The roar of the crowd still echoed in Orion's ears as he stood at the edge of the arena, watching the arena's shattered remnants from Varek's battle begin to fade into mist. The air was thick with the residue of the storm, the lingering crackle of energy from the clash of powers. Kye was already escorted off, his graceful form moving silently, his expression unreadable.
A hush fell over the crowd again, the attention now turning to the next match.
"Next combatants," the announcer's voice boomed, rich with anticipation. "Lirael of the Skybound, bearer of the Star of Stormglass… versus Eira of the Silent Choir, bearer of the Star of Mirage!"
The arena seemed to hold its breath.
Lirael entered first, her steps deliberate and light, each movement controlled like the tension in the air before a storm. The crystal blade at her side shimmered as it caught the light, the stormglass refracting it into shards of brilliant colors. Her dark eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the arena with calm certainty.
Then, Eira entered, a ghost in the mist. She didn't walk—she drifted, her presence bending the light around her, creating subtle distortions in the space between. The edges of her form wavered as though she were both there and not, like a memory struggling to be remembered. The crowd seemed to gasp, unsure of what they were seeing.
In the blink of an eye, the arena came alive with sound—the clashing of weapons, the crackling of energy, the rush of wind and movement. A storm was brewing in every corner.
Clang!
Lirael struck first, her stormglass blade a flash of light in the heavy air. Eira twisted, her body almost folding in on itself as she stepped aside, leaving behind only an afterimage.
"She's fast," Azrael muttered, his voice barely audible. "But not quick enough."
Orion's eyes narrowed. "Let's see how long that illusion can last."
As the two combatants circled, the atmosphere thickened with tension, the crowd hanging on every flicker of movement. Stormglass met mirage in a clash of raw power and wily tricks, and Orion could sense the stakes rising.
This fight would not be won by strength alone. It would be decided by whose will could bend reality first.
Lirael moved with sharp precision, her blade carving arcs through the misty air. Each swing sent out shockwaves of refracted light, like glass shattering in slow motion.
Eira barely seemed to dodge.
One moment she was there — the next, gone — a ripple across a pond.
Tsssh!
Lirael's blade slashed through one of Eira's images, but it melted into mist, vanishing harmlessly.
A whisper of laughter echoed, soft and teasing.
"She's baiting her," Iris said, frowning.
"Drawing her deeper into the illusions."
Orion could see it too.
Lirael was being pulled forward, step by step, into a maze she couldn't see — a hall of mirrors without walls.
If she struck too soon, she'd waste her strength. If she hesitated, she'd fall prey to an illusion she didn't even know she believed.
But Lirael…
Lirael didn't seem rattled.
Instead, she stopped moving altogether.
Her blade lowered slightly.
Her breathing slowed.
And then, from her stormglass sword, a fine mist began to pour — shimmering, glittering like a thousand diamond shards. It flooded the arena, coating the battlefield in a crystalline haze.
A counter-illusion.
Eira's distortion field wavered, flickering uncertainly against the new environment.
For the first time, her form stabilized — just for an instant — and Lirael struck.
A single, swift step forward — a slash clean enough to split the mist itself — aimed directly at the real Eira.
The arena roared.
But—
At the last possible second, Eira dissolved into water, her body becoming a ripple, her image shattering into droplets that reformed a few paces away.
Her smile, faint and haunting, hovered at the edges of the stormglass mist.
"Nice try," her voice murmured through the haze, echoing from a dozen directions at once.
Orion leaned forward slightly.
This match wasn't going to be a clean win.
It was a war of attrition — of patience and mind games.
And it had only just begun.
The mist deepened.
Shapes began to flicker at the edges of vision — not just Eira, but dozens of her.
Phantoms swirled through the haze, each one perfectly mirroring her movements, weaving and spinning with ethereal grace.
The audience leaned forward, trying to follow the battle — but even they were beginning to lose track of what was real.
Boom.
A sudden crackle of pressure rolled across the arena as Lirael stamped her foot into the ground, sending a shockwave through the stormglass mist.
Crystals in the air resonated — vibrating at a frequency that fractured the false images, snapping weaker illusions like twigs underfoot.
Orion saw it then: a ripple of true form amid the collapsing phantoms.
There!
Lirael saw it too.
She lunged — a flash of precision and power — her blade singing through the broken mist straight for Eira's exposed side.
Clang!
Eira parried at the last moment, her own weapon — a slender, ripple-edged dagger — catching the stormglass blade and twisting it aside.
The clash sent a burst of force outward, kicking up dust and mist.
Real. This time it's real, Orion thought.
But even locked in a genuine clash, Eira's body shimmered oddly, warping and doubling at the edges.
It was like trying to fight the reflection of the moon on water — close enough to touch, yet always slipping away.
Lirael gritted her teeth.
She wasn't going to win by chasing after Eira's images.
She needed to trap her.
Above them, stormclouds began to coil tighter in the artificial sky of the arena.
The audience could feel it — a rising hum in their bones.
Lirael raised her stormglass sword overhead, and tiny fractures began to spiderweb along its surface — deliberate, controlled.
Stormglass was unstable when broken.
And she was about to break it.
"She's going to unleash it," Iris whispered, awed.
Orion nodded grimly.
A storm trapped inside glass is beautiful.
A storm set free is lethal.
The final moments of the battle were about to begin.
The first crack split the air like lightning.
Then another. And another.
Lirael's stormglass blade fractured along fault lines she had etched into it — not by accident, but by ruthless design.
From the splintering crystal, the storm trapped inside began to pour out, flooding the arena with violent wind and slashing currents of pressure.
The crowd screamed as barriers flickered to life around the stands, barely shielding them.
A tempest was born in the arena's heart.
Lirael stood at the center, calm amid chaos, her broken weapon now just a hilt in her hand.
The unleashed storm obeyed her will — a swirling maelstrom of razor-sharp winds and cutting glass shards, all rushing toward Eira.
No illusions would save her now.
Orion leaned forward, tense.
"This should be it… unless…"
But even as the storm closed in, Eira didn't flee.
She stepped forward — not away — into the heart of the storm.
And then, she disappeared.
Not into the mist.
Not behind a wall of illusions.
She melted into the mirage itself, becoming part of the distortion, bending the raging storm around her.
Wherever the stormglass winds sought her, they found only empty space — false images crumbling under their wrath, leading the tempest astray.
Lirael's eyes narrowed, searching — calculating.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena blurred.
The storm thrashed blindly, consuming its own master's vision.
And then, like a ghost slipping through a crack in the world — Eira appeared at Lirael's side.
One smooth, silent step.
A flash of her ripple-edged dagger.
The barest touch to Lirael's throat — not cutting, but marking.
Victory.
The storm shuddered once, then fell apart.
The winds died, the mist faded.
The announcer's voice rang out, breathless with excitement:
"Victory to Eira of the Silent Choir!"
The crowd erupted into a roar — not for raw power, but for the sheer brilliance of it.
Lirael lowered her broken hilt, her expression unreadable.
She gave a small, respectful nod toward Eira — a fighter's salute.
Eira, almost ethereal in the aftermath, simply bowed her head once, her form still shimmering faintly in the air.
Orion let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"That… was insane."
"Beautiful," Azrael said softly.
"Terrifying," Serah added.
And Iris, smiling faintly, whispered, "A ghost in the storm…"