The next few days of the tournament went smoothly, with more and more kids being knocked down and by the third, we already knew who was staying and who wasn’t. But they didn’t stop the tournament because now, we were no longer fighting to stay, we were fighting for rank. I won the second and third matches easily, making me part of the final four who would fight on the fifth day. Zivi also beat all of his matches, and I noticed that of the sea folk who came with him, only the lionfish girl and another boy had made it into the final sixteen.

  However, it was me, Zivi, a human kid from Driria and the lionfish girl who made it to the final four. I was surprised to learn the girl used a combat bow, but Zivi explained that it made the most sense for her. Her hair looked like normal hair, but was actually covered in tiny barbs filled with toxins, to which even she wasn’t immune. She had to wear special gloves just to put it up into a bun, and so choosing a combat style that required little movement was ideal. The toxin wasn’t deadly, but it would force muscles to contract, making her opponent unable to move if they touched it while trying to injure her.

  The next day, we learned Zivi was matched to the Dririan kid, meaning I would face Etia. The matches would be back to back, and as soon as it was clear Zivi was going to win, I began preparing myself, waiting at the entrance to the arena. I hadn’t seen Etia fight in person, but knowing she fought with a bow told me she likely fought with distance, speed, and precision. Knocking the bow from her hand was my best chance of winning without hurting her, but it meant I had to get close enough to be at risk of her hair.

  “Hmph,” I didn’t turn as I heard Etia come up behind me, her voice still relaxed and carrying that slight noble air. As expected, she had her hair up in a loose bun and her bow almost seemed to be decorated like coral. It was clear the bow was a personal gift, and she paused a few steps away from me, tilting her head as she studied me. Her gaze was straight ahead toward the arena, but I could feel the edges of it skimming my profile, subtle and assessing.

  “You’re the only one I didn’t want to be matched against,” she said lightly, as though we were discussing something as trivial as the weather. “But I suppose it was inevitable.”

  I didn’t bother with an answer, watching as Zivi disarmed the other kid with ease. Neither of them were using personal weapons, both opting for ones provided by the school, but Zivi seemed to use a bladed staff while the Dririan kid used a set of daggers. Watching him tactfully knock the second dagger from the kid’s hand was a clear reminder that Zivi had been trained with purpose, elegant in a way that didn’t rely on flair. It was the kind of elegance that came from knowing exactly how little effort was needed to win and using no more than that.

  The moment the blade clattered across the stone, the match was called. I didn’t give much thought to the cheering as I stepped forward, my pulse was already shifting gears. The arena floor was scuffed from use, and the attendants rushed to retrieve the fallen daggers and vacate the area. It would be properly cleaned before the last match, but the goal was to get the semi-finals over with as quickly as possible and let the two finalists rest. Etia followed, settling in her place across from me, neither of us offering any sort of acknowledgment as we took our mark.

  The signal sounded and I immediately side stepped one of Etia’s arrows. As I suspected, she was capable of stringing arrows insanely quickly, and she had likely made it so far because she disarmed her opponents in the first few shots. For most of the candidates, being disarmed was an end to the fight and I grinned as I dodged another shot, dropping my axe.

  The entire arena grew quiet as the axe clanged to the ground, and I noticed how although Etia was surprised, she didn’t drop her bow, instead adjusting her third shot to aim for the ground. We weren’t allowed to hurt each other, but the wind from the arrow could be used to blind me, which would still render me unable to see and therefore unable to fight. I moved quickly, lunging low before the arrow made contact. The gust passed just above my head, a razor whip of displaced air that snapped through the arena like a warning. My palms hit the stone, and I pushed off the ground, momentum carrying me in a sharp arc to the side.

  Etia fired again—fast, focused, and annoyingly precise. The arrow thudded into the sand beside my foot just as I pivoted, and I could hear the soft intake of breath from the spectators above us. This wasn’t flashy, but they knew it was dangerous. Close combat against someone who could paralyze you with a single misplaced grab wasn’t exciting; it was suicidal.

  But they didn’t know me.

  I let myself move the way I used to in my first life, remembering Caspian’s advice. While knowing how to wield a weapon was useful and the best way to avoid accidentally triggering my draconic side, at the end of the day, my body was still a weapon. A weapon that, even if Caspian didn’t know, had been the only one I had in the first timeline. I surged forward again, staying low and unpredictable, cutting hard to the side with each new arrow, letting the rhythm of her shots dictate my flow. I just needed to get close enough to throw her off balance, to disarm her before my blood got too excited.

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  Etia stepped backwards, her grip tightening on the bow as she tried to maintain the distance between us. But it was too late for her to reset; I had already slipped into that familiar state of cold focus, the kind that dulled everything except motion. Her fifth shot skimmed the air just past my shoulder, the wind pressure slicing open the hem of my sleeve but I didn’t flinch.

  I moved inside her range with a lunge that was more instinct than tactic, my foot sweeping across the arena floor to throw sand toward her ankles. She faltered just a little, enough to slow the draw of her sixth arrow, and I was already upright, a heartbeat away from colliding. She twisted, trying to bring the bow horizontal to shove me back but I ducked beneath the move and closed the final inch of space.

  My hand snapped up and closed around the middle of her bow with a grip just firm enough to hold. She froze immediately, every muscle in her body reacting to the fact that I had touched something so close to her hands and precious to her heart. If she moved just right, her hair might catch on my arm and drop me but if I pulled hard enough or could keep my grip as I fell, I could break the bow. The worry in her blue eyes told me she wouldn’t risk that, and I grinned as she shook with anger, slowly releasing the bow as she stepped back.

  The instructor’s voice rang out: “Odall has been disarmed. Trohka advances to the final.”

  I adjusted my grip to offer the weapon, swallowing my chuckle as she snatched it back, cradling the bow to her chest like I’d ripped something sacred from her hands. She turned sharply and strode toward the edge of the arena, her movements tight with shame and frustration. I turned to retrieve my axe from the ground, wiping a bit of grit from the handle with my sleeve before resting it on my shoulder. I ignored all the attendants as I re-entered the hallway, working my way back to the barracks. We had one hour before the final match but as I stepped into the corridor just off the barracks hall, I heard something else.

  “Cyran.”

  Tritetia stood near one of the open archways, backlit by the high afternoon sun filtering through the high windows. From the uniform she was wearing, it was clear the magical entrance exam was done and Tritetia had passed, but I couldn't stop staring at her. Something was different, not in the obvious way, but in the way her entire presence seemed to hum on a new frequency.

  “Cyran?”

  “Why are you here, Tritetia?” I turned to face her properly as she looked away, playing with her sleeve as she stepped closer.

  “The… entrance exams for the magical course are over,” she nodded, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I heard you made it to the finals, so… I wanted to see you win.”

  I stared at her, unsure how to respond. As far as I could see, nothing about Tritetia has changed; she still avoided meeting my gaze, playing with the edge of her sleeve as if it was the only safe thing to do with her hands. She still stood as if she wanted to be invisible, and her voice was just as soft and unsure. Yet, I could tell that something had changed and it bothered me in a way I couldn’t explain.

  “Where did you place?”

  “I… didn’t win. I’m… not that good, but I was able to use my… memories,” she managed, her voice quiet and halting, as if she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be proud of that. “I ranked in the top ten. Seventh, I think. Maybe eighth. I don’t really remember.”

  She rubbed her arm, still avoiding my eyes, and I tilted my head as I watched her. She smiled softly to the ground, as if she was waiting for me to be disappointed. I wasn’t sure why; both of us placing in the top spot of our courses would bring too much attention, especially since all of the Naerans and Aehorusians were already aware that we knew each other.

  “Good.” I finally said, watching how she perked up just slightly. “After the tournament’s over, we should talk. Somewhere private.”

  Her eyes darted to mine for a split second before dropping again. “I… think I remember a place.”

  “Then we–”

  “Princess Tritetia,” Zivi’s voice cut off my answer and we both turned to see him, Etia and the third boy walk toward us in the hallway. It was obvious Zivi was heading back to the barracks just like me, and I didn’t doubt the other two had simply decided to follow him. He bowed politely as he approached, hand resting lightly over his chest. “I apologize for interrupting.”

  “I-it’s fine,” Tritetia managed, clearly uncomfortable with the added audience. She began to play with her sleeve again, and I sighed, turning away from her. “You must be from Aehorus too.”

  “We are,” Zivi quickly cut the other boy off, not giving him the chance to speak as he stepped forward, gently positioning himself between Tritetia and the others like a respectful barrier. It was subtle, but I could tell he was trying to shield her from too many eyes at once. Whether he noticed her discomfort or just assumed it from her posture, it was a shrewd move. “I am Zivi, and this is Eita and Larasil.”

  “N-nice to meet you,” Tritetia managed and she glanced at me before bowing slightly. “I hope you win, Cyran.”

  “There’s nothing to hope for,” I answered, watching as she nodded and headed back down the hallway, eager to disappear before anyone else could say more. Etia let out a soft exhale through her nose, arms folded as she leaned a hip against the wall, but Zivi gave her a sharp look before she could speak. I scoffed as I headed back to our barracks, ready to change out of my ripped shirt before the final.

  “Cyran.” Zivi’s voice made me pause and I glanced back to see the neutral expression on his face. No, not quite neutral; curious. “Good luck.”

  I turned away, not giving his words the dignity of an answer as I disappeared around the corner. I didn’t need luck, just like I didn’t need Tritetia’s hope. I was going to win; it was as simple as that.