The air still smelled faintly of sand and blood when Abel found Stipo again.The older man sat on a low stone wall near one of the side courtyards, his coat half-open, the faintest trace of sweat darkening the fabric along his collar. Around him, the stone bore hairline cracks — small, deliberate signs of a fight that had ended not long ago.
"You fought?" Abel asked.Stipo didn't answer right away. He just looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. His knuckles were marked by faint bruises, nothing more.
"Nothing serious," he said at last, voice casual. "Just keeping the rust off."
Abel frowned. "Who?"
"Does it matter?" Stipo smirked, eyes glinting. "You'll see soon enough that around here, everyone tests everyone. Even the old ones."
Abel exhaled softly. He still felt like an intruder walking among giants. Every new fight he witnessed seemed to raise the ceiling of what he thought was possible.
Before he could say anything more, a familiar voice broke through the hum of the courtyard.
"Abel!"
Sheshy approached from one of the archways, the hem of her white robe brushing lightly against the sand. The faint glow of energy still clung to her like perfume — soft, refined, unmistakable.
Abel straightened a little. "You were incredible earlier," he said, trying to sound calm. "That fight against Kiros…"
She stopped in front of him, tilting her head. Her lips curved slightly. "I felt you watching."
Abel blinked, his cheeks turning crimson red. "I—yeah, I mean, it was hard not to."
For a second, something like amusement flickered across her face. Then she turned slightly, gesturing toward the larger arena ahead. "Come with me. My teacher's match is next."
"Teacher?" Abel asked.
"Nene Kyoshi," Stipo said, pushing himself off the wall. "You'll want to see this one."
The three walked together toward the main arena. The structure was larger than any of the others — wide enough to hold fifty men, the sand floor smooth as water. A quiet crowd gathered along the edges. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
At the center stood Nene Kyoshi.Abel had seen powerful people before. None of them looked like her.
Her long white hair fell loose down her back, each strand glowing faintly in the sunlight. She wore a white ensemble — elegant but not ceremonial. A simple sleeveless tunic with silver trimming, tied with a crimson cord at the waist. Her movements were slow, deliberate.She looked frail at first glance, but the moment her eyes opened — pure white, depthless — Abel felt something in his chest tighten. A Blessed one.
There was no anger in her. No tension. Just stillness. The kind that could crush mountains without raising a voice.
"Neinei," Sheshy said softly, stepping ahead.
The older woman turned toward her, and her face softened. For a brief moment, the arena didn't feel like a battlefield — it felt like a home.
"You shouldn't call me that in front of the others," Nene said gently. "Makes me sound old."
Sheshy smiled faintly. "You are old."
Nene chuckled — a quiet, melodic sound that carried farther than it should have. "One hundred and twenty-four. Old enough to stop counting."
Abel watched them, something warm blooming in his chest. The way Sheshy stood, hands behind her back, reminded him of a child before her mother.
"You've grown," Nene said. "And not just in strength.""I've learned from the best," Sheshy replied.
Nene stepped closer, lifting one hand to rest briefly on her student's shoulder. "Don't ever let the world make you colder, Sheshy. Power without warmth is just another kind of hunger."
Abel caught the words and felt them settle somewhere deep.
Stipo nudged his arm lightly. "You see her?" he said quietly. "That's one of the oldest generals we've got. If age didn't slow her down, she'd outrank half the council."
Abel glanced sideways. "How strong?"
Stipo tilted his head, pretending to think. "Seven thousand, give or take. Maybe more when she's annoyed."
Abel whistled under his breath. "That's… insane."
Stipo grinned. "For perspective, a man at 1,500 could erase a city district in a blink. A general like her? She could level mountains — literally." He shrugged. "Of course, not as strong as me."
Abel blinked, unsure if it was a joke. "You're serious?"
Stipo's smile widened. "No. But it's fun to let fans wonder."
Abel shook his head, half amused, half uneasy. "You don't have fans…"
"Come on," Stipo said, annoyed. "It's about to start."
They turned back toward the arena just as Nene and her opponent stepped into the ring.
Hiroki Kyoshi looked nothing like her. He was tall, built like stone, his hair black and short, streaked faintly with gray. His eyes — golden ash — carried the calm of someone who'd seen far too much war. A golden cross hung from his left ear. A faint scar ran from that ear to his collarbone, nearly hidden under the edge of his armor.
At his side hung a long tachi — its blade red as rusted dawn, the hilt wrapped in gray cord. Abel could feel the weight of its presence even from the balcony.
"Enhancement type," Stipo murmured. "And a true master of it. He and Nene have been rivals for forty years."
Abel frowned. "Rivals?"
"Influence," Stipo said. "The council likes balance. Two equals keep the rest from doing anything stupid."
Down below, Hiroki bowed once, then drew his tachi with a slow, resonant scrape of steel.
"Nene," he said, voice low but carrying. "No more games. Today, I end this."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Nene didn't flinch. She brushed a strand of white hair from her face and smiled softly. "You always did have a dramatic tongue, Hiroki."
"This isn't about pride," he said, stepping forward. "This is survival. You and I both know one of us won't walk away."
Abel's chest tightened. He looked toward Sheshy. Her face was still, unreadable, but her fingers were clenched tightly at her side.
Stipo exhaled through his nose. "He means it," he muttered. "Hiroki's always been too proud to lose."
Nene, however, looked utterly at peace. She turned her head slightly, as if sensing something unseen. Her white eyes swept across the audience — and stopped.On Abel.
For a heartbeat, he froze.
Then she smiled — a quiet, knowing smile. "You're the boy with strange eyes Sheshy always talks about," she said softly, though the words reached him clear as if whispered in his ear. "Treat Sheshy like a gentleman would, young man. And… be careful. Eyes like yours attract hunger."
Abel's mouth went dry. Stipo's face darkened. Before he could ask what she meant, Nene turned away, stepping lightly across the sand to face Hiroki.
The air shifted.The temperature seemed to drop, though the sun still burned overhead. Every sound — every breath — fell away.
Nene's hand rose slightly, palm open. The faint shimmer of energy gathered around her fingers, not as light but as vibration — a pulse that Abel could almost feel in his own veins. Her white eyes brightened, seeing beyond sight.
Hiroki grounded his stance, energy coiling around him like heat haze. The sand beneath his feet cracked. The red blade hummed — a living extension of his will.
"Begin!"
The word rang out, swallowed instantly by silence.
Hiroki moved first — one clean step, the red tachi slicing forward in an arc too fast for most eyes to follow. The air howled.Nene didn't move.
The blade passed — and stopped, an inch from her throat.Her hand had caught it between two fingers.
Abel's breath hitched. "How—"
"Affinity," Stipo murmured. "She doesn't react. She already knows where you'll be. Anyway, about what she told you… you see she's a Blessed one, right?"
Abel nodded. "Yeah. What about it?"
Stipo sighed, voice low. "She can see how a soul will die. I shouldn't be worried — she says it cryptically every time. For me it was something like, 'a voice so strong it will change the world.'"
Abel stood there, confused. What does that even mean? Maybe I'll die starving, he thought.
As Abel returned his gaze to the battle, Hiroki's energy surged. Crimson force exploded from the blade, shattering the ground beneath them. Nene slid back several steps, her sandals tracing perfect half-moons in the sand.
She exhaled, calm. "Still impatient."
Hiroki's jaw tightened. "Still slow."
He lunged again.The arena filled with light.
Abel could barely follow their movements now — silver and red, spirit and strength colliding in a rhythm too fast, too precise to seem real. Each impact echoed through the air like thunder buried under silk.
Sheshy's hand gripped the railing. "Sensei…" she whispered.
Abel looked at her — and for the first time, saw fear. Not of loss, but of inevitability.
The duel between two generals had begun, and even the air itself seemed too fragile to hold it.
To be continued…