The first sun rose pale over Lunos.
The light, weak and sickly, barely broke through the low clouds that stretched from horizon to zenith. The battlefield – a vast plain of beaten earth, flanked by hills covered in black snow – had been prepared for hours. The wooden stands, arranged in a semicircle, groaned under the weight of the nobles, the soldiers, the peasants who still had the strength to watch. The banners of the houses trembled in the cold wind: the white moon of Lunos, the black octopus of Graylor, the cat and vines of Eladir, the hammer and anvil of Mercius. And in the center, above Linda's place, the crest of the house of Lunos.
The scaffold, empty, shone in the morning light.
No one smiled. Those who spoke did so in low voices, as if joy itself were a sin. The world burned. More than half of Endomyar's territory was taken – to the south, Ierály and her Contraranures had enslaved entire villages; to the north, the demons of the first tier devastated the mountains; to the east, the City of the End was without a leader, the Pope dead in his own cathedral.
The tournament was a farewell.
One last time the nobles would gather before the end.
+-+
The students of the high tier occupied the reserved benches, near the center. Ethan sat between Ana and Sara. Ariny, beside Sara, kept her eyes on the field. Néris Truid, pale, clasped her hands in her lap. Livia Aryster, the black-haired princess, watched everything with a calm that hid fear.
Daniel Daniarólis, further ahead, prepared his sword.
"Are you nervous?" Sara asked Ethan.
"No." He hesitated. "Okay, yeah, a little."
"You'll do well."
"Or I'll fall in the first duel. Who knows?"
"That too." Sara almost smiled. "But at least you'll fall with style. Won't you?"
Ana, beside him, said nothing. She only tightened her hand on her sword. The mark of Anorys shone faintly on her chest – unstable, like all divine power since the explosion of the second sun.
"Where is Zirinos?" asked Ariny, after a long time.
Ethan looked to the opposite side of the field.
Zirinos stood alone, leaning against a stone column, his arms crossed. Enyo slept on his shoulder, curled up on herself. His gold-and-blood hair shone in the pale light. His dry eyes swept the stands with a slowness that seemed to weigh every soul.
"There," replied Ethan.
"He doesn't sit with us."
"He never sits with us. I wonder why."
Ariny did not insist.
+-+
The teachers occupied the highest bench, beside Linda. Endomir, pale, clasped his hands on his knees. Lara Semorços, her smile gone, stared into the void. Gregorius Grémul, his bald head shining, muttered low. Mátir Mezunto, as always, read a book.
Mára Ferão was not present. She had died weeks earlier, on the academy walls, during Trussum's attack. It was said she had been killed by a corrupted one. Zirinos knew the truth. He would tell no one.
Alice Marévil, the magic teacher, stood by the balustrade. Her simple blue robes swayed in the wind. Her graying hair, tied in a ponytail, shone in the faint light.
Zirinos approached.
"Professor," he called, low.
Alice turned. Her tired green eyes fixed on his.
"Zirinos." Her voice was soft, as always. "I haven't seen you since the academy. But I still heard of you. Did you rape that girl? Where you really in hell? And... are you fine?"
"No, I didn't rape the Aryster girl. I've been in hell. And I'm fine. Or, at least, I appear to be."
"Yeah, you do appear." She touched his arm. The gesture was maternal, almost affectionate. "And you came out. That's what matters to me."
"I came out. But I didn't come out the same, and I think you know that."
"Yes, I know. No one comes out of hell the same. Neither those who enter. Nor those who stay behind."
She looked at Enyo. The creature, still sleeping, squeaked softly.
"Is she yours?" asked Alice.
"She is."
"What's her name?"
"Enyo."
"A beautiful name." Alice smiled. The smile was genuine, rare, and for a moment Zirinos felt something he had not felt in a long time. Warmth. "Have you taught her any magic?"
"Not yet. She's small."
"When she grows up, bring her to the academy. I'll teach her."
"The academy closed."
"The doors closed. The books did not." Alice squeezed his shoulder. "You will go far, Zirinos. I can see that. Don't lose yourself."
"I already have."
"Then find yourself. And when this war against demons end, let's drink some bears and talk about magic."
He only stood there, looking at her, feeling the weight of her words.
You are a good person, Alice, he thought. You don't deserve what is going to happen.
But he said nothing.
He walked away.
The rare moment of happiness – that instant of human warmth – dissolved like smoke.
+-+
Linda Lunos rose from the improvised throne. The blue and silver robes shone in the pale sunlight. Her white hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed in the wind.
"The tournament of Endomyar is open," she announced, her voice echoing across the field. "The winners of each duel will face each other until one remains. The last one standing... the last one standing will be remembered."
The first duels were quick, almost uninteresting. Knights of Eladir faced knights of Graylor. Soldiers of Mercius dueled with soldiers of Lunos. Blood was spilled. Screams echoed. The people applauded out of habit, not enthusiasm.
Ethan was called for the third duel.
His opponent was Daniel Daniarólis.
The two boys faced each other in the center of the field. Daniel, taller, stronger, smiled with contempt. Ethan, wooden sword in hand, kept his expression calm.
"The slave," said Daniel, loud enough for the others to hear. "The chosen one of Macano. The one who can't even light a candle."
"I light candles," replied Ethan. "And other things."
Daniel attacked first.
The blow was fast, strong, but Ethan dodged. Daniel's wooden sword passed inches from his neck. He counterattacked. The blow hit Daniel's shoulder – superficial, but enough to irritate him.
"Luck," Daniel hissed.
"Training," Ethan replied.
They attacked again. The blows followed one after another, the clatter of wood echoing. Daniel was stronger, but Ethan was faster. With every attack, he dodged. With every counterattack, he hit.
On the twelfth strike, Daniel's sword fell to the ground.
"You have won," said the referee, pointing at Ethan.
The people applauded. Daniel, red with rage, refused to shake Ethan's hand. He walked away without looking back.
Ethan stood alone in the center of the field, sword in hand, sweat running down his face.
He looked at Ana. She was not applauding. She only watched. Her brown, cold eyes were fixed on his.
She's proud, he thought. I can see it.
He left the field, smiling drom ear to ear.
+-+
Zirinos was called at the end of the morning.
His opponent was a knight of Lunos – a large man, in heavy armor, with a scar on his face. The local champion.
Zirinos climbed onto the stage. He did not draw his sword. He only looked at his opponent.
"Give up," he said, his voice low, only for the man. "I don't want to kill you today."
The knight hesitated. He looked at Linda. She nodded. The knight gave up.
The people murmured.
Zirinos left the field without fighting.
On the bench, Linda watched him with an expression that was not distrust. It was tiredness.
"What's wrong with him?" someone asked behind her.
"Nothing," replied Linda, her voice neutral. "He's just saving his strength."
But she knew it was not only that.
There was something in Zirinos. Something that had not been there before hell.
---
Andy and Irina sat side by side, for the first time in years.
They did not touch. They did not look at each other. They only shared the same bench, the same silence, the same silent farewell.
"Ana," said Irina, low. "She's different. Sara, my love, too. And Ariny."
"We are all different," replied Andy. "Things have changed."
"Her power... doesn't work. She tried to break a rock with the mark. The rock didn't even move. Then, without meaning to, she split a tree in half."
"Tha's normal. The second sun exploded. The masked one stopped time. We all felt it. Even the gods sure felt it."
"And yours? Decatry's? Macano's?"
"It expired. Years ago."
Irina looked at him. Her tired green eyes fixed on his.
"You know you WILL die today?"
"I know. We had this same talk before."
"And you're still not afraid?"
"I am. But I can't run away. Just like I said before: If it isn't Zirinos, this world would still be destroied by Ether. He is the so called masked one."
"Well I don't know him. But he seem stronger than me, an Arth-ssól. Since you know him, is this true?"
"It is."
Irina touched his hand. Her cold fingers weighed. Andy did not pull away, again.
"I know I said this before, but... I wish it all had been different," she said.
"I wish too."
"If we had met in other circumstances..."
"But we met in these. This is what we have."
Irina closed her eyes. Her head rested on his shoulder.
Andy did not move.
"I hoped Arth was still alive to see this world crumble. I hope he's in a better place than this shitty world.
The pale, sad sun illuminated the empty battlefield.
+-+
The sun reached its zenith when Linda Lunos stood up again.
"The last duel of the day," she announced, "will be between the champion of Lunos and the winner of the elimination... Zirinos."
Silence.
Zirinos climbed onto the stage. The champion of Lunos – the same man from the morning – advanced. His heavy armor creaked.
Zirinos did not move.
The champion attacked. The blow was strong, fast, but Zirinos dodged at the last second. The champion lost his balance.
Zirinos could have killed him there. He did not.
He only pushed him.
The champion fell.
Zirinos won without striking.
The people applauded, confused.
Zirinos did not leave the stage.
He turned to the stands.
His eyes, once human, now shone with a red light.
His hand rose. Corruption accumulated in his palm – black, red, pulsing.
"The judgment of Lindériu was only the beginning," he said, his voice loud, cold. "Today, the judgment of Endomyar."
Andy stood up.
"Zirinos," he shouted. "What are you going to do?"
Zirinos looked at him. His red, empty eyes fixed on his.
"What I should have done from the beginning."
His hand closed.
The spell – the Hand of the Abyss, the same Ierály had used in Asphodel – descended upon the stands.
The massacre was beginning.