The Gravity Dimension exhaled. Weight bled out of the air. Across the field, light-gates flared open like eyelids, and the battlefield's roar folded into a deep, exhausted hush.
Rin stood amid the freeze he'd made, Winter's Touch sheathed, breath steady. For a moment he just looked—at the fallen ice, the stillness, the distant, empty spire where a sniper used to be.
Time went by, and at the end of the third day, a portal opened at the four cardinal pole of the dimension
Rin saw pillars of light appearing from from the four cardinal pole, raced to the closest and then stepped into the gate without looking back.
He emerged into sound.
The royal arena detonated with cheers. Frost banners snapped in the high currents; aurora glass along the arches burned a pale blue; the main screen unfurled like a second sky above the arena, reeling highlights no one would soon forget. Nineteen smaller panes tracked the other groups. One by one, silhouettes walked out of their own light—twenty in all. No more. No less.
A leaderboard hung overhead, cold and undeniable:
> Rank 1 — Seo Rin : 982 Eliminations
Rank 2 — Rose Sylvanyr : 156 Eliminations
Rank 3 — Caelum Frostveil : 100 Eliminations
Others : Qualifiers (Total participants: 20)
Rin glanced up once. The number meant nothing. The work remained.
The sound shifted—like a crowd remembering it was in the presence of a crown. Frost candlelight swelled at the far end of the plaza, and the Queen of Sylvanyr descended the steps in calm lines of white and blue. Along the balustrade, petals orbited a woman who wore the world like a joke; the World Tree's envoy smiled without mirth and said nothing at all.
"Students," the Queen said, voice carrying like a bell through snow. "The trials are concluded. Twenty will stand for Sylvanyr at the Conflux."
Her gaze swept the survivors, paused on two.
"First, second and third," she said, and there was the faintest warmth there, carefully hidden. "Step forward."
Rose did, chin high, mouth curved as if she'd just remembered a private joke. Rin amd Caelum did, too, posture clean, eyes level.
No ornate speech. No parade of names. An attendant lifted a tray of hoarfrost circlets—the old mark of royal acknowledgement. The Queen took three. She crowned Rose first. Then she set the second circlet on Rin's head and let her hand rest one heartbeat longer than protocol allowed, then crowned Caelum last.
"For the audience," she said, "this is spectacle. For us, obligation. You will carry our winter with precision."
Applause rose like weather.
At the edge of the dais, Coelion stood with a practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes. His bow was flawless. His pride was not. He had arrived untouched and with nothing to show for it but four clean eliminations from a clean field and a vow the world no longer cared to hear. He clapped, because etiquette demanded it. He stared at the leaderboard when etiquette looked away.
Arlen wasn't there but he was watching
His body may have fallen, but his will hadn't. Watching from the healing chamber, Arlen pressed a hand to his chest — to where a blade had cut, and a lesson remained.
Arlen looked back at the main screen, found the small figure in black at the center of a position he had failed to own, and smiled without bitterness.
The Queen lifted a hand. The crowd hushed again.
After the queen's closing speech and the leaderboard's final flare, the participants were free to go around and celebrate
Trumpets echo. The queen's banner unfurls.
Sylvanyr's capital—rebuilt through generations—erupts in a Festival of fireworks, a rare event held only for the strongest. Floating lanterns drift upward, and blue-white fireworks bloom across the twilight sky.
Rose nudges Rin, smiling faintly. "You don't look like a guy who just broke the world."
He exhales, gaze tracing the fireworks. "Feels like I only opened another door."
Arlen joins them, bandaged but proud. "Then we'll walk through the next one together."
And for once, Rin allows himself to smile.
They share roasted fruits, children running by waving paper dragons. For one night, the cold city feels warm.
As the music swells, Rin looks up—fireworks bursting above—and whispers,
> "Even a blade can rest... if only for a night.".