Two and a half days of battle had scorched the arena floor to ash and memory. Qi storms had risen. Weapons had shattered. And fifteen hundred cultivators—scions, prodigies, and unknowns—had been whittled down to one hundred. Not all with grace. Not all by choice. But none without fire.
Now, for the first time in seventy hours, the war stilled. The sun dipped low over Ember Pearl City, casting gold across blood-soaked stone, and a single bell tolled across the field—low, lingering, and final.
"The survivors of the second round will rest tonight," the announcer called. "Tomorrow, the second round will begin."
Not relief. Reverence. The breath before the blade falls.
Above the arena, the formation screens dimmed, their light fading like the last echoes of battle. The crowd dispersed slowly, as if afraid to break the silence that had settled like ash.
That night, the Ember Clan pavilion pulsed with quiet pride. Formation lamps cast orange light across polished wood, and beneath them, Rana Flare sat surrounded by the pillars of her bloodline.
Simon Flare stood near the balcony, arms folded, unreadable, until he finally offered a single word: "Well done." A rare gift from a man like him.
Clan Master Riven placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You've honored your roots. And your flame. Walk into the finals without hesitation."
Then there was Jana. Her mother didn't speak at first. She only sat beside her daughter and smiled—gently, knowingly.
Rana swallowed. "They looked at me differently today. The clans. The sects."
"They should," Simon said from the shadows. "They finally see the heat behind the name."
Later, when the pavilion emptied and the stars shimmered high above, Rana sat alone with her mother beneath the arc of a sky bristling with light.
"Do you think he's here?" Jana asked softly.
Rana didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," she finally said. "I hope so."
Jana didn't press. She only brushed a loose braid from her daughter's face and tucked it behind her ear.
"Then burn bright enough for him to find you."
Rana didn't look to the stands. But part of her hoped the wind had carried her name far enough.
—
The next day dawned with cooler winds but hotter blood. One hundred cultivators returned to the stone, not as hopefuls but as threats. The air was sharper now. There was no more testing, no mercy. Only edge.
Delra Hewitt clashed with a layered flame cultivator from the western dominion. Her technique was beautiful—sharp, surgical, and unpredictable. But flame, when coiled tight enough, cuts straight through elegance. She fell in the second match.
Kaelin's defenses, so composed in Round One, fractured beneath compounding wind pressure. The girl never lost composure—but she lost all the same.
Tian fought until the stone beneath him cracked, until his breath came short and the flare of his staff bent out of form. One inverted strike from a dual-core opponent ended it.
And the boy from the Iskar Dominion, the one who danced with lightning, met a cultivator two entire realms higher—and fought like defiance given shape. He still lost. But he fell with his back straight and his sparks alight.
Only one name from Vernon remained standing at the end of the second round.
Sion Carros.
He moved like pressure itself—coiled, humming, and efficient. His strikes didn't flash. They anchored. And even against opponents above his realm, he weathered the gaps like someone who had made peace with pain. He didn't win by surprise.
He won by refusal.
—
When the second round closed, the arena was swept. Not of dust, but of doubt. The spectators knew, without being told, that something rare was about to begin.
The announcer returned. No fanfare. No projections of flame or light.
He held a scroll in both hands, bound in violet silk and sealed with the royal crest of Ember Pearl.
"These twenty cultivators will now enter the final round," he declared. "Each will face the other nineteen. The one who endures with the greatest victories shall be named Champion."
A name was read, and the sound of it seemed to still the wind.
Rana Flare. Fifteen. Ember Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Sion Carros. Fifteen. Vernon Continent. Mid Pearl.
A few murmurs rippled through the stands—confusion, then recognition. The boy from Vernon. The one who wouldn't fall.
Jason Erupt. Seventeen. Erupt Family. Early Gold.
Lira Ember Pearl. Seventeen. Royal Family. Early Gold.
Jin Ember Pearl. Fifteen. Royal Family. Peak Amethyst.
Nael Ember Pearl. Seventeen. Royal Family. Early Gold.
Yenra Stormveil. Sixteen. Stormveil Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Kael Stormveil. Seventeen. Stormveil Clan. Early Gold.
Nate Verdant. Seventeen. Verdant Fang Clan. Early Gold.
Ken Verdant. Sixteen. Verdant Fang Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Tess Ironshore. Seventeen. Ironshore Clan. Early Gold.
Vale Emberthorn. Seventeen. Emberthorn Clan. Early Gold.
Wren Emberthorn. Seventeen. Emberthorn Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Dain Wallis. Sixteen. Ashwalk Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Mira Wallis. Seventeen. Ashwalk Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Soren Viscord. Sixteen. EmberRage Clan. Early Gold.
Tarin Lee. Seventeen. EmberRage Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Silra Ironshore. Sixteen. Ironshore Clan. Peak Amethyst.
Nian Korell. Seventeen. Shadow Sect. Peak Amethyst.
Veykan Veylan. Seventeen. Veylan Confederacy. Peak Amethyst.
Twenty names. Eighteen from the great clans and ruling sects of the Ruona Continent. Two from beyond its borders.
No one cheered. Not yet.
These weren't hopeful anymore. They were contenders.
And every one of them had something to prove—before the ash of the last round could settle.