Her very breath escaped her lungs into white mist, faint flakes of ice glimmering in the vapors. Beneath Astrid's feet was a single plank of ice with sunlight glaring off the corner yet it remained frozen, ringing clear to the tapping of her white shoes. When her foot departed, the plank would dissolve, but another plank formed to receive her trek, an ethereal icy bridge meant for only her to walk. When the snow fell around her, she recalled the first memory since her capture by the New Dawn, having awakened to the fierce snowstorm out the window howling in her ears.

It had been hell for her. Kept in a prison of hardened ice beyond the imperviousness of metal, Astrid begged whenever she was released, only to be forced into further torment in their constant experiments, their tools cutting into her body without care for her screams since her mouth could move while the rest had been paralyzed. The cycle carried on for years, and her screams died down, turning into curses, her teeth gnashing at her captors in hateful speech.

When all seemed lost, the years had gone on too long without respite, and when she saw more bodies of so-called failures be dragged away to be disposed of, she had given up. But then, a voice whispered to her, calling from outside the frozen prison. It was a voice unlike she had ever heard, carrying no life in it as if he talked merely to speak words for the sake of it, not to express his emotions. Yet, there was an odd comfort to it, far different from vile delight, the angered disappointment, and the sly tongues of empty promises by the New Dawn. It carried a chill colder than the ice on her skin but brought warmth to her heart.

"Do you want to fight?" Those words were all she needed, and she answered despite the ice blocking her lips.

Escaping from the memories reflecting the snowflakes, Astrid glanced behind her to look upon her new master, Lord Draven, his hand stretching out to point at the enemy, and he said, "Break her." Two words resounded in her head, and she opened her arms wide, bringing a storm of ice and frost. Enliven by the order, she gazed at Bellina, the warrioress, contempt glaring from her cold expression. She wondered about how she could fight to bring the most prestige to her lord, ignoring the boisterous boasting of the thick-headed tigress.

"I am Bellina, warrior of the Togros. Speak your name, brittle wench." Bellina chuckled, clear derision lifting her smile. She raised a great halberd, its spearhead masterfully crafted with a fine edge that split the light itself, engravings of a great Tigrena stretching its claws into the protruding blades that branched from the main spear. Astrid refused to answer and waited, which seemed to irritate Bellina as she shouted, "Is this the demeanor of one who has conquered a continent? I wouldn't have expected any less from a group of miscreants on a lowly land."

"Bellina!" Areus shouted, snarling at his own family. "Are you a Togros or not? You dare sully our name with your behavior. Look upon your enemy. She's prepared, far better than you. Fight now!"

"Yes!" Bellina said abruptly, her posture straightening up in fear, acting like a prey standing before a predator.

"Pathetic," Astrid remarked, her words echoing to the back. As Bellina's gaze sharpened, she spoke again in curses, "A bastard child like you isn't worthy of fighting. Run away and sleep with your tigers since that's the only comfort you could possibly have, you muscle-headed dunce." Before her opponent could retort, she waved her off as if she were a gnat buzzing irritably around her ears. "Seriously, get out of my face. Either shut up and fight or leave. Your voice is insulting to my ears."

What was the point? She saw her opponent flare up the Ein into a volcanic fury, manifesting in a scarlet halberd anima that soon melded into her armament. Flames spat out from the blades, now red and larger than before. The fire breached into her snowstorm and burned out its own domain—half of the battle was now engulfed in red flames while the other remained enveloped in an icy storm. Bellina took a broad step forward, and Astrid made her move, deciding to end the battle in a single instant.

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From every pore of her body, a white mist escaped and expanded, all in a split second. Like a snake swallowing its prey, it engulfed the entirety of the battlefield, Bellina and her flames included. She willed the mist to condense, and it instantly shrank, bearing down on her enemy with the force of a thousand crashing avalanches, its chilling touch instantly killing off even the largest infernos raging about before settling on Bellina. The boisterous woman couldn't muster a defense as each flake burst in a thick layer of frost on her skin, and before her mouth could scream, she froze in a layer of white ice.

"A beautiful ice sculpture but completely ruined by the idiocy of the one it represents." Astrid saw the imprisoned Bellina fall and be caught by several others who carefully lifted her back to the airship, a single hand from Areus freeing her from the icy bonds. It was her victory as declared from a single relenting nod from the old Togros, and she turned without sparing her enemy a glance, instead nodding to her lord, who remained still. "I have not failed you, my Lord."

Suddenly, a great heat erupted from her chest, flame-shaped patterns spread over her arms and legs like the signs of deadly pox. 'Not now!' She clutched her neck, attempting to force down the cry of agony, but the searing, scorching pain spread to her fingers, forcing them to open. Steam poured out from her orifices, and she crashed to the precipice, the rocks battering her frame and dirtying her robes. Grass strung on her hair, and she cursed out at the flame seal, "Blasted thing."

"To defeat her in a second, you overdrew far more than you should have. This is your punishment for not taking our lord's warnings to heart." Marcus chided her and shook his head, clearly disappointed. She wanted to retort that she did it all for their lord, but the steam choked out any words that tried to form.

Her lord didn't seem to care about her condition. He waved his hand and ordered, "Kragg, go."

…….

"Me? Lordy, I should be at least the second-to-last. I'm not below Santen and Marcus." Kragg complained. He picked at his teeth with his nail and glared at Santen and Marcus, silently requesting them to go ahead, but they shook their heads and looked away, the irritable bastards. They had always looked down on him, acting so high and mighty, even though they were simply the earlier ones to be freed.

Before he could complain further, a small mouse-like squeak called to him, "G-good luck, Kragg." He turned back to the fidgeting Restel, her figure stiffening while her head bobbed around. She stammered, "S-sorry."

"Fine, I'll go. Stingy bastards." Kragg stomped on the ground and kicked off into the air, dispersing the remaining frost with a single swipe of his hand. He roared out, starting a chain reaction from the various tigers on the Togros's side, their roars unable to outdo his own. Sneering at the opposition, he roared again in provocation, unable to let them get the upper hand. Since Restel had expressed herself, he would not deny her wishes. His third roar carried his words, "I am Kragg, the Fourth! Who is my opponent!"

Out of the remaining four Togros warriors, one leaped forward in a curled beastly form, almost as if he were using his arms as legs. He matched Kragg's large, burly frame, a physique of hardened muscle. His wide grin similarly exposed sharp canines. Wearing a tiger's fur pelt around his waist over his brown, ragged pants, the man stomped closer, the air under his feet bursting in jets of wind. His wild orange hair grew freely down his back, spiky as if it could stab into people. Kragg didn't know why, whether it was the lion inside him provoked by the tiger or the fact this man looked similar to him, but he felt a strong impulse to carve the man's guts out.

"Remember, we have no wish to cause death to the other. This is a duel, not a battle to the death." Hector, the annoying old man, warned them.

Not to be outdone, Kragg walked in the same manner, blasting the air under his feet in thunderous booms. He tore off his upper shirt, exposing the tattoos patterned on his skin. The man across from him smiled wider, and they walked until they reached an inch away from each other, a pocket of air separating their noses.

"I am–" The man wanted to introduce himself, but Kragg swiped his hand in the shape of a claw, aiming for the head. The man lifted his arm and blocked Kragg's attack, a hint of lightning coursing on his skin. Of course, his enemy also had the same element as him. It made it all clear why he felt the need to devour this man, the beast in him unwilling to allow a kindred spirit to exist, not wishing for any to challenge his pride. He had attacked without Ein to avoid being caught by the Prinstyct, but his foe had been prepared. Grinning, Kragg retracted his arm and cracked his knuckles, his fangs slowly protruding.

"I am Lelex Togros. I knew from the moment I saw you that we'd be fighting. We're too similar." Lelex growled and raised his Ein. "My fangs desire your flesh."

Kragg chortled, "Little tiger. Don't bite at the lion's heels!"