Rōko moved first.
I heard the shift — sand giving under deliberate weight, the steady rhythm of footsteps no longer meant to strike or kill, but to reach.
Then her presence stopped in front of me. A quiet, heavy kind of stillness — like a stone settling into place.
Salem's breath tightened behind me, but she didn't move. Didn't speak.
Then I felt it — callused fingers closing gently around mine.
Rōko's hand.
She pulled me up, slow and even, not forceful, just sure. Her grip was steady. Grounded. Like she wasn't lifting a rival — but honoring one.
Once I stood, she didn't let go right away.
And then, for the first time, she spoke.
Low. Careful. Voice like something unused for years.
"That's the first time I've ever lost a fight," she said.
A pause.
"And that was without your bond present."
The words didn't sting. They didn't need to. They weren't mockery — they were respect.
I nodded once. Said nothing.
There was nothing else to say.
She let go.
The air around us felt different now. Not lighter. Just clearer.
And above us, something began to move.
Not fast. Not loud. Just the sound of boots against stone — slow, deliberate. Two pairs. One heavier, measured like ritual. The other quieter, but heavier in presence. Like the world made room for it.
King Beren and Lincoln.
Even blindfolded, I felt their arrival like a shift in pressure — like wind folding wrong through the arena. The kind of stillness that only came when history decided it was time to write something down.
Between them was something older than both men. I couldn't see it — but I felt it hum in the air. Felt the way metal dust rose faintly from the sand around my boots. The way the world recognized the thing before I even touched it.
The Metal Scroll.
When they stopped before us, it was the king who spoke first — voice like verdict and ritual all at once.
"You've both earned it," Beren said. "All three of you."
He didn't say my name.
He didn't need to.
Then Lincoln's voice, deeper, lower — like the ground had chosen to speak.
"This is metal magic in its purest form," he said. "It doesn't just shape the world. It undoes it. With this, you can unmake blades in flight. Crumble armor to sand. Twist any weapon meant for you into dust before it lands."
I heard something unlock.
Three pulses — one for each of us.
The first moved toward Rōko. I felt her shift slightly beside me, a slow inhale, a ripple through the mana in the air as it accepted her. No resistance. Just binding. Quiet and deep.
Then mine.
I braced.
The magic brushed against my skin — cool at first, like fog — then sank deeper, threading into bone, blood, breath.
It didn't sear or spark.
It settled.
Heavy. Dense. Like I'd swallowed part of the world itself. I couldn't see metal now, but I could feel it — the particles in the air, the tension in my staff, the dust around my boots. It was all connected. Waiting to be commanded.
Then the third strand returned to Lincoln.
He didn't even shift.
And when it reached him, the pressure in the air broke like a wave. The scroll disintegrated — not shattered, not destroyed — just… spent. Fulfilled.
The king raised his voice one last time.
"These three now hold the Metal Art," he said. "If the devils rise again—"
"We'll rise to meet them," Lincoln finished.
A pause.
No roar from the crowd. No cheers.
Just silence.
And weight.
The kind that meant war wasn't a story anymore.
It was a question.
And we'd just become part of the answer.
The wind barely stirred now.
The fight was over. The world hadn't ended.
But something inside me had shifted.
Then—
King Beren's voice rose again, deep and calm, this time through the lingering silence, steady as a tolling bell.
"In honor of our champions," he said, "there will be a celebration tonight in the upper courts — music, firelight, food, and fare for those bold enough to meet our winners in person."
That sparked murmurs.
Excitement. Speculation.
Then he added, "Of course, for those not invited through merit, there will be a price of entry."
That earned a laugh — a rich, ripple of amusement from the nobles and upper houses clustered in their gold-draped terraces. But no one dared object.
Not here. Not now.
Not when the two of us were still standing in the sand, barely whole, surrounded by the echo of something unforgettable.
⸻
While i walking trough the hallways on my way back upstairs i heard a voice, approaching fast.
"Annie!"
Julius's voice cracked through the rising hum, boots crunching over stone.
He hit me with a hug a breath later, too fast to brace for, arms tight like he thought I might dissolve.
"I thought you were gonna fold yourself into a wall," he muttered. "Or through one."
I gave half a laugh. "Almost did."
"You were brilliant," Kate said, breathless, right behind him. "That spell—that spell. Where you blinked behind her. No one's ever seen that kind of space magic—"
"That was my favorite part," Tovin added, surprisingly animated. "I mean, you can't see, and you still ducked a spinning blade—"
"I didn't," I said quietly.
They blinked.
"It cut me. My back. I just kept going."
Even Ramon flinched at that.
Then Salem was there. She didn't say anything. Just walked into my space, slow and steady — one hand finding mine without asking.
She didn't squeeze.
She just held.
I leaned toward her.
It was enough.
"Alright," Julius said, clapping once. "Let's go eat. Before someone challenges her to another duel."
⸻
We left the arena through the main combatant arch — stone and low-lit, winding under the crowd.
But not five steps past the gate—
"Annabel!"
"Wait—can we talk to—?"
"That space magic, I've never—"
"Sign this—please—"
It came fast.
Too fast.
A dozen people. Then more. Not just nobles. Not just students. Just… everyone.
A blur of voices. Scrolls. Books. Even a broken staff someone shoved toward me.
"Here, just your name! Right here—"
"I—can't write," I tried to say.
Didn't matter.
The crowd pushed closer. Polite, but insistent. Their awe was a kind of weight.
I turned slightly, trying to step back.
Salem moved first.
"She said no."
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just absolute.
Ramon followed — one step forward, arms folded.
"Back off. Give her space. She just came out of a deathmatch."
Silence hit like a wall. One breath. Two.
Then the crowd peeled away — sheepish. Whispering.
Salem pulled me close. Didn't let go.
Even when we found seats in the private stone dining room reserved for finalists — steam rising from bowls of spiced mana-rice and splitroot broth, hot bread, sweet pickled kelp in stone dishes.
I sat.
Didn't eat.
Not yet.
Too much.
Too loud inside.
But I could feel them calming around me.
Julius leaning back with a groan. Kate tearing bread with both hands. Tovin still dazed. Ramon — always — watched the door.
Salem leaned her weight into mine, arm around my shoulders now.
She was the only thing I let myself lean against.
"Where's Daniel?" I asked after a moment.
That drew a pause.
Kate cleared her throat. "Training."
"Now?"
"He left after he lost to Rōko. Didn't say anything. Wouldn't talk to me or Ramon."
"He's not mad at you," Julius said gently. "He just… lost."
"Pride stings harder than cuts," Ramon muttered.
I nodded.
Or tried to.
Then I picked up my spoon. Let the heat warm my fingers. Let the silence stretch a little longer.
They let me.
The food was half-eaten.
Conversation had faded to comfort — soft sounds and tired laughter, boots scraped against stone and soup spoons clinking gently.
And still, somewhere above, the city pulsed with celebration.
Even the air buzzed differently now. Thicker. Touched by something not entirely natural.
I felt it like a pulse at the base of my spine.
A weightless drag in the air.
Like static.
Like dust, but alive.
Metal.
Not the kind forged and sharpened. Not even the kind bound to weapons. This was something finer — smaller. Particles so small they danced on breath. It brushed the edge of my awareness.
The scroll's magic.
I reached up slowly, fingers to the knot of my blindfold.
"Annie?" Salem asked, voice low.
"I'm okay."
I pulled the cloth down.
Darkness still reigned. But now it wasn't empty.
The world glowed.
Lines and motion — mana outlines drifting like veins through everything. Walls, people, food. Each aura different. Familiar.
But one thread glimmered gold-silver in the air, like fog caught in moonlight.
Metal mana.
Floating. Waiting.
I raised my hand.
Didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The spell didn't come from a cast.
It came from instinct.
The way space moved when I blinked — how frost listened when I called it. This was the same.
I willed the particles to gather.
A spiral, first. Then a shape. Rough-edged. Thin.
I folded it again. Pressed it into form.
And the blade took shape in my hand — not polished or perfect, but real. A thin short-sword, metal pulled from the air, cold and raw and new.
It didn't hum like my staff.
But it felt alive.
"Tovin," I said, turning slightly toward his mana-light.
He looked up, startled. "Yeah?"
I held the blade out.
He didn't move right away. "Is that—?"
"It's from the scroll."
His breath hitched.
He reached out, hesitating just before taking it. "You're giving this to me?"
"Eh maybe, lets just say loaning it."
The weight settled in his hands.
"Thanks for being my teammate,"
I felt his smile — proud, nervous, still shocked.
Then I added, quiet but firm, "But if you wanna make a name for yourself, you have to stop jumping in without thinking."
He winced. "I know. That was… I mean, I thought this was the right time—"
"It wasn't ."
A beat.
Then he laughed. "Noted."
⸻
We stepped back into the streets a short while later — full again, warm again, still worn down to the bone — and even now, people were watching.
Not like in the arena.
This was quieter.
Respectful.
Curious.
Some walked past and whispered. Some simply nodded.
But others came closer.
One voice: "You were incredible."
Another: "My daughter saw the fight. She wants to be a mage now."
"Can I shake your hand—?"
"I've never seen space magic in my life—"
Salem kept a step closer to me.
She didn't shoo them this time. Just stayed near. Just in case.
And I let the crowd pass through me like a river. Not pushing. Not demanding.
Just… witnessing.
Because a million people had watched me fight.
And they now except me at the center of what the future holds.