Golden sunlight filtered lazily through high clouds, casting soft shadows over the vast arena surrounded by stone stands. A quiet tension hung in the air, like a thin magical veil woven from anticipation, fear, and ambition.
The participants of the third selection stage had gathered at the center of the arena. Each of them could feel the ground gently vibrating beneath their feet — as if the arena itself were alive, breathing in their resolve and feeding on their expectations.
Atop a tall platform stood the Elder, his cloak fluttering lightly in the wind. He raised his hand — the murmurs died instantly. Even the birds, it seemed, fell silent.
"You have reached the third circle,"the Elder said, his voice calm but commanding. "From this point forward, the battle becomes personal. Not for titles. Not for prizes. But for who you truly are."
Michael stood among the rows of participants, his gaze locked on Torren. His mind wandered to that moment — a brief glance, a restrained reaction, the moment when the Elder had said something that made Torren respond in a way no one else would have.
"Why did he look like that…? There was something too personal in that reaction."
Torren, as always, stood tall, focused, as if the entire world beyond the arena did not exist. But Michael couldn't let go of that memory — or the unease it left behind.
Elsewhere, Elaira wasn't looking at the Elder at all. Her attention was fixed on a girl in a dark blue cloak, holding a loosely spread deck of cards in her hand.
"Her..."
Elaira's heart tightened. "That's the girl from my vision."
Just the day before, using the magic of prediction, Elaira had glimpsed a piece of the future. The images had been blurry, but the girl's eyes stood out — cold, piercing, and full of hidden power.
And now, she stood just a few meters away.
"My first opponent… Is fate truly this scripted?"
The deck in the girl's hand shimmered slightly — a subtle pulse of energy only Elaira could feel. The girl raised her gaze and met hers, showing no surprise — as if she'd expected to be seen.
The Elder's speech drew to a close, but his words were already fading into the background of each participant's thoughts. Some were thinking of victory. Others — of fear. And a few — of the ones they might have to defeat, no matter what.
After the Elder's speech, the participants were given time to prepare. What that meant varied for each of them.
Some jumped right into warmups — shifting weight, stretching muscles, testing their stances and strikes. For them, this was just another combat round.
Others stood in groups, talking quietly, laughing nervously, their eyes flicking around the arena.
A low hum of emotion hung over the place like static.
Katzu sat apart, legs crossed, eyes closed. His breathing was steady, and above his palms shimmered a barely visible magical current. Though his body was still, he was preparing in his own way — distant, yet focused.
Michael stepped closer to Torren.
"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "You've been… different since that day."
Torren gave a faint smile, eyes never leaving the arena.
"We're not here to feel 'alright',"he replied."We're here to be the ones still standing when everyone else has fallen."
Michael sighed. He wanted more — an explanation, a crack in the wall. But Torren wasn't the type to give it.
"Of course. The philosopher speaks again," he muttered, turning away.
"Well, well, look who's pondering the meaning of life again," came a familiar voice.
Blitz strolled up lazily, hands tucked behind his head.
"Careful, Michael — don't overheat that brain of yours."
"Maybe you'll overheat from my fist if you don't shut up," Michael snapped, clenching his jaw.
Blitz grinned like a child who got exactly the reaction he wanted.
"There he is. That's the Michael I know. You were starting to get a little boring."
Torren turned his head slightly — and though he didn't speak, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Across the arena, in the shadow of the stands, three boys stood half-turned away from the crowd. Their faces remained unknown — and would stay that way for now. They had no intention of stepping into the spotlight just yet. But their tongues were looser than they should be.
"Hah… The old man's still acting like he's some big deal," muttered one, exchanging smirks with the others.
"Should've retired ages ago. Now he just kicks up dust and pretends he's in control," added another with a crooked grin.
"And that Michael kid? Ranked second in the entire world?" the third scoffed. "Please. Just look at him. No charisma, no edge. Doesn't look like he belongs here at all."
"My bet? He's out before this stage ends,"the second one huffed."Guys like him always think they can get by on brains alone. Then someone stronger shows up — and boom. They're done."
At the edge of the arena, the girl with the cards sat calmly, heels gently tapping the stone beneath her. It was as if the entire world played background music meant just for her. Her fingers danced over the cards with eerie grace — each one falling into place like it already knew its role.
"Fracture… betrayal… dual nature… lies…" she whispered under her breath, reading the patterns laid out before her.
When the final card settled, she lifted her gaze.
First — to Michael.
She tilted her head and smirked.
"That one… now that's a dark horse."
"Calm on the outside. But inside… a storm is waking up."
Her eyes then moved to the Elder. Her smile faded into something more thoughtful.
"And what's most fascinating… there is divine power present in this place…"
She glanced between the Elder… and Michael.
Then her gaze landed on Torren, and a chill entered her expression.
"…as well as two demons."
She paused.
"One knows what he is. The other… still clings to the illusion that he's human. But his shadow has already stepped ahead of him."
Slowly, her eyes swept across the arena — to Zigrane, Ralph, Blitz, and once again, Michael.
"And then there are three… no, four whose minds have been touched."
Her voice became barely audible.
"No one controls them. But their memories — twisted. Something erased, something replaced. They're not who they once were."
She fell silent. A strange, almost predatory smile crept across her lips.
"The scariest part?" she whispered. "They don't know about it."
She gathered the cards, tucked them into her bag, and looked toward the arena's center.
"This stage… won't just be about fighting. It will be about awakening. And for someone… It will be their last."