Things got tense when Kieren walked into the dueling ring. The lighthearted fun from Vellea's illusions and Maelea's ground-pound tricks faded away, and the air felt like it was tightening.
Kael picked up on it too. The others, Corvyn, Vellea, even Maelea, all quieted down. Tarin, calm as usual, rolled his shoulders and gave a little smile. But Kieren didn't smile back.
"Finally," Kieren said, his voice smooth, almost oily. "Let's see if the golden boy really shines."
Kael tilted his head. Ah, here comes the act two bitterness.
Kieren didn't waste any time. He snapped his fingers, and his Core burst into action—inky black mana shot out from under his cloak like a second skin, swirling around his arms like liquid shadows.
Two distorted versions of him popped up beside him, then a third. They flickered a bit out of sync before settling. Each one wore a grin.
Tarin's wind aura came alive, but it felt more controlled this time. His stance tightened, hands lowering a bit. That usual smile? Yeah, it was gone.
Kael noticed that.
Oh? So you're taking this one seriously.
The Shade clones made their move first. All three rushed in, erratic and uncoordinated, messing up Tarin's timing.
Meanwhile, the real Kieren hung back, hands making tight little circles in the air, crafting sigils with leftover shadow dust.
Sub-Module: Obfuscate Pulse – It messes with your perception through kinetic misdirection.
Kael frowned. That's not a beginner trick.
Tarin leaped backwards, using a gust to shoot up high. From there, he dropped a wind spiral to scatter the clones. Two blinked out of existence. The third, though, spun and caught the edge of the blast, rolling sideways—real Kieren had swapped spots mid-cast.
Tarin hit the ground but had to duck away from a razor-thin shadow tendril that whipped toward him. He quickly raised a wind barrier, which absorbed most of it, but the tip still grazed his sleeve, burning a line through the fabric.
Kael narrowed his eyes. That wasn't playful.
"Kieren's going too far," Maelea whispered nearby.
Corvyn frowned, "He's always like this around Tarin."
Vellea snorted, "Insecure much?"
Kael stayed quiet. He was focused on how Tarin moved now—way less showy, more controlled, no wasted steps. It was the closest thing to serious fighting he'd shown all day. And yet, Kieren just grinned like he had everything under control.
"You're quick," Kieren said, breath steady, "but you can't outrun your own shadow." He crouched low, triggering a sigil bomb of compressed darkness around his feet.
A dome of black expanded outward, distorting light and hiding Tarin from view.
For a few seconds, all you could hear were footsteps shuffling, distant mana crackles, and the sharp clap of gusts and burst sigils coming from the dome.
Then—Whoosh.
Tarin erupted out from the top, flipping midair, his cloak billowing behind him like a flag. He landed hard, kneeling, skidding back a couple of meters before planting his hand down to stop.
The shadow dome collapsed. Kieren was left inside, panting, his Core glow dimmed a bit.
Tarin stood up, straightened himself, and exhaled.
"You almost had me," he said.
Kieren blinked, "What?"
Tarin shot him a look that felt both respectful and unimpressed. "But you went all out with the dome. You didn't keep anything in reserve."
Kieren frowned. "Didn't need to."
Tarin shrugged and pointed behind him.
Kieren turned—too slow.
A rotational wind sigil, left behind in the dome, exploded, catching the shadow tendril on his left arm. It yanked him back, throwing him off-balance—
And Tarin was right there, one hand gently tapping his chest.
"Hit."
Kieren stared at him.
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue or scream or even throw something. But Tarin just gave him a respectful nod and stepped back.
Kieren's shadow pulled away, peeling off like smoke in reverse. The others gave a light clap.
Kael? He just exhaled, leaned back in the shade, and muttered:
"That was closer than it looked."
*
There was a special kind of quiet that settled when Lyssa entered the ring.
Not just silence or hesitation, but a hush heavy with meaning—as if the Core itself was taking a moment to hold its breath.
Kael leaned forward from his seat on a mossy rise nearby the dueling platform. His drink was finished, his patience was wearing thin, but his focus was razor-sharp.
This fight mattered.
Tarin stood right in the center, his wind aura flickering cautiously. He appeared calm, but it was a ready calm—the kind one wears when facing an opponent who is not just strong, but also clever.
Lyssa didn't utter a word as she made her entrance. She walked in with purpose and grace, then took a deep breath.
Her Core ignited.
Module: Lockfield
A soft ring of sigils spread out around her feet—three concentric loops, layered with shimmering runes that sparkled like frozen light. This anchored her position, distorting the mana density within a five-meter radius.
Any spell cast into this area would be delayed, distorted, or completely thwarted.
Then came the second pulse.
Module: Mindcall (Low-grade Empath Class)
Her aura shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly. But Kael could sense it—like being weighed down, as if the air had come to life.
Kael's gaze sharpened. He'd nearly forgotten.
"In the novel," he mused, "Lyssa doesn't truly open up until after chapter two hundred. She and Tarin don't even acknowledge their feelings until chapter eight hundred and something. And even then, it's after they've shattered each other, been pieced back together, and nearly bested each other twice."
He let out a slow breath through his nose.
"But this? This is the early stage. The form it takes before the lesson of forgiveness sets in."
Tarin bowed respectfully, saying, "Whenever you're ready."
Lyssa didn't reciprocate the gesture. Instead, she simply lifted one hand, palm open.
The dueling sigil pulsed.
Begin.
Tarin moved first—light, quick, and low.
He angled to the left, building wind beneath his feet, stirring up dust to shroud his initial surge. A classic opening.
Lyssa didn't move backward or forward; she pivoted. A read of the situation.
She held back from attacking.
She waited.
Kael frowned. "She's making him act first."
Tarin struck from the periphery of her Lockfield, testing the distortion. It was a basic burst-gust, low risk.
The wind hit the Lockfield's edge and flattened out, reduced to a gentle breeze.
But Tarin didn't halt. He followed the momentum, spun inside the arc, aiming for a light tap strike—
Too slow.
Lyssa ducked, twisted her hips, and struck her palm upward, catching Tarin's shoulder with a minor shockwave that sent him tumbling backward.
He rolled and landed smoothly.
Kael blinked.
She tagged him. First exchange.
That's a statement.
Tarin got back on his feet and let out a breath. No smile this time.
He wasn't mad or shaken.
He was just locked in.
Across the ring, Lyssa stood still, her Core glow flickering softly at her throat and wrists. The Lockfield hummed beneath her, with faint sigils spinning like they were racing around something invisible and raging.
Kael rested his chin on his hand.
"Only fight he's taking seriously. And she hasn't even drawn blood yet."
Vellea murmured something, but Corvyn shushed her. Even Kieren was watching quietly.
Tarin took another breath and tried again.
This time, he wasn't going for a hit.
He was looking to test.
He darted around—quick zigzags, short bursts of speed, trying to find a way through the Lockfield where his spells could land without falling apart.
But Lyssa matched his pace.
Each time he moved, she adjusted. He cut left; she sidestepped. He dropped low, and she responded with a quick flick of her wrist, sending out a soft psychic pulse that would've overwhelmed most Cores.
Tarin felt the pressure. He wavered for a split second but pushed through.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
Mindcall… She's reading him during the fight.
She's changing her rhythm based on how stressed he is.
Then she attacked.
No warning.
Just a wave of sigils.
Lockfield Pulse Overcharge
The runes on the floor lit up, sending ripples outward like sonar waves, twisting the air inside the field. Tarin's wind spells went off course. One went boom behind him, sending a backdraft that knocked him off his feet.
Lyssa was already on the move.
She closed the gap with a quick step-slide, her hand slicing forward. It wasn't a strike; she was applying Core pressure, using her closeness and a psi-distortion to mess with his sense of direction.
Tarin ducked, just avoiding a psychic spike.
He countered with a close-range gust burst.
This time, it landed.
Lyssa's hair whipped back as she staggered.
Tarin followed up with a sweeping low kick—
But she caught his leg and twisted it.
He flipped, managed to recover mid-air, skidding across the ground and landing hard on one knee.
The atmosphere was electric.
Kael's fingers curled slightly.
"Gracious way to recover wouldn't you say?"
"I'm not surprised, coming from you."
"You would do better; you were always more flexible than me." Tarin said, breath steady.
Kael looked at your carefree effortless conversation with jealousy.
'Wait.... does this body feel something for Lyssa?'
Shit Kael knew this would cause problems in the future.
'I'm going to need to find a way to bury these feelings.'
Lyssa didn't say anything. She just raised her hand again. Calm and steady.
The Mind call aura glowed brighter.
Kael leaned back, and for a moment, he was excited.
He was watching something unfold.
Tarin rose once more.
And this time, his wind aura was different.
It lost its softness, becoming tight and sharp instead.
He was no longer just having fun.
The others noticed. Kael could see Corvyn sitting up straighter, Maelea's smile wavering, and even Kieren, grumpy as usual, leaned in slightly.
Kael squinted.
"So, finally ready to get serious, golden boy?"
Tarin planted his feet in a stance.
Three quick breaths.
One spiral sigil beneath him.
Two wind pulses gathering in his hands.
Then he was off.
Quick.
So very quick.
A blur, barely touching the ground, darting around the edges of the Lockfield like a storm that learned to think. He feinted left, dropped low, then slid into a gust-assisted leap through the edge distortion, wind wrapping tightly around his arm.
He was inside.
For the first time in the match—he'd pierced through the active pulse of the Lockfield.
Kael's eyes widened.
"Oh, that's new."
Lyssa remained calm.
Her Mindcall aura glowed, her Core flaring in response.
Instead of dodging,
She stepped forward.
Directly into the blast zone.
And deployed a compact psi-shield, paired with a secondary lockbind glyph—redirecting Tarin's wind into a curved wall of mental static. The whole field shimmered.
Tarin's spell folded, failing to detonate correctly.
The air crackled.
Lyssa raised her hand.
A three-finger strike—just above Tarin's collarbone.
He caught her wrist.
For a heartbeat—they were frozen.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't hostile.
It was... balanced.
Two individuals who found out they couldn't defeat each other without getting hurt.
Kael blinked.
Then he noticed it—just for a second.
In Lyssa's face.
A flicker. A shift.
Recognition?
No.
Not of Tarin.
But of him.
Kael.
Her gaze flickered sideways. Just for a moment.
Her pulse quickened enough to light her aura gold.
She looked at him as if she'd seen a ghost.
Not the Kael that she knew, someone else
And Kael felt something twist in his stomach.
She remembers something.
Or suspects.
Or—gods help him—feels it.
The standoff ended.
Lyssa stepped back.
Tarin lowered his hand.
The duel sigil lit up.
No winner.
Just two fighters, both still upright.
Tarin nodded. "You took that round."
Lyssa looked at him as if he were being absurd.
"You broke through my Lockfield. That's never happened before."
"You adjusted to it like you'd done this twice already."
They shared a half-smile.
It wasn't flirty.
It felt familiar.
And Kael couldn't help but resent how natural it appeared.
The others applauded—some louder than others. Maelea cheered. Corvyn even whistled. Vellea appeared a bit annoyed that no one had been hit in the face.
Kieren just frowned.
And Kael stood, brushed off his coat, and turned away from the ring.
He didn't wait for questions.
Didn't want to be around when Lyssa's gaze found him again.
He walked away.
And deep inside his chest, he felt that Narrative Drift meter ticking up again.
This time?
He didn't even check it.