Eghosa almost smiled. Almost.
Today felt heavy — heavy in her chest, heavy in her bones. Not fear. It was the weight of necessity.
This spar wasn't training. This was the first true measure of what she had become.
Theran turned toward them — and it wasn't an eruption of aura.
It was a descent.
Like something vast lowering itself into human reach.
Eghosa's grip tightened around her practice blade. Her pulse quickened. But she didn't flinch.
Theran's crimson eyes slid toward her first.
"You've improved."
The acknowledgment surprised her.
But he followed it with:
"Not enough."
Before Eghosa could speak, Trisha stepped forward, chin lifted in that signature defiant tilt.
"Talk like that again and I'll kick your kneecap backwards."
Theran's lip twitched — half amusement, half challenge.
"Try. If you can reach it."
Trisha bristled. Eghosa grabbed her wrist instinctively.
"Trish… save it for the spar."
Theran stepped closer, boots echoing sharply across the dome.
"No. Let her talk," he said. "Trash is usually loud before it gets thrown."
Trisha dragged him with a sharp sneer:
"How do you talk so much with a brain that small? Does it echo in there, or do you just like hearing your own voice?"
For the tiniest moment — just a twitch — Theran froze.
Eghosa blinked.
She got him.
Theran slowly turned his head, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper:
"…You. Are. Dead."
Eghosa swallowed.
This was definitely happening today.
He walked to the center circle and raised his hand.
"Rules are simple."
His gaze locked onto Eghosa's.
"You last or injure me within three minutes…"
Then at Trisha.
"…both of you."
He dropped his hand.
Trisha scoffed. "Three minutes? Should I tie one hand so you don't cry when you lose?"
Theran stared at her. Then at Eghosa. His face sharpened.
"This is not a game. Not combat practice. Not a friendly spar.
This is survival."
The air thickened. The dome felt smaller.
"When I move, I will move to break you. When I strike, I will strike to end you. If you hesitate, you will bleed. If you freeze, you will fall."
He lifted his palm.
"And if you die, that's on you."
Eghosa felt her throat tighten.
This was no longer training.
This was a threshold.
She inhaled deeply.
"I won't back down."
Trisha stepped beside her, shoulder brushing Eghosa's.
"And I won't let you hurt her."
Theran grinned — sharp, cruel, beautiful in its brutality.
"Good."
He shifted his foot. A crack echoed through the tiles.
Eghosa's stomach dropped.
Trisha whispered:
"...He's serious."
Eghosa lowered her stance as Theran taught: Center the weight. Lower the hips. Align the blade.
Trisha spun her weapon once, expression fierce.
Theran inhaled.
The dome inhaled with him.
Then—
He vanished.
The lights flickered—
BANG!
Eghosa was launched across the dome, tasting blood instantly. Before Trisha even processed what happened—
BANG!
She too was flung like a doll.
Eghosa's mind raced through the spinning darkness.
Why did the light go out? Why exactly at the moment Theran moved—
His voice drifted through the black:
"You two are stupid."
His eyes glowed red in the darkness — the only visible color.
"After everything I told you… you still thought you could fight a beast in its own den with no preparation?"
He walked slowly, each step echoing.
"You may fight more brutally now. You may have gotten tougher. But your minds—your minds are still students."
Eghosa lay half-conscious, breathing in sharp, painful bursts.
Theran's voice continued, calm and merciless:
"I am a student too. But I do not think like you. I have seen the world for what it is: survival of the fittest."
Trisha spat blood, pushing herself up.
"You talk too much…"
She staggered to her feet.
Theran wasn't impressed. He vanished—
—and reappeared behind her.
BANG!
She flew again.
"Bravery and stupidity," he said, "are one thread sewn poorly."
His presence felt like a wall pressing down on the air.
Eghosa forced herself up. Everything he said stung with truth.
They were still thinking like students.
Cairn thought like a general.
Melissa like a warrior.
Bastet like a noble.
Amos… Amos was something beyond definition.
Only Helena had failed to adapt — and paid the price.
Eghosa's own mind was still trapped in the comfort of playing by rules.
Rules that meant nothing in death.
She blinked through the blood and dizziness.
She was close to the high-pressure fluid tank.
And a thought cracked through her mind like lightning.
A trap.
A simple, vicious trap.
A predator's trick.
She slowly dragged herself upward. Theran's eyes narrowed.
"Well? Is it over?"
Trisha lay unconscious. That left only her.
"My next strike," he said, "will kill you."
Eghosa smiled in the dark.
A soft, eerie smile.
Theran stiffened.
"…Are you smiling?"
He could see her.
Good.
She laughed — a cracked, manic sound.
Her hand gripped her face as her mouth curved up to her eyes.
Theran's grin mirrored hers.
"Have I broken you?" he asked.
"Or… did a predator finally wake up?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Show me."
He moved.
He didn't run.
He erased the space between them.
Eghosa moved too.
Not away.
Toward the tank.
The dome went silent — utterly silent — as apex predator met predator.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion rocked the dome.
Eghosa flew across the floor, bones cracking, blood spraying. She hit the wall and slid down, half-dead, vision fading.
Across the room—
Theran stood tall.
Unharmed…
Except for the hole torn through his shoulder.
He exhaled slowly.
She had aimed for his head.
He had sacrificed his shoulder to save his life.
He looked at the shattered tank. Looked at Eghosa.
A hole in the wall separated them — a clean tunnel carved by pressurized force.
Theran smiled in the darkness.
That was no longer prey.
That was a predator.
He stepped forward, the moonlight slicing across him, illuminating the blood, the darkness…
…and he stood in a ballerina pose, balanced perfectly on one foot, arms relaxed, expression serene.
A performance.
Satisfied with the monster he had created out of her.