Page 90 of Tempest Blazing
Kane rose without hesitation, walking into the arena with the calm of a man who already knew the outcome. I leaned forward despite myself, heart tightening as I watched him descend those stone steps. There was something almost predatory in his grace, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
The moment the trial began, Kane dropped to one knee and slammed his palm against the arena floor. The impact sent ashockwave through the stone—not just force, but elemental fury given form. Fire erupted in spiraling columns, wind howled like a living thing, and the ground itself buckled and twisted under his command.
His opponents scattered like leaves, but there was nowhere to run. Water condensed from the air itself, forming spears of crystalline ice that struck with surgical precision. One candidate went down with a shard through his shoulder—painful but not fatal, calculated to disable rather than destroy.
Kane's control was terrifying to witness. Every movement was elegant, efficient, and cold as winter moonlight. He didn't waste energy on dramatic gestures or unnecessary force. He simply... ended things.
The match was over in three minutes.
I found myself holding my breath as Kane strode back toward the stands, not a single hair out of place, not even breathing hard. His gaze met mine briefly as he climbed the steps, and something flickered in those blue-violet eyes—acknowledgment, maybe. Or warning.
The same icy distance that had settled between us since that night in his room. Since I'd let my guard down completely, only to wake up to politeness and careful space. He hadn't cut me off entirely, but the warmth was gone, replaced by this maddening courtesy that felt worse than outright rejection.
How do I affect someone like that?I wondered, watching the way he moved with that perfect, untouchable control. The same control he'd wrapped around himself like armor the morning after.
Even now, watching him demonstrate his devastating power, I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin. The memory ofhow he'd whispered my name like a prayer before pulling back into this infuriating shell of composure.
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe what Kane needed wasn't someone who matched his precision—maybe he needed someone who could make him lose it entirely.
The workers below moved with increased urgency now, their faces grim as they repaired the extensive damage Kane had left in his wake. Ice had to be melted, stone had to be mended, and the elemental energies he'd unleashed needed to be carefully dissipated before they could destabilize the arena's protective enchantments. The crowd was quieter now too—the kind of respectful silence that came after witnessing something that bordered on artistry, if artistry could kill you in a dozen different ways.
"Draven Loto," Silvius announced with the next group.
Draven rolled his shoulders as he stood, like this was just another job, just another day at the office. But I felt my pulse quicken anyway—not from fear, but from something much more complicated. There was something hypnotic about watching him prepare for violence, the way he seemed to shed his casual facade and reveal the predator underneath.
When the trial bell tolled, he didn't charge forward like Mason or unleash elemental fury like Kane. Instead, he simply... disappeared. Not literally—I could still see him if I focused—but he became something peripheral, something the other candidates' eyes seemed to slide right over.
One fighter dropped his blade mid-swing, glassy-eyed and swaying like he was hearing music only he could perceive. Another stumbled directly into a trap of Draven's making—a pit that definitely hadn't been there a moment before, lined with shadows that seemed to move independently of any light source.
I didn't know which was more terrifying—his precision, or how effortlessly he manipulated the entire battlefield. He wasn't just seductive. He was lethal in ways that made my mouth go dry and my skin feel too tight.
The way he moved through the arena, the casual confidence in every gesture—it made something flutter low in my stomach. This was what he was capable of when he let that charming mask slip. Dangerous. Deadly. And completely focused on winning.
Draven finished with a smirk, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve like he'd just completed a particularly satisfying workout. As he returned to the stands, he caught my eye and winked, but there was something heavier behind the gesture—like he was asking if I'd been impressed by the display, if I understood what he could do.
The implications made my stomach flutter with something that wasn't entirely fear.
As the final echoes of applause faded and the arena crews began their last round of repairs for the day, a different kind of energy settled over the crowd. The easy excitement of the earlier matches had given way to something heavier—the weight of understanding that half the people here wouldn't see tomorrow's trials. Conversations became quieter, more intense. Candidates who'd been joking and bragging hours ago now wore the hollow-eyed look of people calculating their chances of survival.
The reality of it hit like a physical blow when Silvius's voice boomed across the arena again, cutting through the murmurs like a blade through silk. "Today's trials have separated the wheat from the chaff," he announced, his tone carrying the weight of absolute authority.
"Look around you," he commanded, and the crowd instinctively obeyed, heads turning to take in faces that might not be theretomorrow. "Half of you will leave this guild as soon as your injuries are healed. Your journey ends here."
The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear my own heartbeat, feel the collective intake of breath from hundreds of candidates as the magnitude of those words sank in. Half. Not some abstract number—half of the people standing in this arena right now would be gone by morning, their dreams of command shattered, their futures redirected by failure.
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the evening air.
"For those who remain," Silvius continued, his pale eyes sweeping across the surviving candidates like a judge pronouncing sentence, "tomorrow's round will not be so forgiving. Only those truly worthy of command will endure what comes next."
I swallowed hard, the weight of the next trial already pressing against my chest like a physical thing. Whatever we'd faced today—the werebear, the collapsing arena, the desperate alliances forged in blood and magic—it was just the beginning.
The real test was still coming.
Chapter 37
Tess
Stepping toward the training grounds, I felt the morning mist roll back, and my breath caught in my throat.
