The Great Eight gathered on the central stage, the roar of the crowd cascading down from the stands like a tidal wave. The arena floor, cleared of rubble and frost, gleamed under bright essence-lamps.

Eight names shone on the glyph-screen above, each glowing like a challenge carved in light.

The referee, stern and tall, raised a lacquered box in his hands. The cheers dimmed to murmurs, all eyes fixed on the lot-draw.

"By decree of the Academy Council," he announced, his voice booming, "the quarterfinals will be determined by lot. Eight names, drawn one by one, to shape the four matches. Fate will decide who among you rises—and who falls."

He plunged his hand into the box, essence stirring faintly around his arm. The first slip glowed as it was pulled free.

"First—Aston Rhyner of the Scouting Division!"

A cheer broke out from the scattered Scouting students, their voices sharp against the heavier Combat chants. Aston stepped forward, Mirage perched calmly at his shoulder, Gray padding close. He betrayed no expression, though his pulse beat steady.

The referee drew again.

"Second—Dai Micho of the Spirit Combat Division!"

The crowd exploded. Chants of "Micho! Micho!" thundered as the hulking Combat student grinned, his plated Warhound snarling beside him. He leveled a glare straight at Aston.

"Looks like luck isn't on your side," Dai said, voice low and mocking.

Aston met his gaze without flinching. "We'll see."

The tension rippled through the crowd like sparks.

The referee moved on, drawing again.

"Third—Alain Price of the Spirit Alchemy Division."

"Fourth—Tristan Graves of the Spirit Combat Division."

The Combat Division roared in triumph again, chanting Tristan's name. Alain adjusted his glasses, unfazed, his alchemical beast humming faintly at his side.

"Fifth—Genevieve Ortega of the Spirit Combat Division."

"Sixth—Yosef Redrich of the Spirit Alchemy Division."

Genevieve's eyes narrowed, Umbra's black fur rippling as if it sensed the coming clash. Yosef gave no outward reaction, though Sling coiled tighter around his leg, venom glistening faintly.

"Hah. As a friend, we'll show you no mercy, Gen," says Yosef.

"Right back at you!"

"And finally," the referee declared, "Francheska Guilbar of Spirit Combat versus Vincent Fairbanks of Trade and Commerce!"

The crowd roared, the brackets clear:

Quarterfinal Brackets

Aston Rhyner vs. Dai Micho

Alain Price vs. Tristan Graves

Genevieve Ortega vs. Yosef Redrich

Francheska Guilbar vs. Vincent Fairbanks

The glyph-screens flared, locking the names into place.

"This concludes the drawing of lots!" the referee boomed. "Participants—prepare yourselves. The quarterfinals begin now!"

—

The gates opened, and the coliseum erupted.

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Aston walked onto the field, Mirage perched on his shoulder like a shard of living crystal. Gray padded close at his side, tail swishing with contained tension.

From the opposite side, Dai Micho stormed forward, his plated Warhound snarling, flames flickering between its jagged teeth. The Combat Division's chants shook the stands, drowning out all else.

Dai pointed his blade at Aston, voice booming. "First that girl, now you. Seems the Scouting Division loves serving me chew toys." His grin spread, cruel and arrogant. "Don't worry—I'll make it quick. I'll burn your little owl just like I scorched her lynx."

The crowd gasped, some laughing, others jeering.

Mirage bristled, wings shimmering faintly with ice. Aston raised a hand, brushing her feathers once before drawing her essence back into his core. The owl dissolved into light, vanishing.

The arena fell into stunned silence.

Then Aston's voice rang clear, steady and cold. "You won't lay a finger on her."

Beside him, Gray stepped forward. The small, obsidian-furred tiger kitten arched its back, claws glinting like black steel. Its eyes burned with molten amber, its tail whipping like a blade. The air around it shimmered faintly, a whisper of concealed power.

The crowd erupted in confusion.

"A Linear Shadow Panther kitten?" someone laughed.

"He's throwing the match!" another jeered.

"Is he insane?"

But Aston's gaze didn't waver. He looked straight at Dai. "You want a beast to crush? Fine. Face him."

Gray bared his teeth in a silent snarl, the promise of violence radiating from his small frame.

For a moment, the arena rippled with laughter, chants of "Micho! Micho!" drowning out the smaller, scattered voices supporting Aston. The plated Warhound pawed the stone, flames curling from its muzzle, eager for blood.

Dai raised his sword high, pointing it at Aston. "Don't blame me when I burn that kitten to ash—just like I did Lyra's lynx."

The crowd cheered savagely.

Aston's eyes narrowed. "Gray."

The referee's hand slashed down. "Begin!"

—

The Warhound lunged first, flames bursting from its jaws. "Flame Maw!" Dai barked.

A torrent of fire roared across the arena. Heat shimmered, stone hissing.

Gray moved.

Not with frantic scrambling or desperate dodging, but with predatory calm. His body slipped sideways, claws carving gouges into the stone as he pivoted, fire licking the air inches from his fur. His amber eyes gleamed.

Then he struck.

"Surgical Claw."

The swipe was almost imperceptible. A glimmer of metal—then silence. The Warhound landed heavily, growling as if nothing had touched it.

Then blood welled from thin lines across its flank. Shallow at first, then widening, tearing open as though time itself had caught up with the strike. The beast howled, staggering.

Dai snarled. "Hold steady! Burn him down!"

The Warhound reeled, but obeyed, flames igniting across its armored hide. It lunged again, body wreathed in fire.

Gray didn't retreat.

He leapt straight in. His obsidian claws flashed, cutting clean through fire as though rending smoke. Sparks burst, embers scattered, and the Warhound shrieked, collapsing to one knee.

Dai's grin faltered. Sweat beaded his forehead. "Get up!"

But Gray was already moving. His body blurred, obsidian fur rippling like living steel. He circled, faster and faster, his form flickering in afterimages. Every pass left another cut, another trail of blood blooming from the Warhound's hide.

The mighty beast staggered, flame sputtering. Its plated armor was no longer whole—thin incisions crisscrossed it, fractured like shattered pottery.

The crowd's cheers for Dai dwindled into stunned silence.

"I didn't even see the cat move!"

"Impossible!"

Gray halted at last, tail flicking. His amber gaze met the Warhound's—and the hound shivered.

With a low growl, Gray lunged once more, pinning the beast with sheer force. His claws extended, hovering just above the Warhound's throat, essence crackling at their tips.

The Warhound froze, unable to move.

The referee's hand shot up. "Stop! The match is decided! Winner—Aston Rhyner!"

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then chaos.

The Scouting Division erupted in wild cheers, their voices raw with vindication. The Combat Division shouted protests, some jeering, others stunned into silence. Across the stands, whispers spread like wildfire.

"What kind of monster is that cat?"

"No… no, it was effortless… he didn't even break a sweat…"

Gray retracted his claws, stepping back with quiet grace. He padded to Aston's side, tail curling proudly, though his amber eyes still glimmered with predatory hunger.

Aston knelt, resting a hand on his spirit beast's fur. "Well done."

Dai stood frozen, his knuckles white on his sword. His Warhound whimpered, body cut in a dozen places, defeated without Gray even using his full strength. Rage and humiliation warred in his expression, but no words came.

From the tunnel, Rowan let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to get on Gray's bad side again."

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