The sparring ground was quiet now. The shattered tiles, faint embers, and time-fractured reality had long settled. Night's breath whispered through the trees as Ned Myrkwyn leaned against the wall near the outer courtyard of the arena. His clothes were still singed from the earlier duel, and the lingering pressure of his soul gear had left his aura burning faintly.
He didn't turn as footsteps approached. The sound was sharp and confident—arrogant, almost—but steady.
Oberyn Marazai came into view, flicking stray strands of grey hair from his eyes. His fox ears twitched lazily, and his grey tail swayed behind him with slow, confident motions. His eyes, sharp and glowing like embers, looked over Ned without restraint.
"You fight like a mad king clawing his way back to the throne," Oberyn said with his signature barbed tongue. "It was damn beautiful."
Ned smiled lightly, a rarity. "And you fight like death itself had something to prove."
The two boys stood there in silence for a beat, the air charged more with mutual respect than rivalry.
"I was angry," Oberyn admitted suddenly, glancing sideways. "Not because you hurt me. Because for the first time… I didn't know if I was going to win."
"Same," Ned replied. "Kronoz wanted to consume everything. I almost lost myself."
The two chuckled—awkwardly but sincerely.
"You're not what I expected from Class Imperium," Oberyn muttered, his voice still a bit forceful. "You're too damn genuine."
Ned raised a brow. "You're not what I expected from House Marazai either. Thought you'd be taller."
Oberyn scoffed, then laughed. "You've got guts. I like that."
A rare smile stretched on his usually arrogant face—crooked, sharp, but honest. "You got a name for that freakish horned bastard behind you?"
"Kronoz the Horned Usurper," Ned answered, then added with a smirk, "Divider of Thrones."
Oberyn gave a low whistle. "That's metal as hell. Mine's Thanatos, Spear of Aeonic Ruin."
"The time-devouring monster," Ned recalled. "I looked into your spear. Dangerous stuff."
"I know," Oberyn said smugly. "So, what now, Myrkwyn? Are we going to be rivals for life, or...?"
"Friends," Ned said simply.
Oberyn blinked, surprised.
"You earned it," Ned added.
Oberyn looked down, silent, then said, "Tch… Don't make me regret it, Ned."
---
Later that evening, in the Class Imperium dorms…
Ned stood beside Oberyn as they approached the common lounge. Serenil, Robert, Jon, and Peter were waiting, each seated with drinks or leaning against the furniture.
Serenil's silver hair was tied neatly behind him. The stoic prince's violet eyes flicked toward Oberyn the moment they entered. No emotion showed, but his slight nod said enough.
"Marazai," Serenil said. "You fought well."
"High praise from the Ice Prince," Oberyn muttered with a grin.
Robert, seated with his usual laid-back posture, lifted a hand lazily. "Dude, that was nuts. I thought the arena was going to collapse. Respect."
Jon, thoughtful and calm as always, added, "You two pushed each other past the limit. That's rare. You have my respect, Oberyn."
Peter, with his small frame and excitable energy, was bouncing slightly in his seat. "You were like Zzzhhh—BOOM—Slice! Then Ned was like Shhhhhh-Kronoz Punch! It was AWESOME!"
Oberyn blinked, clearly overwhelmed by Peter's energy. "Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much," Ned chuckled.
Serenil turned away, folding his arms. "You'll fit."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Fit?"
"In our circle," Jon clarified. "Ned's friends. You've earned your seat."
Oberyn smirked, fox tail flicking with pride. "Damn right I have."