High above the arena floor, in a box draped gold and crimson, Helios of the Solar clan leaned forward.
He was forty five years old, but the Sola bloodline kept him looking like a man in his prime. His golden hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and his eyes,the color of a dying star were fixed on the tunnel where Ren had disappeared.
"Did you see that, Selene?" Helios asked, his voice a smooth, dangerous baritone.
Selene of the Nyx clan sat in the shadows behind him. She was a woman of pale skin and obsidian hair, her presence so thin it was easy to forget she was in the room. "He didn't use a technique, Helios. He just hit the Hada boy exactly where his Aur was thinnest."
"A commoner shouldn't know where a Hada's channels are," Helios mused, tapping a finger on the marble railing. He didn't just win. He dismantled him. It was... precise.
"He's a rat from the slums," Kael of clan Vane interjected from the corner of the box. He was thin, his cat like pupils darting restlessly. "My guards reported him yesterday. He's likely some discarded bastard of a minor family. He has a bit of strength, that's all. Jace will crush him in the next round."
Helios didn't look at Kael. He knew the Vane patriarch was arrogant, blinded by his own clan's perceived perfection. But Helios had lived through the Great Stabilization. He knew what a cornered animal looked like. And he knew that the most dangerous animals were the ones that didn't growl before they bit.
"Keep an eye on him," Helios said to a man standing in the shadows of the doorway. "Find out where he sleeps. Find out who his master is. A commoner with that kind of efficiency doesn't just happen by accident."
Ren was back at the inn.
Thorne was sitting in the corner of the room, sharpening a piece of flint with a whetstone. He didn't look up when Ren entered. The smell of cheap ale and roasted fat drifted up from the floor below.
"You were too fast," Thorne said.
"He was slow," Ren replied. He sat on the bed and began to unwrap the bandages on his hands. His knuckles were bruised, the skin purple. The Ironheart Physique was durable, but at fourteen, it was still far from its peak.
"You caught the eye of the Sola patriarch," Thorne continued, his voice low. "I felt the golden one's gaze from the rafters. You're not a ghost anymore, Ren. You're a target."
"I was always a target, Uncle. At least now, they're looking at my face instead of my back."
Ren looked at the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. He saw the violet flecks in his eyes. They seemed brighter tonight. The Verity eyes was reacting to the conflict, pulsing with a low, rhythmic heat behind his brow.
"The next round is tomorrow," Thorne said, standing up. He walked over and dropped a small leather pouch onto the bed. Inside were three silver coins and a vial of dark, viscous liquid. "Strengthening Potion. Rare Tier. I had to break a few fingers at the harbor to get it."
Ren picked up the vial. "Poisons?"
"No. Raw energy. It'll burn like hell, but your channels need the volume if you're going to face a successor of one of the main clans. Jace Vane will be your opponent if you win the next match. He's seventeenth rank in the junior division. He uses the Crescent gale technique. It's fast. Faster than you are right now."
Ren pulled the cork and downed the liquid in one go.
It didn't taste like medicine. It tasted like liquid fire.
He collapsed onto the bed as his body began to seize. Every Aur channel in his body felt like it was being scraped with a rusted knife. His skin turned a deep, bruised red as the Ironheart struggled to process the influx of energy.
"Don't scream," Thorne hissed, leaning over him. "If you scream, you lose the main effects. Hold it. Persevere it."
Ren bit his lip until it bled. He didn't scream.
He went into the dark, his mind replaying the image of the Great hall. The Ghost lily. The smell of rotting peaches. The way his mother had let go of his hand.
I am not a hero, he thought as the fire consumed him. I am the consequence.