The night was quiet, only the wind rustling around the windows of the training gym. Kael lay on his bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but his thoughts were far away.
There had been six of them. Three held onto themselves, three were lost.
The words kept returning to him, over and over, like a melody he couldn't shake from his head. He sat up, Iron Blaze in his hand, glowing faintly in the dark, as though it sensed his restlessness.
"Who could they have been?" he whispered to the top, though he knew it wouldn't answer.
Orion had said this happened long ago. But "long ago" didn't mean they no longer existed. If the legends were true, if their names still echoed somewhere, then maybe they themselves did too. And if they existed, if they could truly be found, then maybe they could teach him what Orion could only piece together from books and guesses.
Kael made up his mind. In the morning, he would leave to find them.
He hadn't told anyone — or at least that was the plan. At dawn he quietly packed a small bag, slipped Iron Blaze into his pocket, and stepped out the door of the training gym before the sun had fully risen.
But he had barely reached the corner when a familiar voice called out to him.
"So you were just going to leave? Without saying goodbye?"
Kael turned. Akira stood there, arms crossed, Shiro beside her, yawning, though his eyes were sharp.
"How did you know?" Kael asked, stunned.
"We know you," Akira replied simply. "And besides, did you really think we'd let you go alone, when you don't even know what's waiting for you out there?"
"It could be dangerous."
"That's exactly why we're coming," Shiro cut in, already starting to walk beside him. "So, where are we headed?"
Kael looked at them for a moment, then smiled faintly. He couldn't quite tell how much relief was in his voice when he finally spoke.
"I'm looking for the legendary Heirs. If anyone knows how to master this power without losing ourselves, it's them."
Shiro and Akira glanced at each other, then nodded, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
The journey took days. They left the city behind, passing through smaller settlements where people eyed them suspiciously whenever they spotted the tops at their belts. The land grew wilder, the roads narrower, the landscape barer.
On the third evening, they made camp at the edge of a forest when three figures stepped out from the shadows — bandits who had heard rumors of top-wielders and thought they'd found easy prey.
"Hand over what you've got," growled their leader, a stocky, unshaven man, a crudely made top in his hand.
Kael stood, his hand instinctively moving toward Iron Blaze.
"We don't want trouble."
"Then hand your stuff over nicely, and there won't be any."
Shiro had already launched Frost Phantom, not waiting for further threats. The icy wolf let out a howl as it burst forth, its eyes glowing blue in the light of the campfire.
"Frost Phantom!"
The leader flinched back, but his two companions were already moving, attacking with their own, cruder tops. Akira didn't hesitate — the many-eyed entity appeared behind her at once, sending one of the attacking tops to the ground with a single strike.
"With that little power, you might as well go home," she remarked coldly.
Kael aimed Iron Blaze as he turned toward the last bandit.
"I'll say it one more time. We don't want trouble."
The man's eyes flickered, then he backed away instead, dragging the other two into the darkness with him. Within moments, there was no trace of them left.
"That was easy," Shiro remarked, as Frost Phantom returned to him.
"Too easy," Kael replied, his gaze still fixed among the trees. "Let's be careful."
Over the following days, they ran into similar groups more and more often — some were simple robbers, others lone top-wielders who had heard about the tournament and figured an unexpected victory over Kael would make them famous. Every battle was different: at one point they faced fiery vortexes reminiscent of Ren's Crimson Tornado from a wandering merchant, at another they had to lure a hidden opponent out of the darkness in an abandoned mine with Akira's demon's help.
With every battle, Kael learned more — not just about controlling Iron Blaze, but also about trusting his companions, about letting them help instead of trying to handle everything alone.
Finally, a week after setting out, they reached a small, secluded village, embraced by mountains on every side. The houses were old, the trees tall and dense, and a strange calm hung in the air — not the kind of silence they knew, but rather as though the place itself were holding its breath.
As they stepped onto the main street, the locals immediately stopped and watched them with suspicion. An elderly woman hurriedly pulled her shop door shut, a child hid behind his mother's skirt.
"They don't like us," Akira remarked quietly.
"Not us," Shiro replied, glancing at their tops. "Those."
The sentence had barely ended when a young man stepped in front of them from the shadow of one of the houses, arms crossed, his gaze challenging.
"Top-wielders," he said with contempt. "Just like the ones who destroyed our village once."
"We don't want trouble," Kael began, the words sounding all too familiar.
"Then prove it." The man drew out his own top, simple but sturdy. "If you win, you can go wherever you want. If you lose, you leave the village — forever."
Kael looked around — the villagers were all standing outside now, watching tensely. He had no other choice.
"Fine."
The tops flew into the air at the same moment. The man's proved surprisingly strong, pressing Iron Blaze into a corner with rough but effective movements. Kael felt the fire titan burning with impatience behind him, but now he knew how to keep it in check.
"Iron Blaze," he said calmly. "Flame Rush."
The impact ended the match. The man's top spun once more, then stopped.
Silence fell over the main street. Then, from the edge of the crowd, an old, hoarse voice spoke.
"That's enough, Denar. Let them be."
Everyone turned. An old man stood in the doorway of one of the houses, leaning on a cane, his eyes tired but sharp. In his hand rested an old, worn top, on which a phoenix-shaped pattern was still recognizable.
Kael's heart began to beat faster.
"Mystic Phoenix," he whispered.
The old man nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Kael.
"It's been a long, long time since anyone spoke that name to me."
To be continued in Chapter 19…