Morning arrived too quickly. Tournament Day Four—the final match.
The arena filled to capacity before sunrise, every seat claimed, standing room packed beyond what safety probably allowed. Everyone wanted to witness the conclusion. Wanted to see which of the three remaining warriors would claim championship.
More than that—they wanted to see if the crimson flame bearer would reveal his full power again.
Adrian arrived at the competitor area to find Mira already running through warm-up forms, her orange flame flickering steadily as she moved. Gareth stood nearby in meditation, Ironfang discipline evident in his absolute stillness.
Three warriors. Three different fighting styles. Three rare or unprecedented flames.
Only one would walk away as champion.
The crowd's noise built as the royal family took their seats. Alice sat between her brothers, her expression complicated in ways Adrian could read even from a distance. He understood—Mira had been her guardian since birth, protected her through the demon ambush, earned absolute loyalty through years of service. But Adrian... Adrian was something else. Something new and honest and impossible to categorize.
Watching her choose who to support would be painful for her regardless of outcome.
In the Blackthorn section, his family settled in with quiet confidence. They'd seen Adrian's crimson flame multiple times now—during the demon ambush, in training, and most spectacularly against Alice yesterday. Dorian and Elara sat with the pride of parents who knew their son had mastered something unprecedented. Lucien stood behind them, arms crossed, warrior's assessment already calculating how Adrian might handle the three-way dynamic.
In the general competitor section, where those eliminated earlier in the tournament had gathered to watch, Finn and Edric stood together at the railing. Edric had recovered from his first-day match against Ryn, the bruises fading, his pride intact despite elimination.
"Adrian better not lose to either of them," Edric said, his voice carrying the kind of confident support that came from training alongside someone for months. "I didn't get eliminated on day one just to watch him fall on day four."
"He won't lose," Finn replied with analytical certainty. "Not if he shows crimson. The question is whether he'll do it early or wait until desperate."
"Knowing Adrian? He'll wait until the last possible moment. Dramatic tension and all that."
Finn smiled slightly. "Probably."
The Master of Ceremonies took position at center arena, his voice carrying with practiced authority.
"People of Arathor! Today we crown our tournament champion! Three warriors remain—each exceptional, each proven, each worthy of the title they seek!"
The crowd roared approval.
"But only one can claim victory! Today's format will test not just individual capability, but tactical awareness, the ability to manage multiple threats simultaneously, and the will to prevail when facing overwhelming odds!"
He gestured to the three competitors, who moved to the banner stands.
"Mira Elbrecht! Guardian bearer of orange flame, protector whose defense has proven impenetrable!"
Substantial applause, especially from the royal section where Alice clapped with visible emotion.
"Gareth Stone! Common-born warrior trained at Ironfang, whose overwhelming power and tactical discipline have dominated every opponent!"
Enthusiastic cheers from common-born sections and Ironfang representatives.
"Adrian Blackthorn! Bearer of crimson flame, survivor of demons, warrior who revealed unprecedented power yesterday and demonstrated control that silenced all doubt!"
Mixed reaction—awe, concern, excitement, fear. Crimson flame still carried questions no one could answer.
All three raised their family crests. Mira's guardian oath. Gareth's Ironfang wolf. Adrian's Blackthorn thorn on green. Three banners flying proudly as they entered the dueling circle.
The space felt smaller with three combatants. More complex. More dangerous.
"The rules are simple!" the Master declared. "First warrior to yield or be disarmed is eliminated. The remaining two continue until one claims final victory. Manage your threats wisely—eliminate the wrong opponent first and you may face someone stronger!"
Tactical complexity in rules form. Choosing when to attack, when to defend, when to let opponents weaken each other—all would determine outcome.
"Competitors, take your positions!"
They spread out in rough triangle formation, each maintaining equal distance from the others. Adrian found himself positioned with Mira to his left, Gareth to his right. Both would be watching him carefully after yesterday's revelation.
In the stands, Alice's hands gripped the armrest. Theon noticed, leaned close.
"Who are you supporting?"
Alice's voice was quiet. "I don't know. Mira's been with me since I was born. She's protected me through everything, earned my absolute loyalty."
"And Adrian?"
"And Adrian is..." Alice paused. "Different. Important. I want him to win, but wanting that feels like betraying Mira."
"You can respect both and hope for one," Theon offered.
"Can I? Feels like I should choose."
"Then choose honestly. Your heart will tell you which one matters more."
Alice fell silent, knowing the answer but not quite ready to voice it.
"BEGIN!"
Three warriors moved simultaneously.
But unlike the explosive starts of previous matches, this one began with calculation. All three manifested their flames—Mira's orange, Gareth's white, Adrian's white—but held positions, studying, analyzing.
No one wanted to commit first. No one wanted to be the one caught overextended while two opponents capitalized.
The crowd's anticipation built in the silence.
The three circled slowly, each movement calculated. This wasn't the aggressive assault of two-person duels. This was chess with blades, each warrior knowing one mistake could mean facing two fresh opponents while weakened.
"Come on, Adrian!" Edric's voice cut through the crowd's murmur. "Stop thinking and start hitting!"
Several spectators turned to look at the enthusiastic noble shouting from the competitor section. Edric didn't care.
"That's not helpful," Finn observed.
"It's encouraging! He needs to know we're supporting him!"
"He knows. Trust me, he knows."
Finally, Gareth moved—testing, probing. His white flame blazed as he launched a measured strike at Adrian's position, clearly gauging response.
Adrian's white flame met it, parried efficiently, but didn't counter-attack. Just returned to ready stance, having revealed minimum information.
Mira used the distraction to shift position slightly, adjusting angles so she could observe both opponents without being vulnerable to coordinated attack.
Guardian training—never commit until you understand all threats.
Adrian kept his white flame steady, deliberately not manifesting crimson. Let them wonder if yesterday had been his full power. Let them question whether he'd held back even then.
Uncertainty was tactical advantage.
"They're thinking too much," Finn observed from the competitor section. "Someone needs to force commitment."
As if hearing him, Gareth made his move. His white flame surged as he attacked Adrian directly—full commitment, overwhelming power, forcing response.
Adrian defended, white flame meeting white, but Gareth's raw strength drove him backward. The Ironfang-trained warrior pressed advantage, combinations flowing with disciplined precision.
Which left Mira with choice: intervene or watch?
She chose intervention. Orange flame blazed as she attacked Gareth's exposed flank, forcing him to break off his assault on Adrian and defend against guardian technique.
Three-way chaos erupted.
"YES!" Edric shouted, causing several nearby spectators to wince at the volume. "That's it! Make them come to you!"
"He can't hear you," Finn pointed out.
"Doesn't matter! Moral support transcends distance!"
"That's not how moral support works."
"It is now!"
White met orange as Gareth defended against Mira's counter. Adrian, given space, repositioned rather than pressing advantage. Smart—let them weaken each other.
But Gareth recognized the tactic. He disengaged from Mira, shifted targets back to Adrian, clearly having identified him as primary threat.
Mira allowed it, not pursuing. Also smart. Let the two stronger fighters weaken each other while she conserved energy.
"Calculated," Lucien observed from the Blackthorn section. "All three fighting smart rather than aggressive. This could go any direction."
In the circle, Gareth pressed Adrian harder now, white flame blazing with Ironfang-honed intensity. His strikes carried overwhelming force, combinations designed to break through rather than probe for weakness.
Adrian defended with white flame efficiency, supernatural awareness guiding his parries. But Gareth's power was genuine—each blocked strike sent vibrations through Adrian's arms, tested his endurance.
Mira circled them both, orange flame steady, waiting for opportunity. Guardian patience against aggressive assault.
The crowd watched breathless as three distinct fighting philosophies played out simultaneously. Gareth's overwhelming force. Adrian's supernatural awareness. Mira's absolute defense.
Then Gareth shifted tactics mid-combination, his final strike aimed not at Adrian but at Mira—forcing her to defend, creating space for follow-up that would catch Adrian recovering.
It was brilliant tactical thinking. And it almost worked.
But Adrian had three centuries of combat memory. He'd seen this exact technique before—in some previous life, against some opponent whose name he'd forgotten but whose strategy remained.
He adjusted his defense mid-motion, his white flame blade intercepting Gareth's follow-up strike before it could land. Counter-parried, forced the Ironfang warrior to retreat.
"Supernatural reflexes," Headmaster Vale muttered from the academy section. "No fifteen-year-old should read attacks that fast."
"Crimson flame enhancement," Cedric suggested from the royal box. "Has to be augmenting his natural abilities somehow."
In the circle, the dynamic was shifting. Both Gareth and Mira had realized that Adrian's defense was too good to break individually. His white flame, enhanced by whatever the crimson granted him, could weather their separate assaults indefinitely.
They needed to work together.
It happened without verbal communication—just warrior instinct recognizing tactical necessity. Gareth's next attack came coordinated with Mira's, both striking Adrian from different angles simultaneously.
White and orange flames converged on Adrian's white defense.
For the first time in the match, Adrian was forced backward. Defending against two opponents simultaneously, even with supernatural awareness, pushed his limits. Gareth's power combined with Mira's precision created combinations he couldn't fully counter.
"They're teaming up," Alice breathed, torn between hoping Mira would win and desperately wanting Adrian to survive.
The alliance wasn't formal. Both Gareth and Mira knew one of them would eventually have to face the other. But right now, eliminating Adrian took priority. His defensive capability was too dangerous to leave in the fight.
Adrian recognized the shift immediately. Against two coordinated opponents, pure defense wouldn't work. He needed to create separation, break their rhythm, force them back into individual thinking.
His white flame intensified—still foundation level, still not revealing crimson—but channeled with precision born from centuries of experience. He targeted Gareth first, recognizing that the Ironfang warrior's aggression was driving the coordination.
Three rapid strikes, each placed where Gareth's power-focused style created slight openings. Not enough to disarm, but enough to force defensive reaction.
Gareth blocked but had to step back. Mira tried to capitalize on Adrian's committed offense, her orange flame driving forward toward his exposed side.
Adrian's response was to spin into her attack rather than away, his blade meeting hers with force that surprised even guardian training. White flame blazed as he pushed Mira backward through sheer unexpected aggression.
Separation achieved. Both opponents forced back, their coordination disrupted.
But the reprieve was temporary.
Gareth and Mira exchanged glances—silent acknowledgment that their temporary alliance needed to continue. Together they could overwhelm Adrian's defense. Separately, they'd face the same defensive mastery that had frustrated them individually.
They attacked again, this time more deliberately coordinated. Gareth high, Mira low. Gareth from the left, Mira from the right. Creating patterns that forced Adrian to choose which threat to prioritize.
And slowly, methodically, they began to succeed.
In the competitor section, Edric's enthusiasm dimmed to concern. "That's not good. Two-on-one coordinated assault—even Adrian's going to struggle with that."
"He needs to break their coordination," Finn analyzed. "Force them back into individual thinking or—"
"Or show the crimson," Edric finished. "Which he's stupidly not doing yet."
"Tactical choice. Reveal it too early and they might have energy to adapt. Wait until they're committed and exhausted, then overwhelm with power they weren't expecting."
"That's assuming he doesn't get eliminated before then."
They watched tensely as Adrian's white flame defense struggled against coordinated assault. Other eliminated competitors had gathered near them, all watching the final match with professional interest. But Edric and Finn were clearly the most invested—loudest in their support, most visible in their concern.
"ADRIAN!" Edric shouted again, his voice cutting through the crowd noise. "STOP BEING HONORABLE AND SHOW THEM THE CRIMSON!"
"He's not being honorable," Finn corrected. "He's being strategic."
"Well his strategy is about to get him disarmed! DO SOMETHING!" This last was shouted at the arena floor, as though Adrian could hear specific tactical advice through the crowd's roar.
Adrian's white flame defense, exceptional as it was, couldn't perfectly counter two formidable opponents attacking with tactical coordination. Gareth's power created openings Mira exploited. Mira's precision disrupted Adrian's rhythm, allowing Gareth to press advantage.
The crowd leaned forward, sensing the climax approaching. Would crimson flame make its appearance? Would Adrian be forced to reveal whether yesterday's power was his limit or just beginning?
In the royal box, Alice's knuckles were white gripping the armrest. Watching Mira fight with guardian excellence made her proud. Watching Adrian defend against impossible odds made her heart race with concern.
"He's going to have to show crimson," Theon observed. "White flame alone won't be enough against both."
"Then why isn't he?" Cedric wondered. "Tactical choice or is there a limitation we don't understand?"
Alice said nothing, but her eyes never left Adrian's form in the circle below. Silently willing him to do whatever necessary to survive. To win. To prove that yesterday's revelation wasn't the extent of what crimson could be.
Even if it meant defeating Mira.
Even if it meant making her choose between loyalty to her guardian and feelings for the boy who'd saved her life.
The match continued, three warriors locked in calculated violence, alliance of convenience slowly grinding Adrian's defense down through sheer numbers.
In the competitor section, Edric was practically vibrating with tension. Every time Gareth's white flame struck Adrian's defense, he winced. Every time Mira's orange flame found an opening, he shouted encouragement that definitely couldn't be heard over the crowd.
"He's running out of time," Finn observed quietly.
"I know. I can see that. Which is why—" Edric cupped his hands around his mouth. "ADRIAN! CRIMSON! NOW! STOP BEING STUPID!"
Several nearby spectators looked at him with mixed amusement and concern. One older knight muttered something about "enthusiastic youth."
"He's your friend," someone asked Finn. "The crimson bearer?"
"Yes," Finn confirmed.
"Then you should probably tell him to show it soon. Guardian and Ironfang together—that's a formidable combination."
"He knows," Finn said with certainty. "He's waiting for the right moment."
"What moment?" Edric demanded. "The moment where they've already disarmed him?"
"The moment where they've committed everything and can't adapt when crimson changes the dynamic. Watch—he's conserving energy. They're expending it. When he reveals crimson, they'll be too exhausted to adjust."
"If he's not eliminated first."
"He won't be."
"You have a lot of faith in someone currently losing."
"He's not losing. He's waiting."
Down in the circle, Adrian blocked another coordinated assault, was forced back three steps, his white flame flickering slightly under sustained pressure. Gareth and Mira pressed harder, sensing weakness.
"That's it!" Edric shouted, giving up all pretense of restraint. "YOU'VE GOT THIS, ADRIAN! SHOW THEM WHAT CRIMSON REALLY MEANS!"
Finn smiled slightly despite the tension. "Your support is noted."
"Someone has to cheer loudly. You're too analytical to be properly enthusiastic."
"I'm enthusiastic. Just internally."
"That doesn't count."
Around them, other competitors had picked up on their obvious support. Some joined in with encouragement. Others remained silent, watching with professional assessment. But the energy from the competitor section was building—dozens of warriors who'd been eliminated but still wanted to see excellence triumph.
And at the center of that energy, Edric and Finn stood as Adrian's loudest supporters. One shouting encouragement that probably couldn't be heard. One analyzing with quiet certainty that victory was still possible.
Both absolutely convinced their friend would find a way to win.
Adrian's white flame defense began to show cracks under sustained assault. Gareth's overwhelming power combined with Mira's guardian precision had found rhythm—alternating attacks so that Adrian never had moment to fully recover between defenses.
In the Blackthorn section, even Lucien's confident assessment showed concern. "He needs to shift strategy. White alone won't hold."
"He knows," Dorian said quietly, absolute faith in his son evident. "Watch. He's about to change everything."
And Adrian, pressed back nearly to the dueling circle's edge, arms burning from sustained defense, white flame flickering with exhaustion—
Made his decision.
The question wasn't whether he'd reveal crimson.
The question was whether he'd do it in time.
Tomorrow would bring answers. Tomorrow would crown a champion.
Tonight, the arena held its breath.