The hour between matches passed quickly, and I soon found myself standing back at the hallway to the arena. It was much quieter than before, although I could still make out the murmurs of the spectators in the crowd. Without my horns, I couldn’t hear what they were saying clearly, but it was obvious that a match between me and Zivi was going to draw far more attention than the others had. All of us who had made it to the semi-finals had made it clear we were leagues above the other students, so of course everyone wanted to see who would come out on top.
“Cyran.” I glanced over as Zivi stood next to me, and the first thing I noticed was the weapon in his hands. It was a staff that widened greatly at both ends, but made sure to be thin enough in the middle to form a handle, which has been decorated with stubs. Both ends were tipped with scale-like blades, wrapped with a cloth that reminded me of the sea-green waters trapped under the ice in Driria. Zivi seemed to notice me looking, letting out a soft chuckle. “I figured you would be insulted if I didn’t give it my all.”
“Do what you want,” I responded, rolling my shoulders as I adjusted the weight of the axe. Based on how decorated both Eita’s and his weapon was, apparently sea-folk took a lot of pride in their weapons. “I don’t need you to hold back or show off.”
“So you don’t care how you win?”
“I didn’t say that,” I corrected, finally meeting Zivi’s gaze. He must have liked what he saw in my gaze, a hint of his sharpened teeth peaking out as he smiled. “I said how you fight doesn’t matter.”
“We’ll see.” We walked out together under the eyes of the crowd, the arena blazing with late afternoon light. The cheering wasn’t deafening, but it was persistent, building slowly as the spectators caught sight of us stepping into the ring. Neither of us bothered to look up, taking our places as we faced each other across the worn, sun-warmed stone.
The signal rang out, a clear chime that echoed off the high walls, and for a moment neither of us moved. Zivi watched me patiently, and I slowly circled him, knowing I couldn’t treat him like I had my other fights. We had an hour to end it; there was no reason to rush, no reason to give him an opening to use. He turned to face me, never allowing me out of his sight, but kept his staff next to his side, relaxed and ready to react to whatever I did.
After a full circle, I moved, closing the distance with three long strides and a sharp pivot, axe angled low. Zivi met the motion without flinching, his staff extending in a flick of motion I almost missed. The blade at the end curved outward mid-swing, just enough to parry my axe and redirect the force to the side. The impact vibrated through the haft of my weapon, and I shifted my weight to avoid the follow-up twist of his staff aiming for my ribs.
As I expected, Zivi was fast and I allowed myself to fall to the side, using my hand to pivot on the ground and wield the axe with one hand, aiming for the side of his legs in a sweeping arc. Zivi jumped, twisting mid-air to avoid the blow, the blade of my axe missing him by inches as he spun overhead and landed lightly behind me. I rolled forward into a crouch, rising without turning as I angled the axe behind my back in anticipation. Zivi’s staff struck the haft with a sharp clang, the metal ringing as he tried to catch me off guard.
Instead, I shoved backward with my shoulder, driving my weight into him. He stumbled, but not far—his grip shifted, staff shortening in an instant as he twirled it closer to his body and ducked low, aiming for the backs of my knees. I jumped, letting my momentum carry me into a spin as I brought the axe down hard. Zivi slid beneath the attack, narrowly avoiding the bite of the blade, his feet scuffing across the stone floor.
“Not bad,” he muttered, his breath light but unstrained.
“Less talking,” I answered, pressing forward again. We moved like reflections, mirrored in effort but not in form. Zivi’s strikes were clean, graceful; it was almost as if he had been trained to fight in water, his movements fluid and coiling, every pivot conserving energy as he met me strike for strike. I had the strength and precision, but he had the agility and flexibility to meet my strikes, but not enough to throw me off balance. We kept matching each other blow for blow and eventually I stepped back to avoid one of his strikes, starting to feel the strain of the drawn out fight.
“At this rate, we’ll run out of time,” Zivi panted and I nodded, glancing up to the sky. At best, we had ten minutes left to determine a winner, or it would be considered a draw and both of us would take the number one spot. A part of me didn’t care; after all Zivi was more than a worthy opponent and clearly the only student in our year who could even dream of facing me. Another part didn’t want to leave things so indecisive.
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Zivi seemed to share my sentiment, both of us tossing our weapons away at the same time. A gasp rang the arena, but we both ignored it, stepping in with bare hands and narrowed focus. The silence that followed was louder than the cheering had ever been, and the shift in the air was immediate.
Zivi moved first this time, stepping in with the agile grace he had used with his staff. I met him head on, and as our hands collided I was surprised to feel that he was stronger than I thought. I quickly adjusted, standing my ground as Zivi grinned at me.
“My staff doesn’t favor strength, just like your axe doesn’t favor flexibility,” Zivi explained, using his momentum to try and push me back, but I released him, quickly turning to face him as he spun on the ground. Our boots weren’t great for fighting hand to hand, but Zivi made do, coming at me again. This time I was more ready for him, catching his wrist as he reached for my shoulder. I twisted, using his momentum to pull him forward, slamming my knee into his stomach hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. But Zivi didn’t crumple—he gritted his teeth and twisted with me, dragging me off balance as we crashed to the ground together.
We both rolled in opposite directions, coming to our feet in perfect sync. He lunged again, this time aiming lower, trying to sweep my legs. I jumped, then dropped the moment he passed under me, slamming my forearm into his back to knock him forward. He stumbled, but pivoted sharply and came back with a shoulder rush, catching me square in the ribs.
We locked again, hands gripping shoulders and arms, feet skidding across the arena floor as we struggled for leverage. He grunted as I shifted my stance, dropping lower to get under his center of gravity. One sharp heave, and he lost his footing, falling hard to the stone with a dull thud. I didn’t hesitate—I dropped with him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand while the other pressed into his chest, locking him down.
The arena was dead silent.
Zivi didn’t struggle, his chest rising and falling quickly under my palm. His eyes met mine, brown and strangely unreadable, but I didn’t need to see what he was thinking. He let out a breath, relaxing as he closed his eyes and I relaxed my hold, ready to tighten in case it was a trick. But Zivi remained calm, a gentle smile on his face as the instructor’s voice finally rang out.
“Trohka wins the Entrance Exam Tournament.” The words echoed, crisp and clear in the silence. The moment they left his mouth, the signal chime rang out again, louder this time, final. I finished releasing Zivi, offering him a hand to help him stand. He seemed surprised but took it, pulling himself upright with a grunt before brushing the dust from his clothes. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable for a breath too long before his usual grin flickered back into place.
“Well fought.”
“You too.” With that, I turned, noticing the new attendants waiting for both me and Zivi. They were wearing more elaborate uniforms, and they moved with the kind of polished ease that only came with handling noble students. One of them stepped forward and gave a short, formal bow.
“Please follow me, Prince Trohka. Your dorm assignment and uniform are ready.”
I followed the attendant through a separate set of corridors that wound behind the arena walls, quieter and lined with magical sconces that responded to our movement, lighting the path in soft pulses. The air here was cooler, more refined, clearly somewhere set aside to have the noble students separated from the majority, at least when it came to our rooms. We passed a set of heavy doors decorated with runes as we entered a wide hallway shaped like a crescent, its ceiling high and arched with carved branches and curling motifs that glowed faintly under the lamplight. The floor was lined with thick, sea-blue carpet embroidered in silver thread, muffling our steps.
The attendant stopped in front of one of four carved doors, each spaced evenly along the curved hallway. A sigil pulsed faintly on the wood, clearly a dragon, before dimming as the door recognized me. The attendant bowed, motioning to the room and just from a glance, I could tell all of my belongings were already inside.
“This is your room, and your fellow royalty will reside in this wing with you. The other nobles are in the hall adjacent.” the attendant stood, clearly used to waiting on royalty. “This year, there are only four royal students, and I hope you will get along well.”
I didn’t bother with a response, simply stepping inside as I placed my axe next to the door. The space was large, and it was strange to think I had the whole room to myself. It wasn’t as large as my room in Arvendon Palace, but it was still luxurious, with high ceilings, arched windows with enchanted glass that shifted with the time of day, and furniture crafted from carved stone and pale wood. A desk sat beneath the window, already stacked with parchment, quills, and a few textbooks marked with the Roxarry crest. Someone had taken care to place a carved obsidian ink pot shaped like a small tree at the corner and I noticed my journal placed near it. My clothes had been folded and stored neatly in the wardrobe, and my boots were aligned perfectly on a mat by the bed.
I took a quick moment to change before stepping back in the hall, noticing how the dragon on the door was still glowing. As soon as I released the handle, the glow faded, and I heard the door lock and I found myself staring at the dragons. I knew that if the school knew what I was, they would have known better than to put a sigil on my door that could give me away, but it was likely more due to the fact Naera was associated with dragons and I was here as a prince.
I noticed as a glow started under my shirt and I quickly pulled the crystal out, holding it in my hand. “Tritetia?”
“I’m waiting in the hallway.” Her voice was soft and I released the crystal, quickly heading for the double doors.
