Solvaris hit Tomas like a fist—golden spires piercing the sky, streets of polished stone, air thick with the hum of Etherstone. Floating platforms drifted between towers, Gifted strolling atop them, their Sparks lighting the dusk. He stood at the gate's edge, pickaxe in hand, feeling small but unbowed. Sereth limped beside him, her satchel secure, her face a mask of exhaustion and defiance.
The portal guards flanked them, their armor clanking as they led the way. "Council's waiting," one grunted. "Move."
Tomas kept pace, eyes darting. Buildings gleamed, their walls inlaid with Etherstone veins, pulsing like a heartbeat. Gifted stared—some curious, most scornful—as he passed, a Dull in their world. He straightened, refusing to shrink.
They reached a domed hall, its doors towering, carved with scenes of Gifted triumph. Inside, a crescent of thrones held the council—seven Gifted, their Sparks a symphony of light and sound. The silver-haired guard, now revealed as Captain Veyr, bowed to them.
"Lady Sereth returns," he said. "With… this."
Tomas met their gazes, unflinching. The central figure, an old woman with eyes like storm clouds, leaned forward. "Explain, Sereth."
She stepped up, voice steady. "Etherfiends hit my ship. I crashed. Tomas Kael brought me here, saved the shard. He's earned a place."
Murmurs rippled. A younger councilor, his hands crackling with lightning, sneered. "A Dull? Preposterous."
"He fought for me," Sereth said. "No Spark, just grit."
The old woman—Councilor Mara—studied Tomas. "Why, boy?"
"To prove it," he said, voice rough. "Hard work beats talent. I'll show you."
Laughter echoed, but Mara raised a hand. "Bold words. The arena will test them. Win, and you stay. Lose, and you're dust."
Tomas nodded. "Deal."
Sereth grabbed his arm as they were ushered out. "You don't know what you've agreed to."
"Then I'll learn," he said, stepping into Solvaris's heart, ready to fight.