The Arena of Embers shimmered in the early morning haze, its glass tiles smoldering with residual heat from yesterday's duels. Protocol glyphs spun overhead like hungry stars. Students packed the rising tiers, murmurs flaring louder as Kaien stepped into the pit.
He had no emblem. No sponsor. No protocol rank.
Just a name nobody wanted and a Protocol that shouldn't exist.
"Looks like the Hollowborn got himself a ticket to early retirement," someone jeered. The laughter was sharp, practiced. Kaien ignored it, staring at his opponent instead.
Renar Deyne. Mid-tier bloodline, but cocky enough to swagger like a Firstborn. His hair was braided in clan-red copper, and metal splinters glimmered along his forearms—Iron Thorn Protocol, aggressive, relentless, designed to shred.
Professor Velle's voice buzzed through the arena speakers. "Begin on the third chime. Emergent Duel Trial, round three. No lethal force, no exits."
Kaien flexed his fingers. His pulse was a hammer. And inside his mind—silence. No whisper. No Zero. Not even static.
"Try not to break too quickly," Renar smirked. "Would hate to snap you before the crowd gets a show."
Kaien said nothing. But his jaw locked.
From the stands, Ayari watched, arms folded. She had found him earlier that morning near the flame baths.
"You need rhythm," she'd said, like she was reciting advice to a shadow. "Protocol activation isn't just willpower. It's synchronization. Heart. Breath. Intent."
"But I don't have one."
"Not yet." Her eyes had been calm, almost sorrowful. "But you might become one."
Back in the arena, the third chime sounded.
Renar didn't hesitate—he lunged. Iron spikes jutted from his arms like a blooming iron rose. Kaien barely dodged, rolled, but a thorn carved across his shoulder.
"Fight back!" Renar growled, slashing again.
Kaien's thoughts spiraled. He needed to summon Zero. He needed to become something. Anything. His feet dragged. His breath stuttered.
Then—
A flicker.
The whisper returned. Not behind his thoughts this time—but within his heartbeat.
"You are not bound."
Another strike—Kaien blocked instinctively, hand meeting iron.
"You are built."
His palm burned. Light surged through his arm, but it wasn't flame. It was metal. Twisting, twitching, reconfiguring.
Renar staggered back. "What—?"
From Kaien's skin, jagged metal thorns emerged—mirroring Renar's—but curved, like question marks instead of daggers. And then, without warning, Kaien pulled them inward—the thorns folding, melting, morphing—until they formed a gauntlet of recursive iron, glowing at the seams.
The audience gasped.
Professor Velle stood. "Impossible."
Ayari's eyes widened.
Renar attacked again, furious—but Kaien met him mid-charge. And with a single spinning strike, his fused gauntlet collided with Renar's Protocol—and crushed it.
Renar hit the ground.
Kaien stood over him, gauntlet steaming.
The crowd had no words.
Then came a single whisper through the air—not from a person, but from the Protocol world itself.
"You mimicked… but you learned. That is your path."
Kaien looked up. Across the arena, Nox stood in the upper terrace—hood up, eyes shadowed. But he was smiling.
And he mouthed two words, as the flames settled:
"You're ready."