By morning, the city had transformed.
The firelight and laughter of the night before were replaced with polished armor, sharpened steel, and the hum of anticipation that hovered like a second sky. Market stalls were packed away or repurposed—food vendors serving porridge and eggs out of cauldrons to armored mages; smiths displaying their best blades with pride or desperation.
And high above it all, on the stone terrace of the Speaker's Arch, stood King Beren.
He didn't need amplification.
His mana carried.
Thick, iron-rich power threaded through the air with every word, settling against bone like it belonged there.
"Today," he said, "you stand as hopefuls—not of gold, or coin, or title. But of trust."
Silence spread like frost.
"To wield metal magic is not simply to command an element," he continued. "It is to control force. To shape weapons from will. To transmute the very fabric of conflict into peace—or war. I will not hand that legacy to anyone untested."
Salem, at my side, shifted. I felt her mana flicker—not fear. Focus.
"Your matches begin tomorrow," the king said. "Two-on-two. Teams will be drawn tonight. You will be paired not for glory, but balance."
Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.
"No two Rank Ones will fight together. No team will stand hopeless. You will be given what you need—and nothing more."
At that, dozens of robed figures moved forward from behind the terrace. They carried cases, chests, bundles of wrapped steel and silk. Mages who couldn't afford enchanted weapons watched with sharp eyes and sharper hunger.
"Every competitor has access to one armament of choice. Armor. Weapon. Spell-focus. Use it well."
Kate murmured beside me, "He's really going all in."
"He has to," Julius said. "The wrong scroll in the wrong hands… it's not just power. It's disaster."
Daniel crossed his arms. "Still. I like that he's leveling the field."
"Not really leveling," I said. "Just letting the poor ones play."
From the crowd, I caught it—barely, a whisper slicing through the mana.
"Is that her?"
"The blind girl?"
"And that's the demon—"
I didn't react. But Salem did.
Her gaze swept the crowd. Not angry. Just… still.
I smiled up at her. "Told you. We're famous."
She arched an eyebrow. "You enjoy this?"
"No," I said. "But if they're whispering, it means they're not ready
We broke off from the dispersing crowd not long after, threading through the square toward the supply pavilion. Banners snapped in the morning wind, heavy with house sigils — I couldn't see the colors or shapes, only the faint mana signatures drifting off them. The air smelled like iron, oil, and nerves.
The pavilion itself hummed with power — a long, wide space filled with layered mana. Rows of weapons lined the walls, each tagged with mana levels and focus requirements. Armor shimmered softly in mana glow, shaped like second skin. Spell-staves, blade-fans, arc-torches, all stacked and humming with locked enchantments.
Kate moved directly toward the long-range racks, her mana trail sharp and precise.
Daniel veered toward a shield wall that pulsed with dense, solid earth mana — like it could block a landslide.
I lingered near the entrance, staff in hand, listening with my mana sight.
Voices buzzed all around—excited, nervous, arrogant—but I tuned them out, focusing instead on their mana patterns. Some pulsed with heat and sharp pressure: fire users. Others drifted cold and mist-like. A few flickered like unstable wires—lightning.
And then there were the outliers.
A bow humming with plant spells.
A chain and sickle wrapped in earthy mana, humming with quiet menace.
A fan enchanted to manipulate scent and poison trails — rare, precise, deadly.
Salem moved beside me, steps soft enough to go unnoticed if you didn't know her. Her hesitation was small but real.
"You're allowed to want something," I said.
"I already have you," she replied, simply.
I bumped her lightly with my elbow. "Still. It won't be just me in the ring. Pick something that fits."
She studied the racks, bypassing heavier gear with little more than mana impressions. One arm limited her choices, but not her instincts.
Eventually, she stopped at a table of finer weapons — lightweight, easily concealed. Her hand hovered over a set of throwing needles but then closed around something else.
A curved blade.
Short, sharp, clean-lined.
The kind of knife that disappeared in shadow and struck like a whisper.
She tested its weight, nodded once, and set it aside for claiming.
A young mage two tables over muttered something under his breath. Not loud, but loud enough.
"She's really picking a blade like she's one of us…"
Salem didn't even blink.
I smiled. "You can keep whispering. It just means you don't our bond."
We moved on.
Around us, others reached for weapons glowing or whirring or shimmering with built-in enchantments. One boy pulled down a gauntlet that sparked lightning every time he flexed. A girl near the edge tested a sickle with wind glyphs engraved down the blade.
Too specialized, I thought. Too dramatic.
But I didn't say it out loud.
I kept walking until I felt it—soft mana pressure, like memory.
A staff. Blackstone, silver-etched, balanced perfectly at its center.
I lifted it, turned it once, and felt the internal click.
Twin daggers slid from each end with a soft whisper of steel.
Adaptable. Fast. My kind of quiet.
Kate rejoined us first, stringing her bow with ease. "You always go for hidden blades," she said.
"I like knowing I have options. And this is the same one i have, only this one doesn't resist as much, weaker magic profile but it'll do, since were not allowed our own weapons."
"Should've picked a trumpet. That way your enemies would at least hear you coming."
"Where's Julius?" Daniel asked, catching up with a massive shield strapped to his back.
"Headed for the stadium," Kate answered before I could. "Said he wanted to get a seat before the seats filled up. Not like he can compete anyway."
"Exactly," Daniel nodded. "No earth mana."
Salem tilted her head. "I don't have earth magic so why am i fighting?"
I put my hand on her shoulder. "You're my bond, it doesn't matter what you got, no earth needed for you as long as i have it."
I could feel her mana shift towards me slightly. "I still don't see how that works or how that's fair."
Kate glanced at her. "The metal scrolls only respond to those born with earth affinity. It's the only stable tether. Everything else — fire, water, wind — it's good support, but without earth, the scrolls don't see you."
Salem was quiet for a beat. Then: "So if there's like a lighting scroll in the future instead of earth it would be fire."
"Exactly," I said. "And some of us get lucky because i could be in both."
Kate gave me a look. "You didn't get lucky. You got everything. You're like some weird cosmic god child."
I grinned. "That sounds like something I'd frame."
Daniel cracked his knuckles. "If luck had anything to do with it, I'd have three affinities and a harem by now."
"You have one and you scare all the ladies by being loud.
He grinned. "When i win this thing it'll be two little terror."
As we stepped back into the sunlight, the air shifted again—faint mana pressure, a tug behind the ribs.
The drawing was close.
Thousands of names. Dozens of match-ups. Hundreds of spectators gathering already in the colossal arena that crowned the city like a second sky. I couldn't see the crowds, only the faint pulses of countless mana signatures — a million seats. A thousand eyes. One chance.
I tilted my face to the wind.
Tonight, I'd find out who they thought could match me.
The courtyard outside the arena pulsed with life.
I tugged my blindfold into place before we reached the entrance.
Too many people. Too much mana. Even without sight, the edges of their presence cut into me. With the blindfold, it all dropped into stillness—my world reduced to sound and touch. Every footstep thudded against stone. Cloth shifted over metal. Voices blurred into static.
But it was quiet inside me. The blindfold helped.
The amphitheater was a vast, open bowl, filled with the hum of ten thousand mana signatures and the breath of a million onlookers. They didn't roar—they pressed. Sound became weight.
At the center: the scroll.
I felt it more than I heard it. Ancient metal magic curled like invisible thread, brushing across my ribs and shoulders. It pulled at something buried. Something old.
A voice rose — deep, calm, absolute.
"The Balance calls. You will step forward when named. Announce your rank for the record."
No flourishes. Just purpose.
First came: "Daniel Ironbark."
He moved forward confidently, shield slung across his back.
"Rank three," he said. His voice echoed clean across the arena.
A second name followed. "Aster Nymmira."
Her footsteps barely touched the stone. Mana trailed like willow strands in wind.
"Rank four," she said, with the measured confidence of someone who'd earned it.
A good match. She may have been a lower number, but her bond — some kind of water snake spirit — was strong. Precise. Controlled.
Then: "Katelin Skybreath."
Kate stepped forward, wind trailing behind her.
"Rank three," she said, steady as stone.
The scroll paused before her partner was named.
"Quillon Redguard."
His voice was rough, but solid.
"Rank two."
I imagined Kate twitching just slightly. She preferred finesse over brute strength — and Davin's mana smelled like fire and grit. But it balanced her. That was the point.
The scroll continued.
Pair after pair. Rank Ones paired with Rank Fours. Rank Twos with sharp Rank Threes or bonds so heavy they changed the shape of a fight.
Then the scroll quieted.
A new pulse rippled from it.
And then, it spoke again.
"Annabel Valor."
The world pressed closer.
Stone underfoot. Cloth shifting as people turned toward me. I stepped forward, blindfold still secure.
"Rank two," I said.
I heard the subtle rustle of Salem behind me, even though she wasn't named.
She wouldn't be.
Bonds weren't summoned.
The scroll stilled again.
The pause dragged a beat longer than normal.
Then:
"Tovin."
Nothing else.
Just a name.
Footsteps followed — a little hesitant. Not clumsy, but uneven. Like each one had to be decided.
His voice, when it came, was quiet.
"Rank eight."
Murmurs swept the crowd.
I felt Salem's posture shift slightly behind me.
Rank Eight was… low. Almost unheard for an arena like this.
But the scroll had spoken.
Balance didn't always mean power. Sometimes it meant pressure.
Tovin stopped beside me. His breath was fast, but shallow—controlled, trying hard not to show nerves.
I didn't speak — not yet. There were still names being called, still ranks being claimed and judgments cast. But I felt him.
His mana was faint. Nothing assertive. But it held a strange kind of stillness. Not calm. Not strength.
Intent.
Eventually, I turned slightly toward him. "You always come in last?"
"No," he said. A beat passed. Then, more quietly: "Usually I'm not invited."
I raised a brow beneath the blindfold — just a little. "Well. Let's give them a reason to regret it."
He let out a soft breath — it could've been a laugh, or maybe relief. "Right."
He hesitated again. "You… always fight blind?"
"I am blind, even under this thing."
"…Impressive."
I shrugged. "No one can hide if they're loud enough."
When the last team was announced, the voice returned, final and clear.
"Balance has been struck. You may prepare. At sunrise, the order will be posted. There will be no appeals."
The crowd erupted — a tidal wave of noise and magic.
I turned slightly, angling my shoulder toward Tovin so I could hear him better over the thunder.
"You any good with a weapon?" I asked.
"I—" he faltered. "Not the best but… I know how to stay standing."
I nodded once. "Good. Stay standing."
He gave a small, nervous laugh. "I'll try."
We turned together, Salem falling in step behind me.
And somewhere in the crowd, whispers started again.
Not about Salem.
Not about me.
But about the boy with no house name, no legacy, and no power they could see.
Tovin.
My teammate.