The city of Asper roared like a living beast. Bells clanged from every spire, banners of red and gold snapping in the wind. People poured through the streets toward the colossal structure that crowned the capital, the Coliseum of Hearts, carved from obsidian and white stone, veins of mana pulsing through its walls like blood through arteries.
Amelia stood before its gates, hood drawn low. Eleven years of solitude and silence ended here, at the mouth of a crowd numbering in thousands. The air itself trembled with expectation.
"Move along, contestant!" a guard barked, voice nearly drowned by the chorus of drums.
She nodded once and stepped forward. Sunlight struck her eyes, and for an instant the polished metal of her sword's hilt winked like a star. The crowd's cheers softened into confusion, then derision.
"A woman?"
"She'll die in the first round!"
"Pretty face won't save her!"
Amelia kept walking. Her heartbeat remained steady, each step measured. She had not come for their approval. She had come to test what her years of pain had created.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, steel, and mana. The circular arena stretched wider than any cathedral, its floor etched with glowing runes to contain unleashed power. High above, the King of Asper sat on a throne of crystal, flanked by nobles whose faces glimmered behind jeweled masks. To his left, the royal mage-priests maintained barriers that hummed faintly, ready to protect the spectators from the destruction below.
A voice boomed through the amphitheater, magically amplified:
"By decree of His Majesty, the Tournament of Hearts shall begin! Warriors of Asper, prove your worth and earn the right to fight for the salvation of our world!"
Twenty fighters stepped from the tunnels circling the arena, each bearing scars, titles, and reputations earned in blood. Amelia walked among them, small and silent, the only one without an emblem or house crest.
The announcer's crystal staff flashed. Names appeared in shimmering letters above the ring:
Round One: Kael the Flame-Warden vs. Amelia of No House
The crowd erupted. Kael strode forward, tall and broad-shouldered, his armor blackened and etched with burning sigils. Twin chains wrapped around his forearms, their ends glowing like molten lava. He grinned when he saw her.
"Did the nobles run out of real opponents?" he sneered. "Don't worry, little dove. I'll make your death quick."
Amelia met his eyes, voice calm. "Try!"
A bell rang, a single deep tolled, and fire exploded from Kael's chains. They lashed outward like twin serpents, carving lines of heat across the stone floor. The crowd screamed approval; the stands blazed orange in reflection.
Amelia moved only at the last instant, her body a blur of grace honed through years of solitude. The chains struck where she had stood, molten sparks scattering around her. She slid backward, boots scraping dust, and raised her blade.
The sword's eye flickered open.
For a heartbeat, the world froze. Dozens of mirrored visions bloomed in her mind—angles of the arena from every vantage point, each flame traced in slow motion. Divine Vision had awakened. She saw Kael's next swing before he made it, saw the faint twist of his wrist that controlled the chain's arc.
She pivoted, letting the chain whistle past her ear, then stepped into the gap between his arms. Her sword flashed, striking once, twice, sparks scattering from his gauntlets as he blocked. The impact drove him back several paces.
"What!" he growled, teeth bared. "Trickery!"
"Womp Womp Nice try," she said softly.
He roared, igniting the chains fully; flame coiled around him like a halo of fury. The heat cracked the outer rune-ring, drawing gasps from the crowd. Amelia's cloak caught fire at the edge. She tore it off, eyes narrowing.
Every motion of Kael's attack was visible to her like music written in light. The Divine Vision fed her endless reflections, yet her heart pounded with human fear; the power strained her senses. Too many views… too much noise. She forced herself to focus on the rhythm of his breathing, the beat of his Heart.
Then she moved.
Her blade swept in an upward arc; Kael's left chain shattered under the force. She spun, using the recoil to drive her knee into his chest plate. The impact sent him skidding across the floor, fire sputtering.
He pushed himself up, coughing, eyes blazing hotter than his flames. "You think you've won?"
Flames surged again, but they faltered. His mana was nearly drained; her calm precision had forced him to burn too quickly.
Amelia lowered her sword. "Yield."
He hesitated, then swung wildly. One chain flew; she stepped aside and tapped the flat of her blade against his neck. The crowd fell silent as his chain clattered to the floor.
"I said yield," she repeated.
Kael dropped to one knee, chest heaving. The fire dimmed. The referee's staff glowed white.
"Victory: Amelia of No House!"
For a long second, there was only silence. Then a single clap echoed from the royal terrace. One of the younger princes, perhaps moved by something he didn't understand, was applauding. The rest followed slowly, uncertainly, until the sound swelled into reluctant cheers.
Amelia bowed once to her fallen opponent, then turned toward the tunnel. The sword's eye flickered closed. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the echo of power surging through her veins. The Divine Vision had shown her what lay behind every attack… but also how fragile her focus could become if she lost control.
As she disappeared into the tunnel's shadow, the crowd's chant followed her, uneven, unsure, yet growing louder with each syllable:
"A-me-li-a… A-me-li-a…"
She did not smile, but a faint warmth bloomed in her chest. For the first time since the forest, the world had spoken her name without hatred.
The corridors beneath the arena were narrow, carved from old stone. The walls vibrated faintly with the echo of cheers above, the rhythm of hundreds of hearts beating as one.
Amelia sat alone in her waiting chamber, back against the wall, the Dragon Divine Eye Sword resting across her knees. Her palms still burned faintly from the previous fight. She stared at the eye on the blade, now closed, a faint crimson pulse throbbing beneath its lid.
She whispered, "You were hungry today."
The sword, of course, said nothing. But she felt it, a quiet, restless thrum that matched the rhythm of her own heart.
A horn blast signaled the next round. She rose, tied her hair, and stepped into the blinding light of the arena once more.
Lyra stood at the opposite end, slender and poised, a gleaming spear in her hands. Her armor was light, silver plates shaped like feathers, and her eyes glowed faintly with wind mana.
The crowd adored her, a noble knight from the House of Gale.
Lyra smiled faintly. "You were impressive in your first match," she said. "But you'll find my style less forgiving."
Amelia nodded. " You yap too much."
The bell tolled.
Instantly, the air moved. Lyra vanished, or seemed to. Amelia caught the shift in wind pressure a heartbeat before the spear thrust forward. She twisted aside, but the tip grazed her shoulder, slicing through cloth and skin.
Lyra's movements were too fast to track by sight. Every step left a faint cyclone of dust, her strikes accompanied by a shriek of air.
She bends the wind itself, Amelia thought, turning speed into invisibility.
The sword's eye began to flicker again, feeding her flashes of multiple perspectives through Divine Vision, but this time the images blurred, the constant motion of air scattered her focus.
Lyra's spear struck again, and again. Each impact rang like thunder. Amelia deflected most, dodged some, and endured a few. Her breathing quickened; her vision shook.
At the edge of exhaustion, she whispered, "Too slow, Amelia. Think differently."
And then something clicked.
Her mana flared beneath her feet, bending the light around her. The world shifted, for a heartbeat, she felt herself step through the air, not upon it. Her body dissolved into a shimmer, reappearing a few meters away.
The crowd gasped. Even Lyra faltered mid-strike.
[Ghost Step]
Amelia didn't think; she moved. Flickering from one position to another, she became a blur of silver and black, her sword striking from angles that shouldn't exist. Lyra countered with furious precision, the two of them dancing across the arena like twin storms, wind and shadow intertwined.
Every teleportation cost her mana and clarity; she had to feel the space between heartbeats, to step through silence itself.
Finally, Lyra thrust her spear forward with all her strength. Amelia vanished and reappeared behind her, the tip of her sword resting against Lyra's neck.
Lyra froze, then let her spear fall.
"Beautiful," she whispered, smiling through the exhaustion. "You've made the wind itself jealous."
The bell rang.
"Victory: Amelia of No House!"
The crowd's cheers came faster this time, less hesitant. Even the nobles leaned forward in fascination.
Amelia helped Lyra to her feet. "You fought with grace," she said softly.
"And you fought like someone who's been alone too long," Lyra replied, her tone not unkind. "Don't lose yourself in the silence."
Amelia nodded. She didn't know how to answer that.
By the time the Semi-finals began, from 20 warriors, it came down to the last five, but one of the warriors resigned after hearing the name of his next opponent.
The next round began. The coliseum shook with anticipation. The King himself leaned on the edge of his throne, his fingers gripping the armrest.
Durn entered the arena like an avalanche, a mountain of a man, his skin cracked with veins of glowing brown colored mana. Every footstep he took made the ground tremble. His eyes were the color of dust and iron.
"Little bird," he rumbled, voice deep as thunder. "I crush mountains for breakfast. You're just another pebble."
Amelia raised her sword. "Then let's see if I can fly through a landslide."
The bell rang, and Durn charged.
The impact of his first strike shattered the ground, dust erupting in a storm. Amelia leapt backward, Ghost-Stepping to avoid being buried alive. His fists were wrapped in enchanted gauntlets that turned every blow into an earthquake.
She attacked his blind spots, teleporting behind him, slashing at his legs, but his skin turned hard as granite the moment her blade touched it. Sparks flew uselessly.
"Not strong enough!" he roared, swinging a massive arm that sent her crashing into the arena wall.
Pain seared through her ribs. She coughed blood but steadied herself, closing her eyes for a second.
She remembered the years in the forest, the loneliness, the hunger, the voice of the Nameless whispering, "Strength gained to prove yourself will never fill the emptiness."
She smiled faintly. "Then I'll fight to protect what's left of the world instead."
Mana surged from her heart, silver and black intertwining. The eye on her sword opened again, not in hunger, but in clarity. The Divine Vision showed her Darn's every heartbeat, every shift of weight.
He charged again, and she stepped forward this time.
"Divine Vision," she whispered. "Ghost Step."
The world blurred. She vanished, reappeared at his flank, vanished again before his counterstrike, and appeared directly beneath his guard.
Her sword carved a radiant spiral through the air, striking the cracks in his stone skin, the small weaknesses she had seen through Divine Vision.
Stone shattered. Dust exploded outward.
Durn stumbled backward, stunned. His gauntlets cracked, his armor split. He looked down at her, chest heaving, then laughed, a booming honest sound.
"Good!" he roared. "It's been too long since anyone broke my wall!"
He fell to one knee and raised his hand in salute.
"Victory: Amelia of No House!"
The crowd erupted. Nobles rose to their feet. The King's eyes gleamed.
Amelia lowered her sword, trembling, her breath shabby. The cheers were roaring, but she barely heard them.
Each battle drained her more, not just her mana, but something deeper, something the sword was quietly feeding on. Every victory made the blade pulse stronger, as if it were slowly awakening from a long sleep.
She glanced at the weapon, its eye closed again. For a moment, she could have confirmed it looked content.