The echoes of clashing stars still hung in the arena's domed ceiling, dissipating like the last rumble of a storm.
Cyrus stood tall in the center of the cratered floor, steam rising from his shoulders. The air still sizzled where his lightning had danced. Across from him, Vel's broken reflections shimmered before shattering into harmless shards. The crowd hadn't cheered at the end—just a stunned silence, as if something sacred had been cracked open.
Now, the arena pulsed with noise.
The spectator halls were packed with students, instructors, and upper-year observers. Everyone had their opinions, their biases, and their theories. Word of mouth was faster than any official report.
"He didn't even flinch when Vel fractured the arena floor," a girl whispered, still wide-eyed.
"That was a massacre," someone muttered from the back row. "Didn't even use his full power."
"Full power?" a taller boy scoffed, leaning against the stone railing. "That was his full power. Cyrus doesn't need to be flashy. He's the kind of storm that waits. When he strikes, you're already dead."
The screen above the dueling ring now flickered, revealing the bracket update. Vel's name dimmed to grey. Cyrus advanced.
Next Match:
Orion (Star of Lunar) vs Sena (Star of Crimson)
The crowd reacted instantly.
"Orion's toast," said a girl with a Stormglass badge pinned to her collar. "Sena's in the top ten for a reason. That blood magic is insane."
"Yeah, but Orion's cohort survived Concord," someone countered. "Not even The Silent Choir came out of that without injuries."
"Concord's not the tournament," replied a third, arms crossed. "One-on-one? Sena's going to drown him in his own blood."
"You're all underestimating him," said a voice from behind. Heads turned to see a lanky boy—Aro, a second-ring student known more for his memory than his combat skills. "You didn't see what I saw. His sword—he's not like the rest of them. He's not using Selene's power… he's tempering it. Like it's too much for him."
"Huh," a girl with ink-stained sleeves muttered, sketching in her notebook. "So he's holding back?"
"No. He's surviving it."
There was a beat of silence, before someone else chuckled. "Sounds like wishful thinking. Sena's going to carve a star into his spine."
A few students exchanged coin slivers—bets were being placed now. Not just on the outcome, but the method. First blood. Knockout. Yield. Death.
One student grinned. "What odds are you giving for Sena making him pass out from blood loss?"
A taller boy leaned in. "Ten to one."
"Make it fifteen," said a quiet girl in the corner. "Orion's different. He's… off."
The air shifted slightly at her tone. Everyone noticed the way she spoke—soft, certain, and a little afraid.
"Off how?"
"He doesn't move like us. It's like he's listening to something we can't hear."
Across the room, a few upper-ring students leaned against the railing in silence, watching the bracket.
"Is it true?" one asked. "That he walked into the Astralum and came out changed?"
Another, cloaked in the robes of the Starwatchers, nodded. "He has two echoes. One dim, one blazing. And something… else. A silence around him."
"Maybe Sena wakes it up," the first said. "Maybe that's what the academy wants."
Back down in the main hall, the instructors were gathering in a shadowed alcove behind the arena. One of them—a woman with crimson-gloved hands—spoke quietly to the tournament overseer.
"Announce the match. Let the arena breathe."
The announcer stepped forward onto the platform, his voice booming with calm finality.
"Match One is concluded. Vel of the Glass Moon is eliminated. Cyrus of the Tempest advances."
"Next match… Orion of the Lunar Star versus Sena of the Crimson."
"Duel commences at dawn."
A rumble moved through the hall like thunder trapped in stone.
Serah slammed her fist against the stone table. "Great. Blood witch. That's exactly who we wanted."
Azrael was leaned against the far wall, arms folded, his eyes cast down in silent thought.
Iris didn't say much. She just stared at the bracket, the tension in her shoulders betraying her worry.
"She feeds on pain, right?" Orion asked quietly.
Serah snorted. "She drinks it."
Azrael's voice cut through. "And you reflect it."
Orion looked up.
"The moon doesn't cast power. It mirrors it. If you can turn her own fury against her, you win."
Serah stared at him. "Yeah, or he bleeds out before he can."
"I won't," Orion said.
There was a brief silence.
Then Iris added, "The students are betting on Sena."
"Let them," Orion said, his voice calm. "They don't know the moon watches in silence."
In her own private chamber, Sena stood beneath a suspended lantern filled with crimson oil. Her arms were already etched with coiled sigils—veins like threads of burning runes.
Orion. She whispered the name like a curiosity, a question.
He was quiet in the trials. Precise. Controlled. No outbursts, no dramatic declarations. That made him dangerous.
But blood reveals all.
And at dawn, she would taste his truth.