The morning sun slipped through the window slats, scattering gold across the polished coral walls of my home. Every surface shimmered — smooth, reflective, and beautifully unnecessary. Most islanders had simple huts woven from reed and shell.
Mine was art.
Silk banners swayed in the ocean breeze, carrying faint scents of jasmine and sea salt. The floor beneath my feet was warm volcanic stone polished so finely you could see your reflection in it. On the wall hung trophies — carved spears, medals, a framed fragment of my brother's first weapon. Not that I needed reminders.
"Alright," I muttered, straightening my collar in the mirror.
I stretched, admiring my reflection — hair perfect, robe immaculate, the golden embroidery catching the light just right. My vest shimmered with thread spun from sun coral, my sash tied in the style of the capital. The look? Flawless. The vibe? Unmatched.
"This," I said to my reflection with a grin, "is going to be my debut."
I slipped on my earrings — small discs of hammered silver — and took one last moment to admire the ensemble. Flashy? Maybe. But why dull your shine for others?
As I stepped outside, the sea breeze hit me — warm, clean, carrying the scent of hibiscus. I passed through the courtyard, where yesterday's "training session" had left a rather… dramatic mark. The ground was split in a neat crescent-shaped crater, dust still faintly glittering with mana residue.
I grinned. "They're going to love my surprise."
The walk to the Garden of Winds was long but scenic — cliffs draped with blue vines, waterfalls scattering sunlight like glass. The arena itself rose at the end of a bridge of stone petals, a natural amphitheater carved into the heart of the island. Spiraling terraces were lined with bright flags, each one fluttering in the rhythmic breath of the trade winds.
As I approached, I caught sight of other challengers heading down different paths — each marked by the color of their Keahi Blossoms.
Orange for Kahoni.
Blue for Rahea.
And mine — a bright coral pink, glowing faintly against my belt — for Elder Anuenue, guardian of the Garden of Winds.
I paused, scanning the crowd of warriors splitting off toward their respective arenas. No familiar characters in sight. No Kael.
I sighed, adjusting my collar. "Looks like our show wasn't meant to be today," I muttered. "Pity. I was looking forward to a rematch."
The thought lingered — the spark of rivalry, the thrill of wanting to prove myself against him again. But no matter. The stage is the stage, and I never disappoint an audience.
Hundreds had gathered by the time I reached the Garden. Children perched on shoulders, merchants called out from food stalls, and above it all, the steady hum of mana from the island itself filled the air. The Garden wasn't built for battle. It was built for beauty.
And beauty, conveniently, was my specialty.
The other challengers clustered around the circular stage — a mix of nervous energy and shaky smiles. Most were younger than me, fresh from the first trial. Their Keahi Blossoms still glowed faintly, pulsing in different hues.
Cute, I thought. They still think this is about luck and strength. It's about style.
Then the wind shifted. The petals around us stirred — and Elder Anuenue descended from the upper terrace.
Her presence quieted the crowd instantly. Robes of pale teal and silver billowed around her like living mist, her staff crowned with feathers and glass shells that caught the light. Her eyes — sharp, ancient, but soft — scanned each of us in turn.
"Warriors," she said, her voice as smooth as wind through chimes. "You stand here as those chosen by the island's spirit. The Keahi Blossoms you bear mark your potential, but the flame tests not just power — it tests heart, restraint, and purpose."
She paused, gaze resting briefly on me.
"Only one among you will earn the right to undertake the Rite of the First Flame. Step wisely."
Sure, I thought, smiling faintly. I'll step wisely — on everyone else.
She unrolled a scroll and began calling names, one by one.
"First match — Keoni of the Northern Reef versus Nakoa of the Singing Caves."
The two fighters stepped up, fists trembling slightly. I leaned back, folding my arms.
Their fight was loud, messy, dramatic — but not in a good way. More yelling than technique. I yawned halfway through, ignoring the clashing noise.
When the second pair was called, my name rang across the arena like a spark.
"Second match — Malik of the Coral Crest versus Lono of the Tidewatch."
I rolled my shoulders, stepped forward, and gave the crowd my best grin. "Try not to blink," I said to no one in particular.
Lono was all muscle — confident, heavy-footed, probably thought size equaled victory. He came at me like a wave, roaring.
I sidestepped the first blow, let my fingers brush his sleeve — just enough to channel a flicker of mana. The air cracked. Lono flew backward, skidding across the sand in a plume of dust.
Elder Anuenue didn't even have time to lower her fan before I bowed deeply to the crowd.
"Victory to Malik!" she announced, still half-surprised.
Cheers erupted. Some girls in the stands waved frantically. I blew them a kiss. "Thank you, thank you. I do accept flowers."
The next two fights blurred together — decent form, poor showmanship. One guy even tripped over his own foot mid-spin. I nearly applauded just for the effort.
Then came the final match of the first round. That's when I saw him.
A quiet fighter — lean, composed, eyes cold as still water. His movements were deliberate, efficient. No wasted effort. Every strike flowed into the next like a dance.
I leaned forward, intrigued.
"Well, well," I whispered. "Someone actually trained."
His victory was clean, his opponent out cold before realizing the fight was lost. The crowd loved him. Interesting.
Then came my second match — the semifinals. My opponent this time had more nerve. He darted in fast, sand swirling around his feet. Good speed, decent control, still predictable.
"You move well," I told him between parries. "But you think too loud."
He blinked.
I stepped in, drove a palm into his gut, and watched him fold like paper.
"Victory to Malik!"
Applause again. I bowed, winking to the crowd.
The other semifinal followed. The quiet fighter from before faced off against a bulky swordsman — and beat him cleanly, disarming him mid-swing. I nodded once.
"Not bad," I said. "Not me, but not bad."
Then the finals.
"Malik of the Coral Crest versus Ren of the Silver Shoal!" Elder Anuenue called. The crowd roared.
As I stepped onto the stage, petals danced in the air, swirling around the ring. I posed — of course I did. The crowd expected it. The girls screamed my name.
Ren bowed low. "May the wind favor us both."
"Sure," I said. "But it likes me better."
"Begin!"
He struck fast, fluid — his movements like flowing current. I countered, letting instinct guide me. For a while, we were even — strike for strike, dodge for dodge.
Then he smirked. "Is this all the brother of Darin the Flame-forged can do?"
The words hit harder than he did.
I smiled, slow and dangerous. "You want to see how much of a prodigy I am?"
I stepped back, drew in a breath, and focused on the burning rhythm in my chest — the Keahi Blossom's glow pulsing at my belt. My mana surged, alive. The wind itself bent toward my hand as I moved.
The first movement of the Kris Life Arts — Sunder of the Rising Tide.
The air screamed. Power gathered at my palm, swirling into a golden crescent. The arena trembled. The crowd gasped. Elder Anuenue's eyes widened — then she snapped her fan open, unleashing a cyclone that clashed against my attack, scattering the blast into a storm of shimmering dust.
The shockwave split the stage's edge cleanly, sending cracks through the ground. Silence followed.
Ren was on one knee, panting. My coat barely had a speck on it.
Elder Anuenue's expression was unreadable as she lowered her fan. "Enough," she said softly, though her voice carried through the air like thunder. "Victory to Malik."
The crowd erupted, deafening. Cheers, chants, laughter, my name echoing like a drumbeat. I took a slow, dramatic bow, then raised a hand toward my fans, blowing another kiss. "Thank you, thank you. I love you too."
But as the noise dimmed, Elder Anuenue's voice cut through it. "Malik. Remain."
I turned, eyebrow raised. "Yes, Elder?"
She descended the steps, her robes whispering like air currents. Up close, her gaze was sharp — almost maternal, but tired.
"That technique," she said. "You've already unlocked the way and learned to channel the island's mana. How?"
I shrugged. "Talent?"
Her lips tightened. "Recklessness. That was too risky — you could have harmed every warrior in this arena. Power without restraint burns brighter, but shorter."
I smirked. "So I dazzled a little too much?"
"This is not a performance, Malik." Her tone softened, but only slightly. "The wind is not impressed by arrogance. You are gifted, yes — but your character must grow to match it. Otherwise, your flame will consume you."
For a moment, I didn't answer. Then, with a grin, I gave a half bow. "Thank you for the advice, Elder. I'll… try not to burn the place down next time."
She sighed. "See that you don't."
As I left the stage, the crowd still murmured my name, petals drifting through the air like lazy confetti. The horizon was glowing crimson now, beyond the cliffs.
I glanced toward the distance, the wind tugging at my coat.
"I wonder how Kael's doing," I murmured.
Then I smiled.
"Hopefully not stealing my spotlight."