The afternoon sun beat down on the arena with relentless heat, turning the dueling circle into a furnace where only the strongest could endure. Thirty competitors had made it to the lunch break. By day's end, only eight would remain.
The Master of Ceremonies stood at the center as the crowd returned from their meal, his voice cutting through the murmur of anticipation.
"The afternoon continues! We have witnessed excellence this morning. Now we separate the exceptional from the merely good. Each match brings us closer to tomorrow's finals!"
The bronze urn rattled as his hand withdrew another slip.
"Alice Valebright versus Michael Thornridge!"
The arena's energy shifted noticeably. Alice—whose true identity as princess had been revealed in the debriefing but whose violet flame remained known only to those present at that private session. The crowd knew royalty competed, but most had never seen her fight.
In the royal section, King Aldric straightened in his seat. Beside him, Queen Seraphina—elegant in royal blue trimmed with gold, her blonde hair similar to her daughter's but bearing the silver threads of age and wisdom—reached over to clasp her husband's hand. On either side of them sat their sons: Prince Theon, the eldest, whose broad shoulders and stern features marked him as heir apparent, and Prince Cedric, younger and more scholarly, though no less concerned for his sister.
"She'll be fine," Theon said quietly, though his knuckles were white gripping the armrest. "She's been training for this."
"That doesn't stop a mother from worrying," Seraphina replied, her voice carrying the kind of gentle steel that had made her an effective queen for two decades.
"She wanted this," Aldric said, his voice low enough that only his family could hear. "To prove herself on merit rather than title. We honor that by believing in her capability."
Alice stepped into the dueling circle with composed confidence, wearing plain but well-crafted armor that bore no obvious marks of royalty. The Valebright sunburst crest flew beside the circle—that much was public now—but she carried herself like any other skilled competitor rather than flaunting her position.
Michael Thornridge—a capable squire who'd won three matches today through solid defensive technique—looked simultaneously honored and nervous to face known royalty. He raised his family crest, then took his position opposite Alice.
"Begin!"
Alice's white flame erupted along her blade—foundation level, the same as most competitors showed. The crowd's reaction was interested but not shocked. Just another skilled fighter, even if she happened to be princess.
But her technique immediately revealed why she'd been accepted for training. She moved with grace born from years under the kingdom's best instructors. Her blade work was exceptional—not just technically sound, but beautiful to watch. White flame traced precise arcs as she parried Michael's opening combination with minimal effort, then counter-attacked with surgical precision.
In the royal box, Cedric leaned forward. "Her footwork has improved since I last saw her spar. That new instructor Father hired—"
"Watch," Theon interrupted, his warrior's eye tracking every movement. "She's not just winning. She's conserving energy. Smart."
Michael tried to adapt, shifting to defensive tactics that had worked earlier. But Alice's training showed in every movement. Her strikes found weaknesses in his guard that shouldn't have been obvious. Her combinations flowed with the kind of polish that came from unlimited access to elite instruction.
Within two minutes, Michael was disarmed. Not humiliated—Alice fought with controlled efficiency rather than showboating—but decisively defeated.
"Winner: Alice Valebright! Michael Thornridge is eliminated!"
The royal section erupted with restrained but genuine celebration. Seraphina's hand went to her chest in relief. Aldric allowed himself a proud smile. Theon and Cedric both applauded, their worry temporarily eased.
"One down," Cedric said. "How many more today?"
"Until she advances or is eliminated," Aldric replied. "Like every other competitor."
Immediate continuation:
"Alice Valebright versus Robert Ashwood!"
Robert had won four times today, was breathing hard from consecutive matches, his blue flame flickering with fatigue. He faced Alice—pristine, fresh, wielding white flame with exceptional technique—and understood the disadvantage.
But he raised his crest anyway and entered the circle with dignity.
Alice's white flame met his blue. The technical disparity was immediately evident—Robert's exhaustion-slowed reactions couldn't match Alice's pristine form. She fought with the patience of someone who'd been taught that efficiency mattered more than speed.
"She's holding back," Theon observed quietly. "That's not her full power."
"The violet?" Cedric asked, equally quiet.
"Among other things. But smart to save it. Let them underestimate her."
Disarmament in under two minutes.
"Winner: Alice Valebright! Robert Ashwood is eliminated!"
Seraphina's tension visibly eased further. "Two victories. She's doing well."
"She's doing more than well," Aldric said, his voice carrying quiet pride. "She's proving exactly what she set out to prove—that she belongs here on merit."
Alice returned to the sidelines barely breathing hard. Adrian watched with mixed feelings—professional appreciation for her skill, awareness that she was hiding her violet just as he hid his crimson, and the complicated attraction that he still didn't quite know what to do with.
The tournament pressed onward. More names drawn, more matches fought:
"Mira Elbrecht versus Catherine Whitestone!"
Mira—Alice's guardian, whose orange flame was public knowledge from the debriefing—stepped into the circle with composed confidence. Her orange flame erupted immediately, solid and controlled, representing the oath-keeper tradition of House Elbrecht.
Catherine's green flame met orange in a clash that demonstrated why guardians were chosen for unwavering defense. Catherine fought valiantly, her endurance allowing her to weather Mira's initial assault. But orange flame carried purpose beyond simple combat—it represented protection, duty, absolute commitment to defend. That purpose translated into power that overwhelmed Catherine's tired resistance.
Four minutes. Disarmament.
"Winner: Mira Elbrecht! Catherine Whitestone is eliminated!"
Immediate continuation:
"Mira Elbrecht versus Daniel Ironfist!"
Daniel, exhausted from three previous victories, faced Mira's fresh orange flame with grim determination. His blue flame blazed as he attacked aggressively, clearly hoping to end the match quickly before exhaustion became fatal.
But Mira had been trained by the best guardians in the kingdom. Her defense was impenetrable, her counters came at precisely the right moments. She fought with the patience of someone who'd spent years learning that protection meant outlasting threats.
Three minutes. Disarmament.
"Winner: Mira Elbrecht! Daniel Ironfist is eliminated!"
More matches. More eliminations. The field continued narrowing as afternoon wore on:
Gareth Stone fought his fifth match, defeating another exhausted opponent with methodical precision. Five consecutive victories, all decisive.
Ryn Veynar—the noble who'd faced Edric yesterday—fought with renewed determination. His blue flame carried him through multiple consecutive matches, each victory earned through combination of superior technique and noble training resources. Three wins by afternoon's midpoint.
The urn continued its work. Names called, fates decided, dreams ended:
"Finn Thatcher versus Gregory Stone!"
Finn faced his fourth opponent of the day—Gregory, brother to Gareth, also Ironfang-trained though not to the same exceptional level. Gregory's white flame met Finn's white in a match that demonstrated both fighters had studied each other's styles.
But Finn's analytical precision eventually found weaknesses in Gregory's guard. Disarmament after five hard-fought minutes.
"Winner: Finn Thatcher! Gregory Stone is eliminated!"
In the stands, Dawnspire instructors made notes with increasing frustration. Four victories, all with only white flame. Where was the yellow they knew Finn possessed?
Immediate continuation:
"Finn Thatcher versus Sarah Moonlight!"
Sarah had won three times through patient defensive work, her green flame endurance legendary. But facing Finn after four previous matches meant facing someone who'd proven capable of dismantling exhausted opponents efficiently.
The match followed predictable pattern—Finn's white flame finding weaknesses in tired defense, systematic dismantling of Sarah's guard. Four minutes. Disarmament.
"Winner: Finn Thatcher! Sarah Moonlight is eliminated!"
Adrian continued his dominating performance:
"Adrian Blackthorn versus Marcus Grimwood!"
Marcus, winner of four previous matches, faced Adrian with dread born from watching earlier demonstrations. Adrian ended it in seconds with pure technique, still no spirit flame manifested.
"Winner: Adrian Blackthorn! Marcus Grimwood is eliminated!"
"Adrian Blackthorn versus Jessica Thornhill!"
Jessica's exhausted blue flame couldn't withstand Adrian's precision even when he only showed white flame for the first time this match. Thirty seconds.
"Winner: Adrian Blackthorn! Jessica Thornhill is eliminated!"
The afternoon wore on. The sun descended toward evening. The field narrowed with brutal efficiency:
Twenty competitors became fifteen.
Fifteen became twelve.
Twelve became ten.
And finally, as sunset painted the arena in shades of orange and red:
"The final matches of Day Two! Ten remain—only eight advance!"
The crowd pressed forward, sensing the climax approaching.
"Alice Valebright versus Thomas Riverstone!"
Alice's third opponent of the day, exhausted from his own string of victories. White flame met white, but superior technique and conditioning won out. Two minutes.
"Winner: Alice Valebright! Thomas Riverstone is eliminated!"
In the royal box, the family's tension had transformed to genuine pride. Three victories, all decisive, all demonstrating skill rather than relying on title.
"She's earned this," Theon said, and there was no condescension in his tone—just honest acknowledgment from one warrior to another.
"She always has," Seraphina replied softly. "Now everyone else knows it too."
"Gareth Stone versus William Blackwood!"
Gareth's sixth match, William's fourth. The Ironfang-trained warrior's disciplined power overwhelmed exhausted resistance. Ninety seconds.
"Winner: Gareth Stone! William Blackwood is eliminated!"
"Ryn Veynar versus Edward Stonehill!"
Ryn's blue flame met Edward's exhausted white. The noble's superior conditioning and technique carried him through. Three minutes.
"Winner: Ryn Veynar! Edward Stonehill is eliminated!"
"Mira Elbrecht versus Anthony Greyson!"
Orange flame versus white. Guardian training versus exhausted determination. Two minutes.
"Winner: Mira Elbrecht! Anthony Greyson is eliminated!"
"Finn Thatcher versus Catherine Moorwood!"
Finn's sixth match of the day. Catherine's fourth. Analytical precision versus tired endurance. Three minutes.
"Winner: Finn Thatcher! Catherine Moorwood is eliminated!"
"Adrian Blackthorn versus Peter Ashford!"
Adrian's sixth consecutive victory, achieved with white flame and technical mastery. Twenty seconds.
"Winner: Adrian Blackthorn! Peter Ashford is eliminated!"
Eight remained. The final eight who would compete tomorrow for tournament championship.
The Master of Ceremonies raised his staff as the last elimination was announced.
"The eight who will compete in tomorrow's finals!"
He gestured to each in turn:
"Alice Valebright! Daughter of the crown, exceptional technique, undefeated today!"
Substantial applause—royalty earning their place through skill. In the royal box, Aldric stood with his family, all four of them applauding their daughter and sister with genuine pride rather than ceremonial obligation.
"Mira Elbrecht! Orange flame, guardian of House Elbrecht, protector proven in combat!"
Respectful cheers.
"Finn Thatcher! White flame mastery, son of common birth, five consecutive victories!"
The crowd's approval was substantial—another common-born success story.
"Adrian Blackthorn! Son of Northwatch, bearer of crimson flame unrevealed, six victories without manifesting spirit power beyond foundation white!"
Mixed reaction—awe at dominance, frustration at his continued restraint.
"Ryn Veynar! Blue flame, noble of the northern marches, four hard-fought victories!"
Polite applause from the noble sections.
"Gareth Stone! Ironfang-trained, common-born warrior, six decisive victories demonstrating exceptional power!"
The crowd erupted—this was the narrative they loved most.
The Master paused, then continued with solemn authority.
"Tomorrow, the finals begin! Single elimination continues—one loss and your tournament ends. Three matches will determine our champion!"
He withdrew new slips from the urn—prepared in advance based on who'd advanced.
"The matchups for tomorrow's semifinals!"
The crowd leaned forward.
"First match: Finn Thatcher versus Mira Elbrecht!"
White analytical precision against orange guardian oath. Finn's expression remained calm, but Adrian noticed the slight tension. Mira was ambush survivor like them—she knew what they'd faced, what they were capable of. And orange flame represented centuries of guardian tradition.
"Second match: Adrian Blackthorn versus Alice Valebright!"
The arena erupted with noise. Brother of Knight-Captain facing the princess. The two who'd both survived the demon ambush. The crowd didn't know about crimson versus violet—didn't know both fighters were hiding their true colors—but they sensed something significant in this matchup.
In the royal box, the announcement landed with particular weight.
"Adrian Blackthorn," Cedric said thoughtfully. "The one with crimson flame from the debriefing reports. The one who saved her life during the ambush."
"Which means tomorrow could reveal what that flame truly is," Theon added. "If he's forced to show it."
Aldric's expression was complicated—gratitude for Adrian having protected his daughter, concern about what tomorrow's match might reveal, political calculation about unprecedented flame manifestations. "Alice will give him a worthy opponent. Whatever happens, it will be honest combat."
Seraphina's hand found her husband's again. "Should we be worried?"
"About the match? No. About what comes after, regardless of who wins?" Aldric paused. "Perhaps. But that's tomorrow's concern."
Adrian's chest tightened as the announcement echoed. He'd known this was possible, had prepared for it mentally. But facing Alice in tournament meant potentially revealing power he'd been hiding. Meant possibly having to show crimson if her violet emerged.
And it meant potentially hurting someone he—
He pushed the thought aside. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges.
"Third match: Gareth Stone versus Ryn Veynar!"
Common-born Ironfang warrior against northern noble. The crowd approved of this matchup—another test of merit versus birthright, with Gareth's white having proven devastating against multiple opponents.
"The winners advance to the final match! Rest well, warriors. Tomorrow crowns Arathor's tournament champion!"
The crowd began dispersing as sunset deepened to twilight. In the royal box, the Valebright family remained seated briefly, discussing what tomorrow would bring.
"She's hiding the violet," Cedric observed. "Smart, but tomorrow she might need it."
"Against Adrian Blackthorn, she almost certainly will," Theon agreed. "From the reports, his crimson is... unprecedented. If she matches it with violet..."
"Then everyone will see what we already know," Seraphina said firmly. "That our daughter is exceptional, regardless of her flame's color."
Aldric nodded. "Tomorrow will be... revealing. For both of them. We support Alice regardless of outcome. That's what matters."
They rose together, a family united in support of their daughter who'd chosen to prove herself in the only way that truly mattered—through her own capability.
In the competitor area, the final eight gathered briefly before dispersing to rest:
Alice caught Adrian's eye across the space. A complicated look passed between them—acknowledgment of what tomorrow would bring, unspoken understanding that they'd both been hiding their true flames, concern about what revelation might cost.
Gareth Stone stood with quiet confidence, his Ironfang discipline evident in calm preparation for what came next.
Ryn Veynar checked his equipment with noble precision, clearly already strategizing for his match against the common-born prodigy.
Mira remained near Alice, her guardian instincts never quite turning off even here.
Finn moved to Adrian's side, his voice quiet. "Tomorrow gets complicated."
"It does," Adrian agreed.
"You'll face Alice. Both of you hiding your true colors. What happens when one of you has to reveal it?"
Adrian was silent for a long moment. "I don't know yet. Depends on how the match develops. But Alice deserves my best—holding back against her would be insulting."
"And if your best means showing the crimson in front of everyone? Including her family?"
"Then that's the price of honoring her as an opponent."
Finn nodded slowly. "I face Mira. Orange flame, guardian-trained. That's going to be difficult."
"You could show the yellow."
"Could," Finn acknowledged. "Might need to. Orange flame represents centuries of protective tradition. White might not be enough."
They stood together as the arena emptied around them, both processing what tomorrow would bring.
"Gareth faces Ryn," Adrian observed. "That will be interesting. Noble training versus Ironfang discipline. If Gareth wins—and I think he will—then whoever wins between us might face him in the finals."
"You think you'll beat Alice?"
Adrian was quiet. "I think it will be the hardest match I've faced in this tournament. She's exceptional even fighting with just white. And if she shows the violet..." He paused. "It's legendary for a reason."
"You like her," Finn said. Not a question.
"That's complicated."
"Most important things are."
As twilight deepened to night, the final eight dispersed to their quarters. Tomorrow would bring the tournament's climax—three matches to determine Arathor's champion.
Adrian lay on his bunk later, staring at the ceiling, processing what faced him. Alice with her hidden violet flame. Her family watching from the royal box. The crowd. His own family. Lucien evaluating. The headmasters observing.
All of them waiting to see if either he or Alice would finally reveal what they'd been hiding.
Tomorrow, at least one of them would have to.
Whether they wanted to or not.