Khan raised his staff once more. His voice cracked like a boy's—but carried the iron of a man.
"Not yet. I'm not done!"
A spark—small, almost invisible—danced at the tip of Khan's staff. It wasn't water this time. It wasn't trained. It wasn't anything he had studied. It was raw, desperate, instinctive.
A flicker of fire.
But it died before it could grow, vanishing like a secret swallowed by the wind. Khan didn't even notice it. His heart was too full of rage and pain to see what had slipped free.
But a few among the crowd did.
In the high pavilion, His Majesty, Emperor Groa Aratat, leaned forward, his sharp gaze narrowing. His lips curved into the faintest smile, satisfaction hidden beneath the weight of his crown.
"Just as I expected," he murmured to himself, the words almost lost in the crowd's noise. Then, turning to the man seated beside him, he said lowly, "Tell Uriel Commes to see me after the match is over…"
Governor Raphael MacNelly blinked, confused, until realization dawned and his eyes widened. "S-sir… you mean the Scarlet Raven?"
The emperor gave a single nod.
"Right away, Your Majesty!" The governor snapped his fingers sharply, and a messenger sprinted down the stairs with the order, his cloak flapping like a bird taking flight.
Back on the stage, chaos still ruled. Emu Tim sneered, his voice carrying through the din.
"You have both parents, Khan. Might as well live like an orphan—because their presence adds nothing to you!"
The twin-headed serpent, massive and merciless, lunged. Its tail whipped around with a thunderous crack and slammed into Khan's chest. The force hurled him backward, stones scraping beneath him as he skidded dangerously close to the edge of the stage. Gasps tore through the arena—if he fell off, the fight would be over.
By sheer will, Khan clawed at the ground and steadied himself. His body screamed in pain, but his spirit refused to fall.
Emu Tim's eyes gleamed as he saw the fire in Khan's face. He pressed harder, words dripping venom. "What? You're angry now? Think about it—your mother was useless from the start! Why didn't she marry a real man like my father? Instead, she ended up with your father. Look where that left you—pathetic, worthless—"
"ENOUGH!"
Khan's roar cut through the air like thunder. His eyes, blazing with fury, locked onto Emu Tim. Pain became nothing. Exhaustion became nothing. Only his parents' faces filled his mind—their sacrifices, their love, their quiet strength.
"SHOW SOME RESPECT FOR MY FATHER AND MOTHER!"
The words were not just shouted—they were commanded.
The air shivered.
In an instant, water burst from Khan's staff—not the feeble lash of weakness from before, but a towering wall that rose and thundered forward like a tidal wave. Yet this was no ordinary water. Steam curled violently from its surface, the liquid boiling as though drawn from the heart of a volcano. Even those in the crowd could feel its blistering heat prickling against their skin.
The colossal surge crashed down upon the cobra with a sound like a thousand drums, shaking the stage beneath it.
The referee's eyes widened in shock. He staggered back, throwing up an arm against the blast of scalding mist. "What in the... By the Emperor's crown—what is this?!" he gasped. He had seen countless duels, countless children struggle with their first spells, but this… this was a power no child at their level should have been able to touch.
The serpent shrieked as steam exploded outward. Its scales blistered and cracked. The boiling torrent enveloped it, cooking flesh, hissing like oil poured onto fire. In seconds, the cobra's majestic form melted into ruin—nothing more than a steaming heap, as if scalded like a chicken in boiling water.
Gasps and shouts filled the arena. The water surged onward, roaring toward Emu Tim. His mocking smirk vanished, his body frozen in shock.
"By the gods… wasn't he supposed to be the weakest?"
"A monster… that boy's a real monster!"
Voices erupted from every corner of the colosseum, overlapping in disbelief. Whispers turned to shouts, shouts to a roar, until the entire arena trembled with the weight of astonishment.
But before the boiling tide could reach him, a single hand rose.
Scarlet Raven.
The second-in-command of the Oradonian Mage Order moved with lazy precision. He snapped his fingers, and the boiling water split apart, evaporating into harmless mist that hung in the air like smoke.
All eyes turned back to Khan.
His staff clattered to the ground. His knees buckled, and he collapsed. The arena fell silent, stunned. He had unleashed a Wordless spell, a spell with no incantation, no guidance—born only of rage, love, and raw, untapped power.
The referee stood rooted to the spot, torn. Declaring a winner was not so simple. Khan had obliterated the serpent, but the matter wasn't clear-cut. If Emu Tim had unleashed his full might earlier, perhaps he could have crushed his opponent. Yet on a battlefield, what might have been means nothing—only what truly happens decides life and death. And in this clash, Emu Tim's arrogance had left him exposed. In a real fight, he would already be a corpse.
But by the strict rules of the arena, Khan had collapsed first.
The referee's throat tightened. Unable to decide, his gaze slid instinctively toward the Scarlet Raven, silently pleading for judgment.
Scarlet Raven's crimson gaze swept the stage once, cold and knowing. He extended a single finger toward Khan.
The crowd erupted. A deafening cheer thundered through the arena, raw and unfiltered. People leapt to their feet, voices carrying his name, shouting with wild abandon. For the first time, Khan—the boy everyone called the weakest—was hailed as victor.
And high above, Emperor Groa Aratat's eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
The fire within him has begun to stir.
Khan was carried off the stage on a stretcher, his small frame limp but his face still locked in an expression of defiance. The healers moved quickly, whispering amongst themselves about the strange nature of his spell, while the matches continued in the arena, the crowd still buzzing with the boy's shocking victory.
Away from the noise, in the shadowed halls of the imperial pavilion, the Scarlet Raven ascended the marble steps to meet his sovereign. His crimson cloak trailed behind him like a river of blood.
Uriel Commes, the feared second-in-command of the Oradonian Mage Order, entered the sitting area of his majesty, the emperor. At once, he dropped to one knee, lowering his head before the throne.
"Your Majesty, you summoned me."
Emperor Groa Aratat leaned forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming like tempered steel.
"Yes, Uriel. I have a task for you. That boy—Khan. You will give him a fire grimoire… and you will train him personally."
Uriel's head lifted slightly, his sharp gaze flickering with hesitation. "A fire grimoire, sire?" His tone was respectful, but even a man of his stature felt compelled to question. "He is still just a child. There are protocols… reforms. The order dictates—"
"—And I dictate to the order," the emperor cut in smoothly, his voice carrying quiet finality.
The weight of authority pressed down on the room. Uriel exhaled slowly, lowering his head once more. "As you command, Majesty." He rose, his cloak whispering against the marble as he turned to carry out his sovereign's will.
Governor Raphael MacNelly, who had been standing to the side in anxious silence, finally found his voice. His brows knitted with confusion. "But, Your Majesty… forgive my boldness, yet why fire? Did you not see? The boy showed his strength in water. Surely that is the path that suits him best?"
Emperor Groa Aratat's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. His gaze returned to the distant arena where cheers still echoed faintly.
"You might be surprised," he said softly.
It was the same phrase he had spoken earlier when the governor confidently declared Emu Tim's inevitable victory. Repeated now, with that same calm certainty, it made a chill run down Raphael's spine. He bowed low, but his thoughts twisted with unease.
What exactly was it that His Majesty saw in that boy?
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