Lira sat in the stands, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles glowed white. Rain pounded down without mercy, hammering the arena's floor and soaking Rian Cole, who faced Darion Veth in the center of the coliseum.

The crowd's roar was deafening, blending with the relentless drum of water against stone.

But Lira barely registered the noise. Her mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and rage.

'This can't be happening,' she thought, eyes locked on Rian. 'It makes no sense. He shouldn't be here!'

The cake she'd given Rian wasn't just any dessert.

Lira had mixed in an extract from Drakar's slumberroot, a rare plant that grew in the eastern swamps.

That stuff was so potent, hunters used it to knock out colossal beasts—like three-ton mastodons.

A single drop could put a grown man out for a full day.

Lira had measured the dose with precision: enough to keep Rian snoozing until tomorrow afternoon, not waking up in a few measly hours.

Yet there he was, dodging and weaving in the arena like he'd just chugged a double espresso.

And that wasn't all.

As a backup plan, Lira had tied him to a chair with silver arachnid filament rope, woven by giant spiders in Eldrin's caves.

That stuff was practically unbreakable, even for Warriors with enhanced strength.

Lira had shelled out a fortune for that spool, certain Rian couldn't escape.

Nobody in the clan, except top-tier Masters, had the strength or tools to cut it.

'Someone helped him,' Lira thought, narrowing her eyes as she watched Rian dodge an attack in the arena. 'There's no other explanation. But who?'

The question gnawed at her.

She'd covered every angle.

The drug, the rope, and the favor she'd asked of Kaira.

Kaira, her trusted friend, had sworn she'd replace Rian in the fight. She'd promised to convince the referee that Rian wasn't fit to compete, that she'd step in to "protect the clan's honor."

Lira had believed her. But now, Rian was in the arena, and Kaira…

Lira whipped her head around, scanning the crowd, and—

There she was.

Kaira, leaning against a pillar in the spectator section, arms crossed, looking as relaxed as if she were watching a street performer juggle.

Her red eyes glinted under the lamplights, and a faint smirk curled her lips, like she didn't have a care in the world.

Lira felt a surge of fury.

'How is she so calm?' she thought, grinding her teeth until they ached. 'You were supposed to fight!'

Kaira hadn't just failed to keep her promise—she was standing there, watching the fight with a coolness that bordered on apathy.

Lira couldn't stand it. She'd trusted her, shared her plan, and now she felt stabbed in the back.

"Damn you, Kaira…" Lira growled under her breath, shoving past a spectator in her way. "You betrayed me!"

The man she pushed—a burly guy in a waterproof cloak—shot her an annoyed look.

"Hey, what's your deal?" he grumbled, but Lira ignored him.

Her blue eyes were locked on Kaira as she forced her way through the crowd, dodging elbows and shoulders.

Each step fueled her anger.

Out of the corner of her eye, she kept glancing at the arena, where Rian moved with agility, dodging Darion's attacks.

She couldn't wrap her head around how he'd gotten there, not after everything she'd planned.

◇◆◇

In the arena, the rain kept pouring, soaking Charles to the bone.

The stone floor was slick, and every step took extra effort to avoid slipping.

Across from him, Darion Veth stood tall, his gray tunic barely damp.

The air around him shimmered faintly, deflecting raindrops with precise control.

His green eyes sparkled with amusement, and a mocking grin never left his face.

"What's the matter, Cole?" Darion taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not gonna make the first move? Or are you waiting for me to roll out the red carpet?"

Charles, with wet hair plastered to his forehead, scowled.

The taunt grated on him, but he wasn't falling for it.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice steady despite the water streaming down his face. "Keep flapping your gums. Let's see what you've got."

Darion let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, aren't you a tough guy," he said, snapping one leg up in a quick motion. "Have it your way!"

ZING!

Darion kicked the air, and an invisible blade of wind shot toward Charles.

The gust sliced through the falling rain, whistling sharply as it sped toward him.

Charles, with reflexes honed from past fights, dove to the side just in time.

The blade grazed his arm, tearing a chunk of his tunic with a crisp sound.

RIP!

Before Charles could regain his footing, another wind blade came at him, this one lower, aiming for his legs.

"Son of a—!" he growled, leaping backward. His boots skidded slightly on the wet stone, but he stayed upright.

'This isn't much different from before,' Charles thought, breathing hard.

Darion's attacks were fast, but no worse than the Mentors he'd faced in the training yard.

'I just need to get close.'

Charles decided to charge. He sprinted toward Darion, leaning forward to cut through the wind resistance.

Rain stung his face, blurring his vision, but he kept his eyes fixed on his opponent.

Darion, meanwhile, looked bone-dry, like he was standing under an invisible umbrella.

The air around him deflected every drop with ease.

"Come on, Cole!" Darion shouted, laughing as he raised his hands. "Don't keep me waiting!"

WHOOSH!

A stronger gust of wind slammed into Charles, shoving him backward.

His boots slipped on the slick ground, and he had to dig in his heels to avoid falling.

The wind's force was like an invisible wall, relentless and heavy, making every step a battle.

Charles gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him.

"What's wrong, Cole?" Darion mocked, hands on his hips. "Having trouble getting to the party? I thought you were a Warrior!"

Charles growled, forcing another step forward.

"Coward!" he shouted, his voice cracking with effort. "Stop hiding behind your wind and fight me!"

Darion burst into laughter, clearly entertained.

"Coward, he says!" he shot back, flicking his hands in a swift gesture. "This isn't cowardice, kid! It's strategy!"

WHOOSH!

Another gust hit Charles, even harder this time, pushing him several steps back.

His boots skidded again, and he couldn't stop himself from dropping to his knees.

Water splashed around him, drenching him further.

The crowd roared—some cheering, others jeering.

"Come on, Rian!" a voice yelled from the stands.

"Get up, don't let him punk you!" another added.

Charles took a deep breath, ignoring the sting in his knees.

'I'm not letting him humiliate me,' he thought, clenching his fists.

A familiar static began to build in his hands, a tingle that reminded him of Rian's power.

'I've got to do this.'

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