Rathwater stood up, hands shaking as tremors raced across his body. His match was next, against Kenneth Levy of class E. Liliana did not envy his match up, and she hoped he won. Because she’d be facing whoever won this match in her next fight. And she truly did not wish to fight Levy herself.

“Good luck.” Liliana offered as Rathwater grimaced.

“I feel like I’m walking to the gallows,” Rathwater muttered darkly. Liliana winced sympathetically. They had all seen what Levy did in his first match, and presumably his second, though Liliana had been distracted during it and unable to pay attention to the fight.

“Just blast him out the gate.” Emyr encouraged. Rathwater shook his head as he trudged towards the door, looking exactly like someone heading towards their doom.

The remaining four friends watched the illusion as Kenneth Levy walked onto the sands, Rathwater entering a minute later, dragging his feet as if this was the absolute last place he wanted to be. Levy’s pale face regarded Rathwater as he stood before him. Rathwater’s shoulders were hunched defensively as he kept his gaze averted, not out of rudeness but obvious nerves.

Levy did not speak other than to confirm his understanding of the rules, his face never changing. If anything, that seemed to unsettle Rathwater further. Liliana could see how his hands shook almost violently as the fight was called to start.

Rathwater had taken Emyr’s words to heart. Storm clouds gathered above the boys in seconds, lightning racing across the dark looming clouds before striking down at Levy. Rathwater scrambled backwards as the lightning struck, presumably to put space between himself and the deadly fog that was already pouring from Levy.

Levy was expecting Rathwater’s opening salvo, spouts of liquid, the wrong color for water, so Liliana assumed it was a type of acid, jumped up to meet the strikes, directing them away from the class E boy. The lightning almost seemed to swerve towards the gouts of liquid, leaving Levy untouched.

He’s smart. Actually smart. He knows that water isn’t conductive enough to attract the electricity, so he’s using something more effective. A type of conductive acid. How does he know the differences? This world isn’t exactly advanced when it comes to science. Did he spend time testing this? Are there students in class E with Lightning affinities and he kept testing different acids against them until he figured it out? Liliana’s mind was in overdrive as her eyes flicked over the illusion, as each electrical attack Rathwater used was diverted, shaking the already delicate confidence Rathwater was barely holding onto.

The entire time, more of the deadly gas was spreading, rolling closer to Rathwater with each second, backing him inevitably up to the wall of the coliseum and hiding Levy’s form.

Levy is dangerous, not just for his strength, but for his mind. It was the conclusion Liliana came to, and it sent a shiver down her spine. A sense of heavy foreboding settled on her shoulders. It wouldn’t be Rathwater she’d face in her next fight, it would be Levy.

Rathwater finally gave up his lightning attacks, and in a move of nothing more than pure desperation and animalistic fear, he used a skill Liliana knew was a quintessential skill. The clouds thickened, rain pelting down like bullets as the winds whipped wildly around the arena, circling as they picked up rain, sand, and flashes of lightning.

In under a minute, the arena contained a hurricane, held back from wreaking untold havoc only by the shield protecting the audience. Rathwater was untouched by his skill, sitting in the deceptively calm eye of the storm he had called, but the rest of the arena was not so lucky as winds strong enough to turn a building to splinters ripped and tore. Great chunks of earth flew through the air, and some of the gas that had previously been unmoved by any Wind skills mixed in with the hurricane.

Rathwater’s use of his quintessential was his undoing. The gas had moved slowly, at a snail’s pace, before. But either through Levy’s command or simple, abysmal luck, the thick fog of deadly acidic gas was mixed throughly into the hurricane as it whipped through the entire arena. Rathwater might not be hurt by his own winds, a small bubble of clear air around him, but his winds were nothing more than a method of transport for the gas that leaked into the clear air around Rathwater.

Had Rathwater better planned his skill use, ensured his own winds could not deposit anything they carried around him, or perhaps made a larger area of clearance around him, he might have won. But logical thought had fled the boy before he ever stepped foot on the sands.

Rathwater went down, panicking the whole time up until his shield went red and he slumped in defeated acceptance. The surprise came when the hurricane calmed and the gas vanished, revealing a crouched Levy, his own shield a dark orange bordering red.

Had Rathwater planned even the slightest amount rather than let his fear rule him, he would’ve won. Liliana could see the moment Rathwater realized it, when he buried his head in his hands and practically fled the sands.

“His fear won the fight.” Koth’talan said, sounding disappointed more than sad.

“He never was good at single fights, his lack of confidence always gets him,” Liliana agreed with a sigh.

It was such a shame, Rathwater was so strong. He had seven affinities. He was a prodigy all on his own. He had the potential to be a powerhouse. But he lacked the confidence such accomplishments should’ve given him. And he was so scared of getting hurt that he often lost his fights before the first attack was even made. Liliana looked around the room at the depleted number of friends remaining.

Half of their group was gone now.

“Enjoy watching a real fight, rather than a pathetic child fumbling around,” Zir’elon spoke up as he walked towards the door, his parting words cutting through the air, chased by the sound of a slamming door.

“Cowardly asshole had to wait until the last second to speak up, just so he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences of his words,” Liliana hissed, glaring at the door with enough rancor that she was almost surprised it didn’t burst into flames.

“He is confident, and prideful, but it is a mistake to assume he is mentally deficient,” Koth’talan grunted, examining his sword and testing the edge. Liliana couldn’t help but think the dæmon wished it was his brother’s neck he was testing his blade against.

“No, we could never be so lucky that he would be truly dumb on top of being a royal pain in our asses.” Liliana grumbled, hissing lightly when Emyr elbowed her.

“Language, Lili.” Emyr nagged, earning an eye roll.

“You’re one to talk,” Liliana teased.

“Ali isn’t here to remind you that you’re a lady, so the task falls to me.” Emyr huffed, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Two curse words are too much for your delicate sensibilities?” Liliana asked as Zir’elon stepped onto the sands across from Miranda Renaud of class D.

“When they’re used in the span of two minutes? Yes.” Emyr nudged her again with his elbow once more.

“Oh, well then, I’ll be sure to censor my words so as not to hurt your precious, noble ears, Bealstal.” Liliana’s voice was sickeningly sweet, in a way that made Emyr’s face scrunch in disgust.

The fight was beginning, and despite the room’s severe distaste for Zir’elon, none of them would pass up the chance to see him defeated. Liliana held a stubborn hope that the prince would finally fall. The only thing sweeter than watching him submit under her own blade would be watching him fall beneath someone he saw as lesser. Luckily for her, Zir’elon saw everyone as lesser, so any loss would sate her need for justice.

Renaud made good use of her Spatial affinity, vanishing and appearing around the arena, sending Zir’elon on a merry chase the first few minutes when he tried to charge at her, only for her to vanish and strike at his back. The garrote Liliana had seen the girl use in a previous match was revealed to be a whip, and one the girl used with a great deal of success.

The whip, holding a small blade on the tip that looked downright vicious, lashed out at Zir’elon’s back every time the girl appeared. It would wrap around his limbs, tugging him off balance just enough to send him spinning and leaving him open for attacks.

Minutes in and for once Zir’elon was on the back foot, unable to hit someone that would vanish the second he was in range. He could hardly defend when he didn’t know where Renaud would appear. Whatever [Perception] skill he had only saved him from some attacks.

Liliana leaned forward, Emyr’s head falling off her shoulder where it had been resting. A smile was tugging at her lips as she watched Renaud whip Zir’elon up and down the arena. Maybe, finally, the dæmon prince would lose.

Zir’elon’s shield was turning a yellow-orange, and the end seemed to be nigh. Zir’elon couldn’t touch Renaud. No matter how fast he charged or struck, her body vanished before anything could touch her. The girl moved like a ghost across the sands.

It was when the match was reaching the five-minute mark when everything changed.

Zir’elon froze, turning on his heel with a supernatural speed, one hand snaking out and grabbing onto the whip that had been seconds from lashing across his open back. Zir’elon’s hand twisted, wrapping the whip around his arm and he pulled, arm muscles straining as Renaud, who had not expected the sudden move or change in rhythm, was pulled off her feet.

Instinctively, Renaud tightened her grip on her already lost weapon and was pulled directly into the path of Zir’elon’s sword, which blazed through the air so fast the flames left after images in the air. The sword crashed into Renaud’s side with all the force of a charging bull. Renaud’s grip on her weapon was ripped from her as her body was thrown through the air like a limp rag doll.

Zir’elon loosened his grip on the whip, letting it slide through his hand until he gripped the handle of the weapon. With a surprising level of competency, he swung the whip in the air, cracking it out to wrap around Renaud’s ankle, jolting her from the air and pulling her back in. Once more, a flaming sword slammed into Renaud. This time, her body fell straight down at Zir’elon’s feet with enough force that Liliana winced in sympathy. She truly hoped the shields absorbed most of the damage from that, or the girl would have broken ribs.

“How can he use that whip? He’s a sword user.” Emyr complained.

“The whip is his mother’s favored weapon, he was trained on how to use it.” Koth’talan explained, voice low and full of banked anger.

“He uses the sword for the same reason I do.” Koth’talan’s grip on his sword tightened, “because it is our father’s weapon.” He finished. Liliana’s attention turned from the illusion, where Renaud had finally regained her wits and vanished, but the girl was weaponless now.

Koth’talan was looking at his sword with burning eyes, hate and love mixed so thoroughly in them one could not untangle the emotions.

Who gave him that sword? Liliana had to wonder. Was it the father, whose blood was the reason Koth’talan was ostracized, denied any birthright yet hunted down? Was it his mother, trying to give her son a piece of the father who had doomed his own progeny?

Did Koth’talan hate the weapon because it reminded him of the siblings who had tried to kill him, had abused him his whole life? Did he love it because it reminded him of the father who loved his mother dearly and chose Koth’talan over his ‘rightful’ heirs?

Liliana wasn’t sure, had no way of knowing save by asking. And she knew Koth’talan well enough by now to know he would not welcome prying into his private life, into the history he kept close to his chest, locked away.

At least Liliana finally understood why Koth’talan used the same weapon as Zir’elon, so similar in form they could be brothers made by the same smith. It was not out of some twisted form of brotherly love. It was because it was the weapon the father they shared used.

Though perhaps their reasons for using it differed. Zir’elon using it to prove he was a rightful heir, as powerful as the emperor. Koth’talan… was harder to parse. To prove he was as much a son of the emperor as those born in wedlock? Out of love? Or perhaps to spite his father and siblings by using their chosen weapon? To remind them that no matter what, he was still his father’s son?

A mystery for another day. For another time, when fewer walls separated Koth’talan from the friends he had made. When he trusted them to not betray the secrets he so closely guarded.

Liliana looked back at the illusion in time to see Zir’elon grab a lagging Renaud with the whip once more and batter her mercilessly with his blade. Again and again Renaud vanished, only for Zir’elon to rip her from wherever she appeared with her own weapon and drag her in range of his sword.

He hadn’t been on the back foot at all. He’d been watching, learning her patterns. The range of her teleportation, until he could take her weapon from her, knowing it would seal his victory. Liliana breathed out, impressed despite herself. Such clever thinking, a strategy that required a certain amount of self sacrifice and thinking multiple moves ahead, it was beyond what she thought Zir’elon capable of.

He is confident and prideful, but it is a mistake to assume he is mentally deficient. Koth’talan had said those words, and Liliana had thought she hadn’t been underestimating Zir’elon. But it was clear she had been.

She might hate the prince, but she needed to admit that he was a worthy opponent. Strong, and smarter than any of them had given him credit for. At least, where battle tactics were concerned.

Has he really been hiding his full potential this entire time? Just to show off in the tournament? Liliana wondered, wanting to dismiss the idea as insane, but suddenly not entirely sure if she could.

Liliana hadn’t expected too much from the tournament, if she was honest. Her main goal had been making sure she and her friends got their chance to show their potential. She had not expected to have preconceived notions turned on their heads, to discover that six months could make her classmates grow in ways she had never foreseen.

Games could only show growth via numbers, a growth in levels, in skills and spells. It couldn’t show the way others grew as they watched and learned from each other, as their strategies evolved. Games couldn’t evolve the way humans, dæmons, and beastmen could. Programming couldn’t account for the vast adaptability mortal races had.

Zir’elon won his fight, Renaud defeated. The whip he’d stolen was tossed on Renaud’s fallen form, driven there by a final hit from his sword, full of too much power for a girl whose shield was already bordering red. A cruel, unnecessary attack. Then again, chivalrous was never a word Liliana would’ve attributed to Zir’elon.

“Our turn,” Emyr murmured as he and Koth’talan stood. Their fight was up next, a cruelly short time between their fight and Basil and Alistair’s. Once more, a friend would fight a friend, and only one would return.

Liliana grabbed Emyr’s hand as it swung close during a stretch, squeezing it tight.

“Good luck, Em.” Liliana smiled up at her friend as he let her see a rare grin.

“Do me a favor, Lili,” Liliana tilted her head, a curious noise leaving her as Emyr leaned in close to whisper, “bet against me.” He pulled back with a secretive smile and a wink as he left the room. Koth’talan left seconds after him, Basil giving him a wish for good luck. Liliana murmured her own goodbye, distracted by the cryptic message Emyr had given her.

Oh, Em. You stupid, kind-hearted jerk. Liliana blinked her eyes, feeling a bittersweet smile cross her lips as she looked at the illusion.

Either Zir’elon felt his winning was enough of a mockery to them, or he knew the danger he faced stepping back into the class S waiting room. Or, far more likely, a professor had been watching them and diverted the prince from returning to prevent a murder and international incident. Whatever the reason, after Emyr and Koth’talan left, Zir’elon did not return. A small mercy Liliana was thankful for as her heart gave a small pang, watching Koth’talan and Emyr step onto the sands.

Koth’talan looked fiercely determined, face set in a scowl. Emyr, by contrast, was cool, the smallest smirk playing on his lips, as if he knew a joke no one else did. The rules were read and agreed to, and the shields were summoned. The fight was called to a start.

No sooner had the words left the professor’s lips than Emyr was raising his hands, a piece of white fabric appearing in his grasp. Koth’talan was staring at Emyr as if he couldn’t understand what the boy was doing. Like Emyr was speaking some foreign language as his lips formed the words ‘I surrender’.

“He? What?” Basil sputtered, staring in slack jawed shock as Emyr’s shield turned red. Seemed there was at least precedent for surrender, the word being a code to automatically turn someone’s shield red.

Ten seconds, the fastest fight seen today. Ten seconds and Koth’talan was declared the victor without ever having to attack.

The makeshift surrender flag vanished from Emyr’s hands as he approached a bemused Koth’talan, gripping him by the shoulder and dragging his head down so Emyr could whisper something in the dæmon’s ear, something that had Koth’talan’s face hardening. As the dæmon pulled back, he nodded and gripped Emyr’s shoulder tight before the two parted ways. Koth’talan to return to the waiting room, Emyr to join their friends in the audience, his time on the sands done.

“Even when he surrenders, he has to be dramatic,” Liliana muttered affectionately.

She was more surprised Koth’talan had gone along with the plan. He seemed the type to find any surrender a slight against his honor. Then again, Emyr rarely did anything without being certain he would succeed, and he must have told Koth’talan something that made him accept his plan.

“What did he say?” Liliana turned on Koth’talan the second the door opened, and the bastard prince paused for a moment before he continued to his seat.

“He asked me what I would give to face my brother,” Koth’talan answered the two remaining students in the room, who were hanging off his every word.

“What did you say?” Basil prodded.

“I told him I’d do anything to face my brother and prove my might,” Koth’talan said, voice tinged with awe, then nodded at the empty illusion. “So he surrendered, to give me my chance. He told me to be sure I put my brother in his place, and make his sacrifice mean something.” Koth’talan looked down at his empty palms.

“He showed true bravery. I will not forget this sacrifice.” He murmured, almost too softly for them to hear as Liliana and Basil traded looks.

Bravery? No. Emyr just thought it would be more satisfying for Zir’elon to be bested by the brother he despises. And perhaps because he has a soft heart hidden behind his sharp tongue. Liliana thought with a shake of her head, internally cursing out Emyr for being both far too devious and far too kind.