Rese let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing her temple with two fingers.
"It looks like Dominic has finally found someone just as crazy as him."
Dominic grinned, clearly taking that as praise.
Rese shifted her weight and glanced around the hall. "Alright then. Where exactly do you plan on doing this?" She gestured vaguely at the surrounding space. "The closing speech is going to start soon. I'm fairly certain they won't appreciate you two throwing punches in the middle of Orsus Hall."
Vale raised a finger slightly, as if the answer had been waiting patiently for its turn.
"There's an open court toward the rear," he said. "Deeper in, past the outer galleries. It's not commonly used anymore, but it's still there."
Dominic blinked. "There is?"
Vale nodded. "Actually, this building—Orsus Hall—used to serve a much harsher purpose. Back when Acrem Futri was still in its earliest stages, this was where power disputes were settled. Sometimes through negotiation. Sometimes through force."
Lux tilted his head, listening.
"Leaders, Pathfinders, influential figures," Vale continued. "If two parties couldn't agree, they came here. Decisions were made publicly. Authority was proven."
Dominic let out a low whistle. "Huh. That's actually pretty cool. I didn't know that."
Rese shot him a look. "Everyone knows the history of Orsus Hall. Maybe if you paid attention during your general studies—"
She paused, then frowned slightly. "Though… I didn't know they actually fought here."
Vale smiled faintly, clearly pleased. "Most people don't."
Lux hesitated, then raised a hand a little too slowly.
"Um," he said, shrinking just a bit under their attention. "I… kind of… didn't know any of that."
All three of them turned to him.
There was a brief pause.
Then Dominic looked away, scratching his cheek. Vale sighed. Rese shook her head.
In unison, they gave him looks that were somehow pitying and amused at the same time.
"…We'll fix that," Rese muttered.
They made their way toward the rear of Orsus Hall, slipping past corridors that gradually lost their decorative polish. The crowd thinned, the distant murmur of conversation fading into background noise until it was replaced by the soft echo of footsteps against stone.
The court itself was simple.
An open rectangular space, its floor paved with smooth, weathered stone that bore faint marks of age—scratches, shallow dents, places where repairs had been made long ago and never fully hidden. Low walls framed the perimeter, just high enough to define the space without enclosing it. Lantern fixtures lined the edges, casting an even, pale light that felt practical rather than ceremonial.
No sigils. No grand statues. Just a place meant for movement.
Lux and Dominic took positions opposite one another, a good distance apart—far enough to allow room to react, close enough that neither could afford to relax.
Rese stepped between them, arms crossed. "I still think this is a bad idea," she said flatly. "But clearly, neither of you are interested in my opinion."
Dominic rolled his shoulders. "We hear you. We just choose to ignore you."
She glared at him, then turned to Lux. "You should probably start circulating your Hlyr right now. Augmentation comes to us like second nature by now but you're still relatively new so you'll take a bit longer I assume."
Lux nodded and rolled his neck, then focused inward. He began his breathing technique, slow and deliberate, letting his awareness settle into his chest. He didn't force anything. He let the warmth gather naturally, steady and controlled, ready to move when he asked it to.
Dominic, meanwhile, stretched with casual confidence—arms loose, movements fluid, like someone who had done this countless times before.
Rese cleared her throat.
"Rules," she said. "You're not dressed for combat, so this stays clean."
She raised one finger.
"First—if Dominic uses his Heritage in any way, he loses immediately."
Dominic gave a mock bow. "Understood."
"Second—win conditions are first blood, surrender, or the first person to fall or kneel."
She looked between them. "You understand?"
"Yes," Dominic said.
"Yes," Lux echoed, his voice steady.
Rese stepped back and raised her hand.
"Ready…"
The court fell completely silent.
Lux met Dominic's gaze. Dominic's grin sharpened.
"Begin."
The instant Rese's hand cut through the air, the court ceased to exist as a place.
It became distance. Timing. Breath.
Lux moved first—not because he was faster, but because he refused to hesitate. Hlyr flooded his limbs in a practiced surge, warmth threading through muscle and tendon as his foot bit into the stone. The world narrowed to Dominic in front of him, midnight-blue fabric fluttering as Lux closed the gap.
Dominic met him halfway.
They collided in motion—Lux's fist driving forward as Dominic slipped sideways, not retreating, not yielding ground, just sliding along the edge of Lux's intent. Lux felt his punch miss by less than an inch, felt the air shift as Dominic's knuckles brushed past his wrist, redirecting the strike without stopping it.
No pause.
Lux pivoted, shoulder rolling into a follow-up elbow meant to catch Dominic as he passed. Dominic ducked under it, torso folding smoothly, his movement sharp and clean—too clean. A quick tap struck Lux's side, not hard, but perfectly placed. Lux felt the vibration more than the pain.
"He's reading me like a book."
Lux adjusted mid-step, letting instinct take over. He shortened his movements, abandoned polish, drove forward with a knee aimed for Dominic's midsection. Dominic twisted away, heel scraping stone, his counter coming almost simultaneously—a low kick snapping into Lux's thigh, followed by a straight punch that Lux barely blocked in time.
The force shoved Lux back a half-step. Still he kept up the momentum.
Lux breathed in, then out, letting the rhythm carry him. He surged again, hands a blur as he mixed feints with real strikes, his feet never still. He circled, darted, closed, withdrew—slum instinct layered atop Geltry's drills. His attacks weren't pretty, but they were relentless.
Dominic flowed through them.
Lux began to feel it then. Dominic's movements weren't just fast; they were precise in a way that made Lux feel perpetually late. Every time Lux committed, Dominic was already shifting, already turning that commitment against him. A punch became an opening. A step became a trap.
Lux lunged, fist aimed high.
Dominic slipped inside the strike, shoulder brushing Lux's chest as his palm struck Lux's arm, knocking it off-line. In the same motion, Dominic's elbow snapped toward Lux's ribs.
Lux twisted just in time—impact glancing instead of clean—but Dominic was already gone, reappearing at Lux's flank, pressure constant, unbroken.
He's not stopping. He's chaining everything.
Lux gritted his teeth and forced himself to match the pace. He dropped his weight and drove forward, shoulder-first, absorbing a strike to land one of his own. His fist connected with Dominic's side—solid, real—and the feedback jolted up his arm.
Dominic laughed, breathless but delighted, as he spun away.
Lux didn't give him space.
He pressed, his eyes burning brighter now, pushing his augmentation harder. His movements sharpened, reactions snapping tighter. He slipped a jab, countered with a hook, then stepped in and slammed his forearm into Dominic's chest.
Dominic slid back a step.
Lux felt it—a shift. The air around Dominic seemed to tighten, his posture lowering slightly, weight settling like a coiled spring.
Then Dominic struck.
It wasn't faster in the way Lux expected. It was sudden.
Dominic vanished from directly in front of him, reappearing at an angle Lux hadn't accounted for. A palm strike slammed into Lux's shoulder, not to hurt but to unbalance. Lux staggered, and Dominic capitalized instantly—knee rising into Lux's thigh, followed by a short, snapping punch to the ribs.
Lux gasped, pain flaring as his Hlyr struggled to keep up.
Still he continued.
Lux spun away, barely avoiding a strike aimed at his head, boots skidding across stone. He forced his breathing steady, vision tunneling, every sense screaming to keep up.
"I can't keep trying to chase his movements. He's faster than me. I need to predict them."
Dominic came again, movements sharp and flashing, angles changing mid-step. Lux blocked one strike, redirected another, then ducked under a third and drove upward with a punch that caught Dominic's shoulder.
Another hit.
Lux followed, momentum carrying him forward as he landed a second blow to Dominic's chest. The impact echoed sharply through the court.
For a heartbeat—just one—Dominic was pushed back.
Lux felt something click.
His body moved without hesitation now. He stepped in, elbow tight, knee rising, fist following through. His strikes landed—not all clean, but enough. Enough to matter. Enough to force Dominic to respond instead of dictate.
Dominic's grin widened. Lux didn't have time to feel proud. Dominic's counter came like a break in the storm. He slipped Lux's next punch by a hair, stepped inside Lux's guard, and drove a strike into Lux's abdomen with brutal efficiency. Lux's breath left him in a sharp, soundless gasp as his core folded.
Before Lux could recover, Dominic's leg hooked behind his ankle.
Lux's balance vanished.
He hit the stone on one knee, hand slamming down to catch himself, Hlyr flaring erratically as he tried to push back up.
A foot pressed against his shoulder.
Lux froze, chest heaving, body trembling as he realized he couldn't rise in time without collapsing again.
The match was over.
Dominic stepped back immediately, the pressure gone as if it had never been there.
Lux stayed kneeling for a moment longer, breathing hard, heart hammering, every nerve alight. Then he looked up, meeting Dominic's eyes.
Dominic was smiling—but there was respect there now. Real respect.
When Lux finally stood, aided by Dominic's offered hand, his legs still shook—but his mind was clear.
He had lost.