Chapter Three: What Yolti Carries (Part One)
Date: May 22, Year 204 PCR (Maelis 22)
Location: Trial Arena – Harmonic Lyceum
Time: Early Afternoon
Selka collapsed the moment she stepped off the glyph ring.
Her knees folded clean, body crumpling to the ground in silence.
Kaelen caught her before her head struck stone, easing her gently to the edge of the stands. Her glyph lines were dull now—no hum, no resonance, no flicker. Just ash beneath the skin.
Zephryn crouched beside her, one hand already against her shoulder.
"She's okay," he said quietly. "Just burned out."
Yolti didn't look over.
She was already walking toward the field.
"Next match—YOLTI. KALLIEN."
The name rippled across the arena.
Kallien stood from the opposing bench, cracking his knuckles as he stepped forward—tall, lean, grin wide. The moment he reached the line, he waved toward the stands, voice bright and slicing.
"Hope someone's got her water. I thought this was training, not a damn fireworks show."
A few chuckles flickered from the medic line.
Yolti kept walking.
Kallien smirked.
"Didn't anyone teach her restraint? You'd think with a glyph like that, she'd know her essence level. Looked cool though—before she hit the floor like a sack of roots."
Yolti stopped at the center.
She didn't rise to the bait. But her voice, when it came, was even.
"You think glyphwork's for show."
Kallien shrugged. "I think passing out midstep makes you a joke. You want next?"
Yolti's hands relaxed at her sides.
Her glyph didn't activate.
Not yet.
"No,"she said. "I want you to learn something."
The instructor's voice dropped overhead.
"MATCH FOUR — COMMENCE."
Kallien moved first.
Fast—tighter than Torr, more coiled than Kaelen. His boots barely made sound. A punch-first fighter. Direct.
Yolti dodged the first strike. Tilted her head to the right and let the knuckle pass just beside his jaw.
He didn't counter.
He just watched.
Kallien growled and kept going.
Second strike—faked high, then low. Yolti stepped back, letting her heel catch the back ripple of the glyph line etched in the floor. A pulse passed under his foot.
Still, no glyph activation.
Kallien lunged forward and—
"VEILMARK ART — SERRAMOTION: Whiplash Spiral!"
A burst of wind-slice energy coiled out from his spin-kick, trailing from his leg like a ripcord unfurling.
Yolti slid past it—barely— her hand grazing the outer field.
"You waiting for permission?" Kallien taunted. "Or are you just that slow?"
Yolti turned slightly, left arm still hanging.
"No," she said. "I just didn't want to start something I couldn't clean up."
Kallien scoffed.
"You a fighter or a janitor?"
Yolti's glyph activated.
Not with a burst. Not with a flare.
Just a breath.
The air around her thickened—not hot, not bright. Heavy.
A ring of faint white light settled around his chest, then drifted down to her hands.
"VEILMARK ART — AETHERFORM: Resonant Lattice."
Kallien blinked. "A defense glyph? That all?"
Yolti didn't answer.
She moved.
Not fast. Not aggressive.
Just calm.
She caught Kallien's next jab with one hand—let it push against the lattice.
The force of it dissipated through the white pattern across his arms.
"I'm not here to hurt you," Yolti said. "I'm here to prove I could."
Kallien's eye twitched.
He lunged again, this time with both arms extended—elbow, shoulder, and glyph pulse stacked into one clean charge.
Yolti didn't move.
She took it—absorbed the hit with his chest plate—then pressed his palm forward.
Not to strike.
To silence.
The lattice flared.
Kallien's pulse recoil failed to fire.
His glyphwork jammed.
He staggered back, blinking.
"What—what did you—"
Yolti stepped forward.
One hand pressed to Kallien's shoulder.
"Essence isn't how much you can throw," he said.
"It's how much you can carry."