The game began at dawn.
The arena had been reshaped into a wide field marked by glowing barriers and elevated safe points. It resembled a sport at first glance—no weapons allowed, no direct spell casting—but the rules were deceptive.
Each team had to carry a mana core to their designated safe point. Throwing was forbidden. Dropping it meant losing control. And somewhere on the field, three hidden mana balls existed, sealed by layers of light and distortion. Only a single image of each was provided beforehand—no aura, no trace.
Most teams looked uneasy.
Vesa's team did not.
Lenny closed his eyes the moment the signal was given. His detection magic spread thin and quiet, brushing against the field like a breath rather than a wave. It slipped past the shielding, past the light concealment, searching only for what was small and overlooked.
"I've got one," he said, pointing without hesitation.
The first clash came fast.
Members of Strength played aggressively, pushing the limits of what was considered "accidental." Elbows struck ribs. A knee hit Frey's side hard enough to send her sliding across the ground. Reya was knocked down twice while trying to shield Lenny. Officials looked the other way.
Eira saw it all.
He stayed calm.
When the second mana ball was found, Strength tried to surround them. Someone twisted Vesa's arm. Someone else stepped on Lenny's ankle. Pain flared across the field, but Vesa didn't slow.
"Move," he said evenly. "Now."
They moved like they had practiced this a hundred times.
The third mana ball was the worst. Strength intercepted them near the safe point, bodies colliding, breath ragged, the crowd tense. Eira stepped in then—not with magic, but with presence. He blocked, redirected, took the hits meant for others, and forced space open with sheer control.
The final mana ball crossed the barrier.
Silence fell.
Three points.
Victory.
There was no cheer.
The crowd watched, uncertain, uneasy—no dramatic finish, no fallen heroes, just a result they hadn't expected.
Eira looked around once, then raised his hand.
Snow began to fall.
Soft at first, then steady—cool flakes drifting down into the arena, washing away blood, dust, and bitterness. Frey lifted her staff and laughed, adding her own magic.
The snow shimmered, turning into a cascade of gold and silver light, sparkling as it touched the ground.
Not a roar.
But a breath passed through the crowd.
A quiet acknowledgment.
Vesa's team stood together beneath the falling light—bruised, tired, uncelebrated.
But undefeated.