Elarion's smile never wavered as he raised one hand—light condensed above his palm, solidifying into a crystal box. Inside, a withered flower lay suspended in a state of frozen time.
"A simple exercise," he said, voice warm as summer wine. "This box responds to unique ether signatures. Each of you possesses a distinct element, a personal resonance. Find the right combination, and the flower will bloom again. Work together. Learn each other's strengths."
The box floated to the center of the circle.
No one moved.
The silence stretched. Twenty heirs, each born to power, each groomed for greatness, sat perfectly still. Not confused. Not hesitant. Refusing.
Null understood immediately. The puzzle was bait. Touch the box, reveal your element. Show your hand before the game truly begins. Every heir who mattered had reached the same conclusion.
He studied the others through the corner of his eye. A boy with storm-grey eyes and scarred hands—Marcus, if Null's research was correct—looked at the box with open contempt. A girl with moonlight hair sat with perfect stillness, lips curved in private amusement. The strong ones shared the same response: silent defiance.
Elarion's smile flickered. Just for a heartbeat, annoyance flashed across those perfect features before the mask reformed.
"Not in the mood for puzzles?" He clapped once. The box dissolved into golden motes that scattered like dying stars. "Then we'll skip to something more direct."
His tone shifted. Still pleasant, but with an edge like silk over steel.
"If you won't solve puzzles, then fight. Whoever wants to fight can fight."
The room's energy fractured instantly. Marcus's grin spread slowly and hungrily.
Two boys who'd been glaring at each other since arrival leaned forward. Others shifted nervously, suddenly aware they might be prey. The moon-haired girl remained perfectly still, watching everything with pale eyes.
Light erupted beneath them. When it faded, they stood in an arena.
The space was vast, formed from the Great Tree's living wood. Roots thick as buildings created natural barriers. Branches wove overhead in patterns that defied geometry. The floor pulsed faintly with ether—neutral ground that would favor no element over another.
Null started toward Marcus immediately.
This was why he'd come.
Halfway there, someone stepped into his path.
She couldn't have been more than five years old. Dark skin that seemed to drink light. Hair like liquid silk, red but shifting—crimson to scarlet to burgundy with each movement. Her eyes glowed pure white, no iris, no pupil, just a luminous void. A black dress that belonged in a gothic cathedral, not on a child.
She moved wrong. Too smooth. Like a predator wearing a child's skin.
"I wouldn't do that," she said. Her voice carried weight beyond her years. "He's
Marcus, son of the War Nexus. You wouldn't last a second."
Null studied her. Beyond the predatory grace, something felt almost ordinary. The way she held her shoulders. The rhythm of her breathing. Like someone had taken a normal girl and wrapped her in nightmare aesthetics.
"I know who he is," Null said. "Led armies at six. Conquered three demon territories at eight."
"And that excites you?" She tilted her head.
"Yes."
She smiled then. Not a child's smile. "What's your name, dragon prince?"
"Null. Yours?"
"Khaos."
Of course it was.
Null stepped around her and continued toward Marcus. The older boy stood with deceptive casualness, weight perfectly balanced, ready to move in any direction.
"I know you," Marcus said as Null approached. "Null, the dragon prince who crushed an army of abominations."
"And you're Marcus, son of the War Nexus."
Marcus's expression shifted to dismissive calm. "Impressive. For just a dragon."
Null's lips curved slightly. "Just a dragon? Strange way to say 'worthy opponent.'"
The air between them grew dense, not with ether but with anticipation. Two predators recognizing each other, testing boundaries with words before claws.
Elarion appeared between them in a flash of light, delighted.
"Perfect! Our first match. I'll referee." He stepped back, conjuring a single silver leaf that caught light like a mirror. "Rules are simple. Fight until one yields or is unable to continue. Lethal force is discouraged but not forbidden."
He held the leaf high.
"When this touches the ground, begin."
He tossed it upward.
The leaf rose, paused at its apex, and began to fall—slow, lazy rotations. Silver surface catching fragments of light from the living walls. The arena fell silent. Even breathing seemed to stop.
Marcus's body stayed loose, but Null saw the micro-tensions. Ready to explode into motion.
Null's black-hole eyes tracked everything. The leaf's descent. Marcus's center of gravity. The distance between them. Calculating vectors, possibilities, outcomes.
The other heirs formed a ring at a safe distance. Watching. Waiting.
Khaos stood apart, that faint smile never leaving her face. Her glowing eyes burned brighter.
The leaf spun lower. Three feet from the ground. Two feet. One.
The leaf fell, and with it, the last breath of stillness.