The arena had quieted.
The murmurs that followed the three anomalies faded, swallowed by something else.
Something heavier.
Someone darker.
"Valerborne. Step forward."
Lioren didn't move right away.
He blinked—slow, unimpressed—and finally pushed off the wall with the kind of disinterest that felt like a slap. His coat flared behind him like it had attitude too.
"He walks like the floor is beneath him as a favor," Seraphina noted.
No bow. No nod. Just a long, slow glance at his opponent.
An elite sword instructor. Known for speed. For aggression.
Lioren didn't blink.
"You're late," the instructor growled.
"You're loud," Lioren said flatly.
Laughter from the crowd. Just a ripple. Just enough to ignite the tension.
"He does this on purpose," Seraphina thought.
"He taunts. Provokes. Makes them angry so they get sloppy. Clever… but exhausting."
She tilted her head.
"And yet… I can't stop watching."
***
The Match Begins....
The instructor lunged—sword drawn, energy flaring.
Lioren didn't dodge.
He leaned.
A step to the left. A pivot. Blade missed by less than an inch.
Then—
Shadow pulsed.
Lioren vanished in a blur of smoke and reappeared behind the instructor, one foot already swinging up in a calculated kick that knocked the man forward—face-first.
The instructor caught himself.
Barely.
Lioren's hands stayed in his pockets.
"Didn't they teach you not to run with sharp objects?" he muttered.
The audience gasped again.
"His shadows don't move the way normal magic does," Seraphina observed.
"It responds to thought. Maybe even emotion. That's advanced. That's dangerous."
She narrowed her eyes.
"He hasn't even drawn a weapon. He doesn't need to. He wants them to feel small first."
The instructor roared, shadows chasing Lioren's limbs.
But Lioren ducked, twisted, kicked off the wall, and landed like gravity was optional.
Then—he yawned.
A full, exaggerated yawn.
"This is your top combat instructor?" he asked the balcony, to the High Seat judges.
"I'm genuinely concerned for the curriculum."
Someone up top choked on laughter. Someone else barked at them to shut up.
But Lioren wasn't laughing.
Not really.
"He's not being funny," Seraphina thought.
"He's hiding. Behind that grin. Behind every rude remark."
He moved again—this time with surgical cruelty.
Two shadow blades flickered into being. Thin, precise, elegant. Not brutal. Not flashy. Just effective.
Slice. One swipe disarmed the instructor.
Crack. A well-placed shadow-strike to the knee brought the man down.
Lioren stopped just short of the man's neck.
His eyes, storm-gray, bore into him without emotion.
"Tap out," Lioren whispered.
"You don't want me to get creative."
The crowd cheered.
Lioren stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve, still unsmiling.
Seraphina exhaled slowly.
"He's terrifying," she thought.
"Not because he's cruel. But because he's practiced every move a hundred times. He was never trying to prove anything."
"He's just making sure no one ever underestimates him again."
Her hand tightened slightly at her side.
She didn't know why her chest felt tight.
"He looked at the instructor like he'd been looking at ghosts his whole life."
> "Like winning wasn't something he enjoyed. Just something he had to do."
As Lioren turned to leave the arena, his eyes flicked up to the balcony—just for a second.
Just long enough for Seraphina to meet them.
She didn't smile.
He smirked
But for a flicker of a heartbeat…
"He looked at me like he knew something I didn't."