The embers still smoldered in the shattered arena, a thin haze curling through the quiet air. Scorch marks scarred the stone, and the acrid scent of ozone still lingered. A reminder of the wildfire Serah had unleashed—and the storm she had survived.
In the Skybound cohort's viewing chamber, silence hung for a few moments too long.
Nyra broke it first. "He let her win."
Cyrus didn't look at her, arms crossed, gaze pinned on the slowly fading holographic projection of the arena. "No. He didn't let her win. He just waited too long to stop her."
Lirael's tone was cooler. "He should've adapted sooner. He always does eventually—but this time, Serah didn't give him the time."
Nyra kicked her boots up on the edge of the table. "Still, you saw the shift near the end. That wasn't even half of what he can do. If he'd started that way—"
"He didn't," Cyrus cut in, sharper than thunder. "That's on him."
Nyra raised a brow. "You're annoyed."
"I'm not." A pause. "I'm disappointed."
Lirael tilted her head. "His Voltage is precise. A storm waiting to be channeled. But she burned through that rhythm before he found it."
Nyra grinned. "Still, it's terrifying how fast he could've turned it. If he hadn't gotten cocky."
"It's not the same," Cyrus muttered. "Voltage and Tempest aren't interchangeable. Varek reads patterns. Calculates. Learns. He's the scalpel."
Nyra chuckled. "And you're the hurricane."
Cyrus didn't answer, but the air around him thickened subtly, tension like charged air before a lightning strike.
Elsewhere, Orion's cohort sat in one of the spectator lounges, the roar of the arena now a memory. Serah was absent—still being tended to after pushing past her limits—but the rest watched the recap in silence.
Iris finally broke it. "I didn't think she'd win."
Azrael nodded slowly. "Nor did Varek. That's why she did."
Orion's fingers tapped silently against the hilt of Lunaris. "He was reading her too long. Trying to analyze instead of overwhelm. That gave her time to detonate."
"He's dangerous," Iris said. "But he fights like he wants control more than victory."
"Maybe that's his flaw," Azrael murmured.
Orion didn't reply. His eyes lingered on the final moment—Serah, ash rising around her, standing while Varek knelt in flickering arcs. A match that could've gone either way—if not for her fury.
Then the announcement came.
A voice echoed from the arena's central tower.
"For the next match: Cyrus of the Skybound—Star of Tempest. Versus Iris of House Selira—Star of Sound."
All heads turned toward Iris.
She blinked. "…What."
Azrael actually smirked.
Orion just gave her a steady look. "You ready?"
Iris exhaled, hands already twitching toward her focus ring. "Ask me again after I stop vibrating."
The world felt too loud.
Not in the way it usually did—resonance and pitch, vibrations beneath her skin—but in the hush that came before something breaks. Every footstep on the polished floors echoed longer than it should have. Every breath felt too sharp.
Tempest.
A star bound to storms. A bearer made for destruction.
Iris sat alone for a moment in the meditation chamber. Not to meditate—she couldn't—but to steady the rhythm of her breath against the soft hum of the room.
She wasn't a duelist. Not like Serah, not like Orion. Her strength wasn't in overwhelming force. She was a thread in the fabric, not the spear through it. Sound bent, rippled, disrupted. She controlled flow. She broke harmony.
So break his.
But the thought felt hollow.
How do you break a storm?
She closed her eyes and let her pulse guide her. One-two-three-four. Find the tempo. Stay in sync. Her fingers traced along the grooves of her resonance ring—every line carved in deliberate geometry. A tool not for destruction, but manipulation.
You don't fight a tempest head-on, she reminded herself. You redirect it. Twist the echo. Fracture the rhythm.
But fear still crawled beneath her skin, whispering of failure, of collapse, of being seen—not as a disruptor, but as weak.
Her fingers tightened.
"I'm not weak," she whispered to no one.
And her star pulsed in response, a low chime echoing through her soul.
He stood in the rain.
Or rather, a conjured illusion of it—a training field bent by his own tempestuous will. Water streaked down his bare shoulders, evaporating as the air shimmered with heat and pressure. Around him, lightning danced lazily along his arms, content. Waiting.
"Star of Sound," he muttered, turning the name over in his mind.
Delicate, maybe. But not weak.
He'd seen what Iris had done in the qualifiers. Her power didn't strike it unraveled. Her harmonics could shatter focus, stagger momentum, even stall abilities. She didn't need brute force. Her danger came from disruption.
He respected that. He respected most opponents.
Didn't mean he'd hold back.
His lightning flared brighter, crackling in the humid air. Not like Varek's. Not chaos. Cyrus embraced chaos but preferred to be calculated. Tempest wasn't only about threading the perfect strike it was also the fury of wind and thunder made flesh.
He wouldn't underestimate her. But he would end this quickly.
The arena reformed with new terrain—an open coliseum rimmed with crystal amplifiers. Stone tiles were etched with faint resonance lines, humming quietly. Designed to carry sound. A field tuned for Iris.
She stepped out first, resonance ring at her wrist, hair tied tightly back, nerves burning beneath skin. But she moved with purpose, tempo steady.
Cyrus followed. Shirtless, lightning dancing across his forearms, the air around him vibrating faintly like the pressure before a thunderclap. He didn't speak. Just raised a hand.
A storm answered.
The announcer's voice rang like a bell.
"Let the battle… begin."
Wind screamed.
Sound cracked.
And the storm descended.