The dust had barely settled before the arena broke into noise again — banners flaring, trumpets echoing from the high walls as the officials gathered at the center stage. The sand still bore the scars of the last few fights — cratered, burned, and sliced to hell — but everyone's eyes were locked on the final four.
Kyle stood on the far side, his blade resting against his shoulder, the black coat torn just enough to show he had bled. Didn't matter much. His breathing was steady. The hum of mana still whispered faintly around him like a heartbeat.
Across from him, the winner of side A stood waiting — an elven woman, tall and calm, her golden hair falling like sunlight over her shoulders. Her armor gleamed pale under the evening light, silver and white interwoven with green runes. Her stance was steady, quiet. But her aura—
Kyle narrowed his eyes.
That faint shimmer…it was too familiar.
It was warmth. Subtle, pulsing like the air around her was alive.
He'd felt it once before — long ago, in a place no mortal should've been.
Life.
The same gentle radiance that had once stood across from him, the one who called herself the balance to his existence. The Goddess of Life.
He exhaled slowly, jaw tensing. Well… isn't that just perfect.
The king rose from his seat as the crowd quieted. His voice carried easily, practiced and firm."Citizens of Valenhar! Today, four champions have proven their worth. They stand not only as warriors of strength but as pillars of this realm's hope."
His cloak flowed behind him as he descended the steps, flanked by guards in ornate gold-trimmed armor. Nobles followed close, their robes shimmering with embroidery that screamed wealth. Among them — Lord Aurelian, silver-haired and stern, with his daughter Seraphina walking just behind.
Kyle's brow twitched the moment he saw her.
Not her again.
He turned his head, pretending to check his sword.
The king approached the finalists — the elven swordswoman, a hulking knight from the northern tribes, a robed caster with eyes like flint, and finally, Kyle.
"You four," the king began, "will be the core of our new age. The Goddess has blessed our lands with a Hero — and you, chosen by merit and might, will stand beside him."
There was a stir in the crowd. Then the gates opened.
He entered — young, proud, and radiating confidence. The Hero. His armor was polished silver, his cloak embroidered with the sun insignia. He carried himself with trained precision, not arrogance — though the gleam in his eyes carried both.
He stopped before them, offering a knight's bow.
"Name's Evan Cross. I've been entrusted by the Church and His Majesty to lead our charge against the Demon King's return." His gaze swept over the four — lingering a fraction longer on Kyle, uncertain but intrigued. "I hope we can be companions in arms."
Kyle gave a small, two-fingered salute. "Sure. Long as you don't die too fast."
When the ceremony ended, nobles and officers filled the arena floor — handshakes, greetings, the usual noise of politics and praise. Kyle drifted to the side, already looking for the nearest exit.
He didn't make it far.
"Sir Kyle, was it?"
He turned — and there she was again. Seraphina Lys Aurelian. In a pale-blue gown that didn't belong in the dust of the arena, smiling like she'd been waiting for this.
Her father, Lord Aurelian, stood beside her — composed, eyes sharp.
"I've heard much about your… performance," the lord said. "Quite impressive. I am Lucien Lys Aurelian, head of House Aurelian. You may perhaps know my third daughter, Seraphina?"
Kyle sighed internally. He didn't even need to look at her — he could feel that grin aimed right at him.
"Vaguely," he said flatly. "Ran into her. Literally."
Seraphina folded her arms. "And broke three men's arms for me, if we're counting properly."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "You're still on that?"
Lucien chuckled lightly. "I see she's as relentless as ever."
"Guess she is always like this" Kyle muttered.
As the crowd began dispersing, Kyle let his gaze drift toward the elven swordswoman again. She stood near the Hero and his entourage, expression calm, serene — but the faint pulse of her aura tugged at something deep inside him.
He couldn't help the faint, humorless smile.
Life's little irony.
He turned to leave as he muttered to himself.
"Guess death and life are teammates now."