Ivel stood over Lom's unconscious body and breathed.
Each breath came in ragged and uneven, his chest working hard to catch up with the last several minutes of his life. He could taste blood — had been tasting it for a while now, somewhere at the back of his throat — and his face had begun to announce its bruises in the particular delayed way that bruises do, sensation arriving after the fact with calm thoroughness.
He looked up at the stands.
The crowd was on its feet, and the sound they were making was the same sound they had made after the first fight — stunned first, then released, then louder than before. He opened his mouth and screamed into it, and the roar that came back doubled.
The king remained seated. There was no announcement to make. The floor spoke clearly enough.
Ivel looked up toward his father's seat, found Leom in the crowd without difficulty, and raised his hand — pointing, direct and simple. Leom watched him do it, and smiled the quiet smile of a man who is proud and has decided that is sufficient.
Ivel lay back on the arena floor.
The stone was cool against his shoulders. The crowd's noise washed over him from every direction, and he let it, staring up at the open sky above the arena and breathing slowly until his chest stopped insisting on making a production of it.
It has been, he thought, a very long day.
He sat up.
Lom was awake beside him — had come around while Ivel wasn't looking, and was now sitting upright with one hand pressed to his side, his expression the carefully composed one of someone absorbing a result they hadn't prepared for. He startled slightly when he registered Ivel sitting next to him, smiling.
He stood without a word and walked toward the corridor that led off the floor, one hand still at his ribs.
"Lom of Light."
Lom paused.
"Let's spar again sometime," Ivel called after him, over the noise of the crowd.
A beat of silence. Then, without turning around:
"Sure."
He kept walking.
The king descended from the balcony with Vas a step behind him, the older man carrying a red box with the unhurried ease of someone transporting something valuable and entirely aware of it. Up close the king was even more imposing than he was from a distance — the pressure of him something that the body registered before the mind caught up to it.
He stopped in front of Ivel and looked at him for a moment.
"You fought exceptionally well." Something genuine moved through the king's expression. "It has been some time since watching a fight has made me feel that way."
Ivel bowed — an awkward, somewhat uncertain bow, the kind produced by someone who has never been entirely sure of the correct angle.
The king laughed — a full, unguarded sound.
"You don't need to do that, boy."
He clapped a hand onto Ivel's shoulder with the warmth of someone who found the whole thing genuinely delightful, and then he composed himself and turned to face the stands, raising a hand until the crowd had quieted.
"As promised — the prize for this year's tournament."
Vas stepped forward and presented the red box. The king took it, opened it, and handed it to Ivel himself.
Then he extended his hand.
Ivel shook it.
He found his family on the balcony afterward, and crossed to them still holding the box.
"See," he said. "I told you I'd win."
Aniya reached out and ruffled his hair without hesitation, her smile wide and entirely unself-conscious.
"I wouldn't have expected anything less," she said. "You are my brother, after all."
The family laughed — at Aniya, at the statement, at the magnificent confidence of it — and the sound of it filled the balcony and stayed there for a while.
The king, nearby, had been about to say something. He looked at them and decided against it, letting the moment be what it was.
After the crowd had thinned and the arena had begun to empty, King Auburn made his way back to Ivel with the manner of someone who has remembered one final thing.
"Before you go — the orb. You'll want to begin absorbing it soon. It will take considerable time to fully digest into your nexus." He paused. "And once it does — you'll have autonomous regeneration."
Ivel went still.
He replayed the words.
Autonomous regeneration.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said carefully. "Could you repeat that?"
Auburn laughed.
"You heard correctly. The devil Vas killed could regenerate lost limbs almost instantaneously. That capacity is in the orb." He tilted his head slightly. "It won't be that immediate for you — not until your nexus evolves further. But it will come."
Ivel looked down at the box in his hands.
"Well." He bowed slightly. "Thank you. Genuinely."
"No thanks needed — it was well earned." The king studied him for a moment with something like anticipation. "I truly enjoyed watching you today, Ivel. I hope to see you compete again."
He extended his hand.
Ivel shook it.
"Only if the prize is as good as this year's."
Auburn laughed — a short, sharp sound of genuine amusement.
"Well said." He stepped back. "Until next time, Ivel of Revenant."
He walked away, and Vas stayed.
"Ivel," Vas said. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"
"Of course. What is it?"
Vas looked at him steadily.
"What are your plans after the capital?"
Ivel thought about it.
"Train more. Hunt in the forest with my sister. Build up from there, I suppose."
Vas reached into his coat and produced something small — a device of some kind, compact and unfamiliar, unlike anything Ivel had seen before. He held it out.
Ivel took it.
"I have an offer for you," Vas said. "The monsters in that forest are formidable enough as a start, but you've outgrown them faster than most. They won't push you to where you need to go." He met the boy's eyes directly. "Come with me to the Isles of Rom. I will train you — properly, and completely. The best warrior this world has ever produced is not an unreasonable thing to aim for, with the right foundation."
He nodded at the device in Ivel's hand.
"When you've made your decision, press the button. Take whatever time you need."
He turned and walked toward where the king was waiting for him, leaving Ivel standing with his family and the small device and the particular weight of a door that has just been opened.
Auburn watched Vas approach and said nothing until he was close.
"I can see why you have your eye on the boy." He kept his voice low. "Remarkable talent." A pause. "Though that isn't the only reason, is it."
Vas said nothing.
"I don't mean anything by it," Auburn said. "But you want to train him because of the quality. Because of what it is."
Vas looked away.
"You're not dull enough to miss it," he said finally. "Yes. That's part of it." He was quiet for a moment. "The cursed carry too much power too early. Their bodies weren't built for that weight — not at that age, not before the nexus has had time to develop properly. You and I both know what happens when they can't hold it."
Auburn was silent.
"You feel responsible for Helene's—"
"Don't."
The word came quietly. Auburn stopped.
A long moment passed between them, the kind that holds something old and unresolved and too settled to be moved by conversation.
"Do as you wish, Vas of Night," Auburn said at last.
Vas looked out across the emptying arena — at the boy standing with his family at the far end of the balcony, already surrounded by laughter, already holding the device in his hand.
He said nothing further.