Chapter: Colosseum
Alec left the Ember Leaf under the weight of silence and purpose.
It had been days since Zuko's visit and the tea that left more questions than answers. The system had remained quiet, but Alec's instincts hadn't. There was a restlessness beneath his calm — not born of boredom, but of calculation.
He needed more.
More experience. More danger. More control.
So he hunted it.
The Colosseum wasn't found by mistake. It revealed itself in fragments: a silver coin left by a stranger at his table, a torn poster behind a spice shop with a bloodstained symbols drawn on the back, a whisper from Rhoen that an old acquaintance in the undercity hosted "firework duels" for bored nobles.
Alec followed the trail.
It ended at an old drain tunnel beneath the outskirts of the Fire Nation capital. The air reeked of smoke and rot. Torchlight flickered along the tunnel walls, and the further in he went, the louder it became: the thunder of voices, the crack of stone, the boom of applause.
The Colosseum was brutal. Hidden.
Bronze cages stacked like animal pens. Arena tiles blackened from past battles. Spectators in masks drank from tall platforms and pointed down at the arena like gods in a miniature Olympus. There were no rules here. Only survival. Humiliation. Spectacle.
The sign-in table was a rusted stand beneath a burning brazier. A man with a crooked eye looked up at Alec.
"You don't look like much," he said.
"I'm not," Alec replied.
The man laughed, spitting into a basin. "You wanna die, you mean."
Alec said nothing. He placed the silver coin on the table.
The man paused.
Then grinned and wrote down a name — not Alec's real one, but the one Alec gave: BlindEmber.
"Tournament starts in an hour," the man muttered. "Pray you're matched with someone pretty."
In the holding corridor, Alec sat cross-legged on volcanic stone. Around him, others paced or muttered to themselves. Some were brawlers, covered in oil and bone piercings. Others were fallen soldiers, dead-eyed with their hands flexing like machines.
None of them paid attention to the blindfolded boy with no armor.
Alec wrapped his fingers around the cloth-covered fan. His heartbeat was steady.
He wasn't here to win.
He was here to test.
And the system responded:
[Optional Quest Activated: Survive the Trials]
Objective: Win against all opponents
Bonus Objective: Analyze opponent bending and develop new counter-technique
Reward: +XP
Alec lowered his head. He was ready.
The arena roared as he stepped through the gate.
Bright torches lit the pit in uneven lines, casting long shadows on the cracked stone. The air was dry, heavy. The announcer's voice bounced off the walls like cannonfire.
"In the east gate: a desert-born killer from the badlands of Si Wong — the Scourge of Sand, Rojan the Red Wind!"
A roar.
A massive figure emerged, bare-chested and wrapped in red sashes. His skin was dust-colored, and his hands dripped with fine sand that curled like smoke.
"And from the west gate...a newcomer! No name. No history. No eyes. Just fire."
The crowd hushed.
"We give you...the Blind Ember."
Alec stepped forward, his fan still hidden in cloth. The weight of hundreds of eyes bore down on him. They wanted blood. Screams. Fire.
He gave them silence.
The gong thundered.
Rojan moved like a wave.
Alec braced as sand spiraled into a whirling storm. Tiny blades sliced across his arms. His blindfold fluttered as grains hissed past his face. The desert bender snapped his arms outward, and the storm became spears — flung like arrows toward Alec's chest.
Alec pivoted low. One spear grazed his shoulder. He snapped the fan open.
CLACK.
Heat exploded outward.
A wave of fire met the sand, turning it into glass flecks mid-air. They rained around Alec as he moved, precise and sharp. Rojan narrowed his eyes.
He stomped.
The ground trembled.
A pit opened beneath Alec.
He jumped — not high, but sideways, twisting mid-air. Fire curled around his legs, slowing his fall, letting him skate off a slab of upturned stone.
He landed, sliding, fan held low.
System pinged:
[Environmental Adaptation: Sand Terrain Analyzed]
Thermal Countermeasures Suggested: Superheat localized pockets to disrupt flow.
Alec obeyed. He focused, pulse steady. He didn't need to see. He felt the sand's movement, the minute shifts in pressure.
He exhaled — slow and sharp.
Heat the pressure lines. Break the current.
A sudden bloom of heat erupted beneath Rojan's feet. The sand burst upward, exploding into vaporized puffs. Rojan stumbled, his footing lost.
Alec lunged.
He slid low, fan held backward, and lashed Blinding Lash in a crescent arc. It struck Rojan across the chest. Sparks flew. Rojan reeled.
The crowd gasped.
Rojan roared and brought his arms together, forming a spiraling sand drill. He hurled it forward, shrieking like a banshee.
Alec ducked and flared his fan downward.
Flash Heat Pulse.
The drill struck a wall of thermal shock. Glass exploded. The remains flew past Alec's cheek, one nicking his jaw.
He didn't flinch.
Final strike.
Alec surged forward, slid under Rojan's next sweep, and unleashed a rising lash of fire across the man's chest. Rojan fell to his knees, choking on smoke.
Alec held the fan to his throat.
Silence.
Then: the announcer stuttered.
"The...the Blind Ember advances!"
A roar.
Alec turned and walked off the field. Behind him, Rojan collapsed with a groan.
He didn't look back.