Three days passed.
Tarn didn't speak to anyone.Didn't eat. Didn't sleep.
He sat on the edge of the Mid-Ring, staring down at the cloudline.Kashira was somewhere below.
Gone.
Ash. Memory. Echoes.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.Not from fear.From rage.
A courier came. Shaky voice. Nervous feet.
"You've been summoned again."
Tarn didn't answer.
The courier waited. Sweating. Then left.
Another came hours later.Then another.
He ignored them all.
Until he heard it.
Chains. Laughs. Chanting.
And drums.
Tribal drums.
But not Ishvalan.
Different rhythm.
Off-beat. Hollow. Wrong.
He stood.
Followed the sound. His steps were heavy. Air around him shimmered.
The gates to the public arena were wide open.
Inside—
They were marching.
A new tribe.
Brown skin, braided hair, bright yellow markings.
They smiled. Danced. Greeted the crowd.
The gods above clapped.
The Vanyrian announcer shouted:
"Introducing the Marakai!A tribe from the lower jungles. Newly ascended! Loyal to the Vanyrian creed!"
Tarn froze.
He felt like he was staring at a mirror cracked sideways.
Same roots.Same culture.
Different choice.
The Marakai chieftain stepped forward.
Young. Strong. Arrogant smile.
Wore a golden collar.
Not forced.
Chosen.
"We are honored to serve the gods."
The arena roared.
Tarn didn't.
He walked to the center.
Stepped right into the arena.
Guards tried to stop him.
They didn't succeed.
He stood in front of the Marakai chieftain.
Stared.
"You sold your blood."
The chieftain smirked.
"We survived."
"At what cost?"
"We weren't fools like your people."
Tarn punched him.
Straight to the gut.
The chieftain flew back ten meters.
The arena went silent.
Tarn turned to the crowd.
"This is what they want. Dancing tribes. Leashed dogs."
"They slaughtered mine."
"Now they parade these as proof of 'peace.'"
The crowd booed. Gods hissed.
He didn't care.
He raised his fist.
Red flames sparked. The arena floor cracked.
"I am Tarn of the Ishvalans."
"Son of Kashira."
"And I will burn every lie until the sky remembers truth."
The guards rushed him.
He didn't run.
He let the rage take over.
And once again—
the fire rose.