Amara walked toward the inn with her eyes low and her thoughts miles away. Her steps were steady, but her mind was tangled, circling one thought like a predator. "That's the second time I've seen—and felt—magic like that," she muttered under her breath, gaze fixed on the ground. Her brows drew together, her voice quieter now, almost as if afraid the air might hear her scheming. "Is it learnable? Some kind of ancient, lost magic only passed down to a chosen few?"
*Can I learn it?* The question repeated in her head, echoing louder than anything else. Her fingers curled into a fist as she stared at her right hand. She imagined it glowing—not with the usual fury of her flames, but with that same strange, overwhelming energy that came from that rift in the sky.
What would happen if her fire and that power were one and the same?
*Whole cities,* she thought. She could turn them to ash with a single flick of her wrist. Armies wouldn't just burn—they'd vanish. Her enemies wouldn't fear her—they'd worship her.
But then she blinked, and the fantasy broke.
With a small sigh, she let her hand fall back to her side. "I should stop dreaming such unattainable things," she murmured to herself, brushing away the thought like embers off a sleeve. She was nearing the inn now, her mind shifting—reluctantly—to something else. Or rather, someone else.
Still tied to that same unsettling magic, of course.
From what she understood, he was fighting tomorrow. The brat. She hadn't seen him in some time—not since their last encounter—and she wondered if anything about him had changed. She knew his hair was longer now, but had he gotten stronger? Sharper? Would it be harder to fight him next time?
She stepped through the front door of the inn and immediately spotted the one person who always made her sigh: that bastard Wolf, sitting alone at a table.
As expected.
Without a word, she walked over and sat down across from him. There was no point in pretending otherwise—if she sat somewhere else, he'd only follow her. This way was faster.
She crossed her arms. "So," she started coolly, tilting her head slightly, "any thoughts about the matches today?" Her eyes narrowed just a touch. "Or does a sword freak like you not understand something as elegant as magic?"
Wolf leaned lazily on one elbow, resting his chin against his hand as he spoke with that same irritating calmness. "Come on now, you can't say swordsmanship isn't elegant. Especially after yesterday's match."
Amara immediately pinched the bridge of her nose with a groan. "Do not talk about Zeva Blossom again, you fucking creep. And answer the actual question."
Wolf rolled his eyes, his tone unbothered. "Yeah, yeah. That thing at the end—whatever the necromancer pulled out? Didn't expect it. It did surprise me. Happy to hear it?"
Amara paused, giving him a sharp, calculating look. "You felt something different about that final attack? Compared to the magic used by the Mathers or that sorceress in the previous match?"
Wolf tilted his head, slightly thrown off by the question. "Uh… yes? Why wouldn't I? That kind of magic isn't something you just see everyday. I've only ever seen one other person use something like that before."
Amara shot to her feet, slamming her palms on the table so hard the wood creaked under the pressure. Her eyes locked onto his like a hawk that had just spotted prey. "Who? Where? When? What did they do?"
Wolf didn't flinch—though he did glance at her hands briefly before raising his own in a halfhearted placating gesture. "Easy there, angry suspicious woman who mutters to herself," he muttered. "Don't get too excited. I don't know that much about it."
Amara let out a long breath, a mix of frustration, anticipation, and pure rage simmering behind her eyes. Still, she sat back down slowly, tapping her finger impatiently on the table. "Fine. Just tell me what you do know."
Wolf shrugged. "Alright. Going in order: it was one of my friends. Best damn magic user I've ever met. I saw him use it during a fight—a bad one. We were up against something really powerful, and he had to break it out to keep people safe."
He paused a moment before continuing. "It was a long time ago. I was still a young man back then. He created this circle—like a portal—that pulled people out of the area. Put them somewhere else. Let us go all out without worrying about collateral damage. So… yeah. That's what I know."
Amara stayed silent, absorbing every word like a sponge. It wasn't much, but it was something. And with how rare this kind of magic was, anything was worth holding onto.
Just then, the door to the inn creaked open.
Crow stepped in without so much as glancing her way. He walked past them, up the stairs, and disappeared into his room.
Amara scoffed.
"Good job giving me that information," she said, already pushing herself to her feet.
Wolf blinked. "Good job? Shouldn't you be saying 'thank you'?"
She didn't respond. She just turned and walked upstairs, leaving him behind with only the echo of her footsteps.
Wolf let out a long sigh, sinking back into his seat and staring at the ceiling with a grin behind his mask. "Tomorrow can't come fast enough…" he muttered, already looking forward to Zeva's next match.