Sparks flew.
Not from steel against steel, nor from the licking tongues of fire—but from something deeper. The unspoken challenge between kin. The need to grow, to clash, to be seen.
Lucien stood in the observation circle above the sparring arena, arms folded, crimson eyes thoughtful. Beside him, Elric leaned forward, tense—not with worry, but respect.
In the ring below, his younger brother—blade drawn, breath steady—stood like a mountain yet to be scaled. The boy had grown. Lucien had seen it, measured it. Not just in strength, but in will.
Across from him, his older sister—fire-crowned and unshaken—smiled like war was art. The Flame Lotus bloomed in her chest, and her steps left scorch marks where they landed.
Then, they moved.
It wasn't a duel. It was dance and declaration.
The younger brother came first, blade trailing starlight. His strikes weren't wild. They were clean, concise—each one practiced a thousand times under Lucien's eye. Sword forms rooted in knighthood, discipline, honor.
But she? She was fire given shape. She bent, twirled, flicked flames with her fingers like brushes on canvas. No sword could predict her motion. She was chaos curved into elegance.
Steel met flame. Once. Twice. A dozen times.
Sparks. Cracks. Magic residue shimmered across the barrier that kept their power from spilling into the spectators.
Lucien didn't intervene. He wouldn't.
This was the point.
Each family member had faced themselves. Now, they faced each other—not as siblings, but as tempered weapons of the Arkanveil.
His younger brother gritted his teeth and surged forward. The sword grew heavier in his grip, not from exhaustion, but from intent. A technique they hadn't practiced together—something new. Something personal.
He called it Bladewill.
Mana surged into his arm. The edge of the sword gleamed unnaturally white. Not enchanted. Not blessed.
Willed.
Lucien's brows lifted slightly. He's forging his own path.
But his sister was no less changed.
She raised a single palm. The air shimmered. The flame didn't erupt this time—it bent inward. A compressed sphere. Hotter than anything she had summoned before.
Fireheart.
She whispered the name as it pulsed to life. A condensed star between her fingers.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—
They released their power.
Steel met star.
A burst of light exploded outward, shaking the platform, rocking the trial grounds. The protective barrier cracked—Lucien's hand rose, reinforcing it with a flick of his fingers. Controlled. Silent.
When the dust cleared, the arena was scorched. The stone beneath their feet had blackened. Smoke curled lazily in the aftermath.
And in the center, the siblings stood. Panting. Soot-covered. Bruised.
But smiling.
The younger brother lowered his sword, his hands shaking. His sister stepped forward, touched his shoulder.
> "You've grown."
> "You too," he replied. "I used to think you were just fast. Now I know… you're terrifying."
She laughed—a clear, ringing sound that cut through the remnants of battle like sunlight.
They didn't embrace. They didn't bow.
They just turned together and walked off the field, side by side.
Lucien watched them with a still expression.
But inside, pride pulsed warm and slow.
Bladewill. Fireheart. One seeks the form, the other the flame. Both are finding themselves.
Behind him, Elric finally spoke.
> "They're ready, aren't they?"
Lucien nodded. "Almost."
He turned away from the arena, cloak fluttering behind him. The trial was nearing its end. But something bigger brewed on the horizon.
Their growth was no longer a luxury.
It was a necessity.
Because soon, the world would stop watching from afar.
And the Arkanveil would need more than power.
The next test was his.
But unlike the rest, he would not face a mirror.
He would face the past.
And the long shadow it still cast.