The room was dim, lit only by a single candle. The faint smell of medicine and ash lingered in the air.
Kairo woke slowly, vision blurred, the ceiling spinning above him. His chest ached—each breath heavy, as though the air itself had weight. He tried to move but found his arms bound by linen and frostbite.
"Easy," a voice whispered.
Lyn sat beside him, her hair messy, eyes swollen from tears. She held a wet cloth and pressed it against his forehead. "You've been out for a day."
Kairo blinked. "A day?"
Riven's voice came from the corner. "Two, actually. You scared the hell out of everyone. The healers said your body temperature dropped below freezing."
Kairo tried to sit up, wincing. "What about the knight?"
"Alive," Riven said. "Barely. You didn't kill him."
Kairo exhaled. "Good."
Lyn wrung the cloth in a bowl of water. "You could have died, Kairo. You were bleeding mana."
He looked down at his chest. Through the open shirt, faint silver veins pulsed beneath his skin. The Specter Heart glowed dimly, as if exhausted.
"It's stabilizing now," Lyn said. "But they don't know how long it'll last."
He leaned back against the wall. "It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does!" she snapped, voice trembling. "You think throwing your life away in that arena will make the world remember you? It won't. You'll just vanish, like everyone else!"
Riven raised his hand. "Lyn"
"No!" she said, standing. "He needs to hear this. Every time you fight, you look like you want to die. Is that what you're trying to do?"
Kairo's jaw tightened. "You wouldn't understand."
"Then make me understand!"
The candle flickered. For a moment, the air grew colder; the frost on the walls thickened.
Kairo looked away. "The heart inside me, it isn't mine. It's a relic."
Riven frowned. "A relic?"
He nodded slowly. "During the Norveil War, our soldiers found the remains of an ancient being… something half divine, half human. Its heart was still beating, even after its body turned to ash. They called it the 'Specter Core.' When I was mortally wounded on the battlefield, they used me as a vessel to see if it could keep a soldier alive."
Lyn's eyes widened. "So they… forced it into you."
"Yes. I died that day, but my heart didn't let me stay dead."
Riven crossed his arms. "That's why they called you the Ghost of Norveil."
Kairo nodded once. "I've been walking ever since. Not living. Just walking."
Silence filled the room. Only the faint crackle of the candle remained.
Lyn sat again, voice shaking. "And now?"
He looked at her. "Now I think… maybe I'm starting to live again."
Her breath caught. "Because of us?"
"Because of warmth."
The frost on the walls began to melt.
That night, the city slept while the arena stood bathed in torchlight. Fighters came and went, some limping, some laughing, some crying. The scent of steel and blood hung over the streets like fog.
Kairo stood on a balcony overlooking the arena. His cloak fluttered in the night wind, frost gathering along the railing beneath his hands.
Riven joined him, tossing a pebble over the edge. "You're up next, you know."
"I figured."
"They say your next opponent's from Norveil. A general, maybe. Nobody's seen his face."
Kairo said nothing.
Riven sighed. "You could walk away. You've already proven yourself. The people love you. Hell, they're calling you 'The White Storm.'"
Kairo almost smiled. "I don't fight for names."
"Then what for?"
He stared at the arena lights below. "To stop running from ghosts."
Riven looked at him quietly, then nodded. "Whatever happens, you're not alone anymore, got it?"
Kairo turned to him. "Then don't watch me die."
"I won't," Riven said softly. "Because you won't die, you can't..., you shouldn't.."
At dawn, the bells rang again. Crowds filled the stands. Banners rippled through golden light.
Lyn sat near the front, hands clasped tightly around her lute. Her heart hammered, but her eyes didn't leave the gate.
When Kairo stepped into the arena, the crowd fell silent. His cloak trailed frost behind him. His expression was calm, eyes pale silver in the sun.
Then the opposite gate opened.
A tall man walked out, broad-shouldered, scarred, bearing the insignia of Norveil's First Legion. His armor was black steel, his sword curved like a wolf's fang.
When he removed his helmet, the breath caught in Kairo's throat.
"Commander Ardent," he whispered.
The man's eyes hardened. "So you remember."
Kairo's voice was low. "You did this to me."
Ardent drew his sword. "I made you live."
"You made me something else."
The announcer raised his hand."Final match of the Norveil Tournament! Commander Ardent versus Kairo, the White Storm!"
Let the fight begin.