There was no announcement. No boast. No smirk. Just two Breakers standing opposite each other in cracked stone and weightless silence.
Zach and Makai didn't bow.
They didn't have to.
Their respect was built into the way they squared their shoulders and shifted their weight—not for tradition, but for survival. Their domains were already touching. Already pressing. Already testing.
Then gravity dropped.
Makai didn't flare his essence. He shifted it. The entire platform dipped slightly—not from technique, but from presence. His domain pulled down like invisible chains. The spectators near the front rows adjusted their stance just to keep balance.
Zach responded instantly. His gravity pushed upward at a sharp diagonal. The collision point between them cracked the earth, a deep "thud" echoing through the arena like a heartbeat.
Makai's expression stayed calm. Unbothered. "You're heavier than I expected," he said.
Zach didn't answer. He stepped forward.
They met in the center with no wasted movement.
Zach jabbed—short and clean. Makai caught it with a palm and twisted, redirecting the force sideways. A spiral of broken ground followed the motion, like the air itself was caught between opposing fields.
Zach followed with a spinning elbow. Makai ducked under it and punched low.
The blow didn't land. Zach shifted gravity behind him and launched himself backward—then instantly reversed it mid-air to slingshot back in.
He reappeared behind Makai.
Makai dropped low and dragged gravity in a horizontal sweep.
Zach's knee buckled.
The crowd gasped.
He caught himself with a sudden essence burst—but Makai was already twisting into a brutal uppercut laced with a directed compression field.
Zach blocked it with both arms. Slid back. His heels dug twin trenches in the arena floor.
I felt my hands clench without realizing it.
"Zach's domain is thinning," Amir muttered beside me.
"He's conserving," I said. "He has to."
"No. He wants to," Nel said quietly. "He wants to win without relying on a surge."
She was right. That was the Breaker way. Control. Efficiency. No wasted effort.
But Makai wasn't wasting anything either.
They clashed again. This time, Makai dropped the arena's center weight, forcing Zach to adjust mid-combo. His heel twisted wrong. The impact wasn't huge—but enough. Makai snapped an elbow into Zach's ribs and followed it with a compressed gravity pulse to the chest.
Zach skidded back.
Breathing heavier now.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They leaned in.
Even the judges were still.
Elarin crossed his arms. "This is no longer a spar."
"It stopped being ceremonial ten moves ago," Juno added softly.
Suri looked visibly concerned. "They're going to break something."
Adeya didn't speak. But her eyes were narrowed.
Makai stepped forward. "This ends now," he said.
Zach didn't respond. But his eyes sharpened.
He surged forward—hard.
His domain compressed into a tight spiral around his body. Each step shattered stone. His elbow struck Makai's jaw. His knee followed up into his ribs. Makai staggered—
—but he grabbed Zach mid-fall and reversed the force.
Zach was slammed headfirst into the ground.
The floor cracked. The noise snapped through the arena like a lightning strike.
The crowd rose in panic.
Zach didn't move for a second.
Then slowly—hand by hand—he pushed himself up.
Makai waited. His stance was strong, but his breaths were uneven. His jaw was swelling. His shoulder drooped just slightly.
Zach's nose was bleeding. His hair hung loose. But his domain started rising again.
And that was the problem.
They weren't slowing down.
They were escalating.
And then it happened.
They struck at the same time.
One uppercut. One pulse.
Both landed.
The arena dipped again—essence warping from the impact. Neither boy backed down.
But the fight didn't end.
It should have.
Instead, they adjusted—ready to go another round.
That's when two figures stood.
And everything stopped.
They didn't flare their domains. They didn't shout.
They simply rose to their feet.
Adeya.
And the elder who had nominated Makai—Jiran Break, the oldest among them.
That was all it took.
The pressure that followed wasn't loud or violent.
It was absolute.
The arena hushed instantly. The very air seemed to apologize for moving.
Zach and Makai froze—not out of fear, but out of instinct. Even their domains retracted slightly, as if recognizing something greater had entered the ring.
Zach's mom stepped down first, her coat catching a soft ripple of wind.
Jiran followed. Both walked calmly into the arena, saying nothing.
Their presence alone told the crowd this was finished.
Even the elders sat straighter.
Even the visiting clans quieted.
No orders were given.
Because none were needed.
From the platform, Ronan's voice finally echoed across the arena. "Zach Break is recognized as the Breaker Clan successor. Four elder votes in favor. Two abstentions. The matter is settled."
Still no cheers.
Only silence.
Zach stood tall, bloodied, eyes sharp.
Makai nodded to him once. "You would've lost if I hadn't slipped."
Zach nodded back. "I know."
They turned away from each other.
Not as enemies.
But as survivors.
I looked up just in time to see Adeya walking past the judges' table. As she passed Muhammad, they shared the faintest smile.
Old friends.
Or something worse.