I woke up slowly.
The dream hadn't fully left. It clung to me in fragments, trailing behind my thoughts like smoke. That strange place. The void sky. The weight of movement. The thing in the dark. I wasn't sure what most of it meant, maybe it wasn't meant to have a meaning.
My chest still pulsed faintly where the mark had been carved. Again, not with pain, just present.
I sat up and let my eyes adjust. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Even the usual hum of distant mana had dulled, like the city was waiting on something.
It was waiting on us.
Jackal was still asleep, arm over his face, barely moving. I didn't bother waking him.
Instead, I stood. Stretched once. My body was in perfect state. Trained, sharpened. Ready.
That was when I noticed the change.
Three Yuxians stood at our door.
They didn't knock. Didn't speak. Just waited, still and composed, their robes lined with geometric patterns I hadn't seen before. Their presence wasn't hostile, but it wasn't casual either.
This was it.
They were here for us to get the battle paint.
Before I could say anything, Jackal stirred.
He sat up suddenly, blinking against the filtered morning light. He looked around once, saw the figures standing silently at the door, then let out a sharp breath.
"I'm ready," he said, voice rough from sleep. "Mentally, spiritually, even emotionally. Physically? Give me five minutes."
He stood, rolling his shoulders and muttering something about ceremonial nonsense under his breath. I didn't respond. There was no need.
We both knew what came next.
We got dressed in silence.
The Yuxians didn't move until we stepped forward.
Then they turned and began walking.
And we followed.
We arrived at the temple. The main one. The same towering structure where Zuran had first addressed us, its spires catching the early light, shadows trailing like banners behind them.
The doors were already open.
Waiting.
We entered.
Only Zuran and the Chief were inside.
"Welcome, once again," Zuran said. His voice carried less weight than usual. Still serious, but more formal than commanding.
The Chief stepped forward. His robes were different today, heavier, more ceremonial. The mask he had was the same, but the presence behind it felt sharper.
"This is tradition," Zuran said. "The paint is not part of the ritual. It is not magic. It does not grant strength. But it is worn all the same."
The Chief raised a shallow bowl. Inside was a dark paint, thick and faintly reflective. Another bowl rested beside it, filled with white.
He didn't speak. Just gestured.
Jackal went first.
He stepped forward, tilting his head slightly, posture relaxed. The Chief dipped two fingers into the black paint and drew a pair of long lines down Jackal's face, one from each eye, tapering past the jaw. Then a mark across the neck. Something like a crescent.
It was fast. Clean. No words spoken.
Jackal stepped back without ceremony, expression unreadable.
Then it was my turn.
I moved forward and stood still as the Chief approached.
He looked at me once. Then dipped his fingers into the white paint.
The first mark went over my brow, sweeping down across the right cheek. The second was drawn from my collarbone upward, ending just short of the chin. The last was a small symbol, centered on the chest just above the mark of Solarity.
When it was done, he stepped back.
I didn't feel any different, it was truly just tradition. Probably a Yuxian thing before events like these. Or before war.
Zuran nodded once.
"You are ready. You will be led to the place where the ritual is taking place. You will have a couple of minutes to warm up. First duel will be between Jackal and Tolok. He is a newly unmasked Yuxian."
We were led outside.
This time, we were headed toward a part of the city we hadn't seen before.
The sound reached us before the structure did.
A deep, rising energy in the air. Footsteps. Voices. Chants. Thousands of Yuxians filled the space ahead, and the closer we got, the louder it became. Excitement. Anticipation. They were waiting for this.
The arena came into view.
It was massive. Open to the sky, framed by curved stone architecture that rose like claws gripping the space around it. The seating spiraled up from the central grounds, wide enough to hold tens of thousands. Only a few smaller structures on the perimeter were enclosed, likely for preparation, storage, or ceremony.
As we approached the edge of the arena floor, the crowd noticed us.
The noise sharpened. Not in volume, but in focus. As if thousands of masked eyes had turned our way, and with them, their voices.
They started to chant. A rhythm I didn't understand, but it pulsed through the air with weight. It wasn't for us. Not entirely. This was celebration. Tradition. Maybe even farewell.
We were shown into one of the side chambers to prepare. Simple space. Stone benches. A few jugs of water.
Jackal rolled his shoulders and let out a slow breath.
"You feel that?" he asked, half-smiling. "That's the sound of people hoping we bleed."
I didn't answer right away. I just looked out toward the arena floor.
Jackal started warming up.
He moved lightly on his feet, rolling his shoulders, shifting his weight with each step. A few short slashes, checking his balance. A deep breath. Then another. His rhythm settled quickly, like he'd done this a hundred times before.
The minutes passed fast.
An elder Yuxian stepped inside.
"The fight is about to begin. There are no rules."
No ceremony. No explanation. Just that.
I raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. A part of me had expected some sort of guideline, a structure to follow. This place was so strict with tradition, so controlled. And yet this, this ritual, was beyond all that.
Just survival.
The elder turned to Jackal.
"You are the challenger. You will enter second. Wait for the guards to signal you."
Then he left.
Jackal cracked his neck.
"Sounds simple enough."
Then the door opened.
Elicia was standing in front.
"How are the nerves?" she asked, voice softer than usual, maybe even concerned.
I stared at her for a moment.
She knew.
She knew Jackal and I weren't like the others that had come before. Knew that whatever influence kept this city's people calm, cooperative, controlled, it didn't work on me. Not fully.
She was scared. Not for us. For them.
Scared that this time, one of theirs might lose.
For the first time.