The arena shook beneath their feet. Dust spiraled around them in dry eddies, carried by the heat of fire and the weight of metal.
Kalem and Nara stood at the heart of it all.
They were both worn, bruised, armored in ash and smoke. Yet neither relented. Their duel had ceased to be a spectacle—it had become something else. A storm from old days, when bonds were tested through steel and wordless fury.
Kalem raised Warhawk once more, the broad blade hissing with strain, edges warped from heat. He brought it down to meet her fists—once, twice. On the third strike, he shifted to counter, spinning the blade in a side arc meant to catch her ribs.
But Nara had grown faster. Her body coiled like a spring and her palm met the flat of the blade.
A burst of fire exploded at the point of contact.
The edge of Warhawk sagged and hissed, melting in streaks.
Kalem's stance faltered, just for a breath.
And Nara stepped in.
Kalem drew a small axe from his back and swung wide, but Nara caught the shaft, twisted her hips, and moved to drive her knee into his gut.
"Bastion."
The word left his lips like a hammer's strike.
A massive shield—long, heavy, and braced with studs—manifested before him in a shimmer of light and black steam. Her blow crashed into it, sending tremors across the earth. Kalem slid backward across the charred floor, boots furrowing the ground.
From the sidelines, Jhaeros winced. "She's not just swinging for pride anymore."
"She's angry," said Lyra, arms folded, her voice as calm as ever, but her eyes hard.
Garrick looked from one to the other. "At Kalem?"
"Not exactly," Jhaeros said quietly. "She's angry at how he's doing this."
In the ring, Kalem steadied Bastion and looked through its smoke-smeared edge.
"Aren't you taking this a bit seriously?" he asked, breath still even.
"I trained hard," Nara said, circling him slowly, fire trailing at her heels. "Waiting for a chance to punch you this hard."
Kalem tilted his head. "Should I apologize?"
"No," she said, her tone flat. "You should fight harder. I built all this—for this. This is Wagar. The fire, the arena, the invitation. All of it."
Kalem narrowed his eyes. "So this was just a grand excuse to fight?"
"Amusement?" she echoed, voice cooling to embers. "This is Wagar. Here, no one needs a reason. Here, we shed every law and code. But you—you've drifted. You're too far to hear the call."
Kalem's face changed then—just slightly. A flicker of something in the lines of his eyes.
"What are you really angry about, Nara?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she moved.
In a heartbeat, Nara was there—blasting through the air with fists wrapped in fire, driving her full weight into Bastion. Flame and heat roared like a dragon's cry as the shield cracked down its center. The air stank of molten steel and burning dust.
"You're not listening," she said quietly, eyes locked with his.
Kalem stared back.
Then, without a word, he let the shield go.
It fell to the ground with a clang, split in half.
Nara blinked.
"I am listening," Kalem said, voice steady now. "You wanted a real fight? Fine. You'll get one."
He opened his hand.
A strange spear formed.
Bloodgouge.
It did not shimmer like gold, nor sing like Sol. It emerged like a wound in the world—metal black as pitch, with a triple-pronged blade cruelly shaped to rend more than pierce. Along its shaft, veins pulsed crimson, as though the weapon itself lived. Near its base, a gem glowed with deep fury, and with it came a hum—low and hungry.
The earth cracked.
Behind Kalem, the air rippled. Thousands of black mana-spears rose like a forest of midnight—floating, waiting, trembling with restrained power.
Nara tilted her head.
"Well," she smirked. "Let's throw hands."
Kalem raised Bloodgouge. "No. Spears."
He hurled the first one.
It moved faster than a thrown spear ought to—howled through the air like a banshee. Nara jumped, twisting midair, the spear grazing her side and searing flesh through her coat. She landed hard, rolling up, and laughed.
"Now that's more like it!"
The black spears followed—one after another, fired in a torrent, each one aimed not to kill, but to corner. Nara moved like fire incarnate—vaulting, rolling, striking them down midair. The ground became a battleground of explosions and whirling dust.
Jhaeros shielded his eyes.
"She's keeping up," Lyra murmured.
"She always could," Garrick whispered, fingers tightening around his writing totem. "But not forever."
Back in the fray, Kalem walked forward slowly, step after step. Each movement called forth more spears. Bloodgouge vibrated in his hand, responding to something deep in him—not rage, but resolve.
Nara dove toward him, flame coiling around her limbs. She struck one of the mana spears with her elbow mid-flight, redirecting its path straight into Kalem's shoulder.
The blast knocked him sideways, armor chipping.
"Good," she said, landing before him.
"You could've killed me," Kalem said.
"You could've killed me ten times by now," she shot back.
They stood still, both breathing hard, scorched, proud.
And for the first time in the fight, both were smiling.