Week Three

The third week of the Tournament arrived with heightened anticipation. By now, the Summit discussions had largely moved behind closed doors, leaving only the most influential figures privy to their outcomes. Within the Palace, whispers of strategy and shifting allegiances filled the halls. Outside, however, the arena pulsed with unrestrained energy, the roars of spectators drowning out the hush of political maneuvering.

For Delphia, this week provided a rare reprieve—time to observe and reflect. Yet, even as she sat in the stands, watching match after match unfold in dazzling displays of skill and magic, the weight of the growing conspiracy never truly left her thoughts.

Now, as Crown Prince Alaric and Archmage Zypher Thorne stepped onto the tournament platform, the air around her shifted. The low murmur of the crowd swelled into a wave of anticipation. This was the match everyone had been waiting for.

Alaric, golden-haired and poised, lifted a hand to the spectators, his presence effortlessly commanding. Zypher, in contrast, stood with quiet certainty, his dark robes a stark variance to the sunlit arena. His maroon eyes flickered across the field, unreadable yet sharp with focus.

Delphia listened absently as the voices around her debated.

"The Crown Prince has been training relentlessly. He won't allow himself to lose."

"But Archmage Thorne…" another countered. "Heir to the Magic Tower. He's in a different league entirely."

Delphia's fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her dress as the match began.

Alaric struck first, a sweep of his arm igniting the battlefield. Flames surged forward like a living beast, curling and twisting as they raced toward Zypher, seeking to consume him in golden fire. His control was masterful—every ember responding to his will, creating an overwhelming tide of heat and force.

But Zypher didn't flinch.

With a single step back, his fingers danced in a fluid motion, tracing sigils in the air. Water surged from the ground beneath him, not in a chaotic rush, but in sharp, calculated streams. The first tendrils coiled around his arms like living serpents before he released them in quick bursts, slicing through the flames with surgical precision. Steam hissed as elements clashed, mist swirling around him like an ethereal veil.

To most of the audience, the match seemed evenly matched—Alaric pressing forward with relentless offense, his strikes relentless and sweeping, forcing Zypher to react rather than attack. But Delphia saw the truth beneath the spectacle. Zypher wasn't fighting at full strength.

His movements were measured, each counter designed to test rather than overwhelm. He allowed Alaric to push, to lash out, to believe he was in control. But Delphia could see the subtle shifts in his stance—the slight tilts of his body that allowed him to evade with minimal effort, the way his eyes tracked Alaric's every movement, already predicting the next attack before it came.

Still, the sheer ferocity of Alaric's magic made something coil tight in Delphia's chest. She told herself it was just her natural observant nature, that she was merely analyzing the fight. And yet, when Alaric slammed his palm to the ground, summoning a ring of fire that erupted in a towering blaze around Zypher, the heat licking dangerously close, she found herself leaning forward, breath caught in her throat.

For the first time, Zypher seemed truly trapped.

Then—he smirked.

With a flick of his wrist, the air around him shifted. Water mana surged, not in an explosive wave, but in precise, spiraling currents that coiled around the flames, siphoning away their energy before snuffing them out completely. He moved within the dissipating fire like a shadow through mist—elegant, untouched.

Immediately, he retaliated.

A flick of his hand sent a whip-like tendril of water snapping toward Alaric. The Crown Prince barely dodged, the attack slicing through the air where he had stood a heartbeat before. But Zypher was already moving, his magic shifting between offense and defense seamlessly. A sudden twist of his wrist—Alaric's footing slickened as water gathered beneath him. Before he could counter, Zypher flicked his fingers, and the liquid snapped into ice, locking Alaric's stance for the briefest of moments.

It was all Zypher needed.

His final strike came in a spiraling rush—a concentrated sphere of Water mana, compact and fast. It shot forward with terrifying speed, colliding against Alaric's blade with a force that sent it flying from his grasp, the metal clattering against the arena floor.

The match was over.

The crowd erupted in cheers, though Delphia barely heard them. Her pulse was a beat too fast, her exhale too slow. She shouldn't have been this relieved—this affected. But when Zypher turned, his gaze sweeping across the stands, searching—she knew exactly who he was looking for.

Her.

The moment their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them. Zypher's sharp maroon eyes softened, the usual weight of calculation in his gaze eased, if only for a moment, before his lips curved in a cheeky grin at her.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

And then, just as quickly, the moment was gone, replaced by the composed mask Zypher always wore in public. He turned away, walking off the platform with effortless grace, leaving Delphia staring after him, her fingers tightening imperceptibly in her lap.

She told herself it was just another match. Just another victory.

But the way her heart was still steadying itself said otherwise.

*

Later that afternoon, Delphia found herself seated next to Zypher as the next match was announced: Calista Faremont versus Trenton Mooresbane.

The field fell into a hush as the two competitors stepped forward. Calista's gown shimmered with an ethereal glow, the delicate embroidery catching the light as she moved. Confidence radiated from her, effortless and poised, as she faced Trenton, whose broad stance and imposing presence made it clear that brute force was his specialty.

Beside her, Zypher was the picture of composed ease, his posture relaxed as he studied the competitors. Yet Delphia could feel the warmth of his presence, the subtle awareness between them more pronounced than usual. "Your thoughts?" He asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp as ever. Delphia tilted her head slightly, watching Calista's stance. "She'll play to her strengths—charm and precision. Trenton might have raw power, but she's too calculated to let that overwhelm her."

As the match began, Delphia's prediction proved correct. Calista's magic was a dazzling display of light, weaving intricate, hypnotic patterns that forced Trenton to stay on the defensive. While his water magic surged in powerful waves, it lacked the finesse to counter her precision.

"She's playing the crowd as much as she's playing him," Delphia muttered. Zypher chuckled, low and quiet. "And it's working."

At the sound, something in Delphia's chest eased. It was a small thing—his amusement, the relaxed cadence of his voice—but after the intensity of his match earlier, she felt a quiet relief settle over her. Logically, she had known he would win. Of course he would. Zypher Thorne was no ordinary mage; He was leagues above even Alaric, a force of intellect and power combined. And yet…

She had still been holding her breath.

A sharp crash from the field signaled Trenton's attempt to break free of Calista's illusions. Water surged from his hands, forming a towering wave meant to engulf her entirely. The audience tensed, watching as the cascade threatened to swallow her whole—

But with a flick of her wrist, Calista bent the light around her, creating an illusion of herself just as the wave crashed down. The real Calista stepped lightly to the side, untouched, smiling as Trenton wheeled around in confusion.

Delphia let out a slow exhale, allowing herself to simply exist in this moment. It didn't go unnoticed.

Across the seating area, whispers stirred, some hushed, others barely concealed beneath the noise of the crowd. "They're close," a noblewoman murmured behind her. "Have you seen how they speak to each other?" Another voice joined in, intrigued rather than scandalized. "It's like no one else exists."

Delphia ignored them, keeping her expression neutral. Zypher, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered, though she didn't miss the brief flicker of a smirk curving at the corner of his lips.

The match concluded in Calista's favor, her tactical use of Light mana outmaneuvering Trenton's brute strength. The audience erupted in applause, and Calista accepted the praise with a knowing smile.

As the final match of the day commenced—a duel between two prominent mages from the Tower—Delphia and Zypher remained seated, but their focus on the fight was only halfhearted.

On the field, twin bursts of magic collided, sending sparks across the arena as one combatant wielded wind and the other fire. The force of their clash sent ripples of heat and gusts of air through the stands, but Delphia barely reacted as Zypher leaned in slightly, his voice just for her. "The Summit discussions have grown more insular," he murmured, his tone casual despite the weight of his words. "If the conspirators are making moves, they're doing it behind closed doors now."

Delphia nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the armrest of her chair. "And the Summit? Just a distraction?"

The combatants on the field struck again—wind slicing like invisible blades while fire carved molten paths into the stone ground. A few spectators flinched as the shockwaves rattled the arena. Delphia only blinked.

"Partially," Zypher admitted. "But also an opportunity. The attention it draws allows them to move more subtly elsewhere. We need to stay vigilant."

One of the duelists was momentarily knocked off balance, stumbling as a fiery arc nearly singed their shoulder. The crowd gasped, momentarily enraptured; But Delphia barely spared it a glance.

Instead, she felt Zypher's gaze lingering on her. Not just in passing. Not with idle amusement.

But with something quieter. Something steadier.

Further down the row, another noble nudged his companion. "That's not how he is with anyone else," he murmured. A young woman in a delicate lilac gown sighed wistfully. "No, it's not."

A particularly explosive collision of magic sent a ringing boom across the field, signaling the end of the duel as one mage finally bested the other. The audience rose to their feet in applause, but Delphia and Zypher remained seated, their thoughts elsewhere.

She turned to him, voice quieter now. "Do you think we're ready for what's coming?" His maroon eyes met hers, unreadable for a moment before settling into something softer, something absolute.

"Ready or not, it's coming." Then, gentler, "But we're not alone in this, Delphie. We'll face it together."

A quiet reassurance. A promise.

And though the path ahead was uncertain, though danger still loomed just beyond the edges of their understanding, Delphia found herself gripping onto that assurance.

They weren't alone.

And maybe… that was enough.