Kill?

The morning sky stretched pale and endless above Skyreach's arena, cloudbanks drifting slow and low around the hovering stone ring like silent witnesses.

Nyxara stood alone in the center.

Her staff—taller than any of them—rested upright beside her, balanced perfectly without support, glowing faintly at the top like a star captured in crystal.

She stood still, arms behind her back, tail coiled lazily beside her.

Waiting.

The first to arrive—surprisingly—was Lira.

She moved a little faster than the day before, chin up just slightly more. Still quiet. Still wary. But there was something subtle in her—growing steel.

Nyxara gave a single nod. No teasing. Just quiet acknowledgment.

Then came Nerys, walking with the posture of someone who knew she'd faced something hard and hadn't broken. Her steps were sharp. Confident. Triumphant.

Nyxara raised one brow.

"Someone looks pleased with herself," she said dryly.

Nerys gave a sideways smirk. "Just got a good night's sleep."

Nyxara rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Mm. That's not what I heard through the walls."

They waited.

And waited.

A full hour ticked by.

Nyxara's face remained serene—but for the briefest flash of something else. A flicker of dangerous irritation, sharp enough to ice the air.

Then, it vanished just as quickly.

Because moments later—

Solene and Seraphyne arrived.

Hand in hand.

Eyes lit with something that glowed deeper than just rest. They walked like they had no fear. Like they were whole.

Nyxara's gaze lingered. And though her smile returned, it was edged in something sharp.

"Ohhh, how nice of you to join us," she purred, voice teasing but laced with intent. "Seems like everyone's getting some action… except little ol' me."

She gave a dramatic sigh, one hand to her chest.

"Tragic."

Solene narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive."

"Barely," Nyxara said with a wink. "Now that you're all here—let's begin."

She turned, raising one hand.

The air shifted.

The arena shimmered.

"Today, I want to see what you're made of. So—trials."

Nyxara clapped once.

"The rules are simple. Inside this arena, I will summon a version of myself—as I was centuries ago. Younger. Wilder. Stronger in all the wrong ways."

The air pulsed.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes glittering.

"Your job is to kill her."

Lira paled. Seraphyne stiffened.

Nerys narrowed her gaze. "Kill?"

Nyxara smiled wider.

"Yes, yes. Not beat. Not contain. Not 'defeat emotionally.' You have to kill her. Because if you don't—she will kill you."

Solene tensed. "And what happens if we die?"

"You'll feel it," Nyxara said, voice lighter than it should've been. "Every snap of the bone, every tear of the flesh. But you'll reform, safe and whole, in the stands above."

She gave a mock-bow.

"Painful. Yes. Permanent? No. A hundred percent safe."

She looked over the group slowly.

"But real enough to find out who breaks first."

She raised her hand as the clouds around the arena began to churn.

—Part II—

The wind inside the arena slowed.

The clouds settled, as if the very sky was holding its breath.

Nyxara's silhouette stood outlined by the shifting shimmer of energy that slowly began coalescing at the far end of the arena—a shape building itself from mist and starlight. Younger. Leaner. Radiating raw power.

But not moving.

Not yet.

Nyxara turned back to the group, staff floating to her side like a patient sentinel.

"The trial itself won't begin until you strike first," she said. "So take your time. Size her up. Make a plan. Work together."

She smiled. Sharp. Amused.

"If you can."

She let her eyes settle on Lira, who stood at the back, hands trembling slightly as she stared at the forming projection of Nyxara's younger self—already crackling faintly with energy that made her stomach twist.

"Lira," Nyxara said, her tone suddenly soft but direct, "if I recall… you're a non-combatant, yes?"

Lira blinked, startled. "I—I mean, I know a few shielding spells, some low-level healing… but I'm not—"

Nyxara held up a hand. "I'm not going to force you. This trial is meant to test those who need the fire right now."

She stepped closer, her voice gentler now, serious beneath the edge of her usual playfulness.

"If you choose not to participate, I will personally train you," she said. "We'll find a weapon you like—one that suits you. And I'll push your magic, help you grow it, refine it. So that next time—they'll never have to worry about you."

Lira stared, wide-eyed. "You'd really teach me… like that?"

Nyxara nodded once. "I'll make you dangerous. In your own way."

Lira exhaled shakily. Then nodded. "Okay. I want that. I want to be more than the girl hiding in the back."

Nyxara smiled, not mockingly—but with pride. "Good girl."

Then she turned back to the others.

"As for the rest of you…" she gestured toward the shimmering figure at the other side of the arena. It was fully formed now. Barefoot. Eyes wild. Hair flowing like a storm. Younger Nyxara tilted her head slowly, like a predator sizing up prey.

—Part III—

The last shimmer of energy snapped into place, and Younger Nyxara stood at the far end of the arena like a frozen storm ready to detonate.

She looked like Nyxara—but stripped of control. Her eyes blazed raw with power and something else. Grief. Hunger. Pain that hadn't been dulled yet by centuries of wisdom.

Her hands flexed idly at her sides.

Waiting.

Watching.

Nyxara—the present one—rose slowly into the air, levitating above the arena floor with effortless grace, her long robe fluttering in the soft current of magic that swirled around her. As she hovered high above the battlefield, she extended one arm toward Lira.

The young woman gasped as she gently lifted off the ground and floated up to join her, cradled in Nyxara's aura like a leaf on still water.

"I'll keep her safe," Nyxara said, glancing toward the others. "You worry about yourselves."

She turned her golden gaze back to the team below, and for a moment, her voice lost its teasing edge.

"Do not worry about failure here."

The wind stirred her hair, her expression more serious now.

"Every time you fall, you learn. Every time you break, you reshape. That's the point."

Below her, the team stood in formation. Nerys with her hand near her blade. Seraphyne coiled with shadowfire. Solene's eyes already locked on her younger counterpart.

"This version of me…" Nyxara continued, "she's far weaker than I am now. But don't get cocky. Back then…"

Her voice lowered, and her smile faded briefly.

"I had just lost someone very dear to me. I didn't grieve. I didn't cry. I unleashed. I became a storm to forget."

She paused.

Coughed lightly—like her words had gone too far.

Then she waved it off with a half-laugh. "But enough about my emotional instability."

She floated higher, raising her arms like a goddess presiding over a theater of war.

"Oh yes—one last thing," she said, her voice returning to its playful cadence. "At the end of every week, you'll face this version of me again."

"And if you manage to kill her…"

Her eyes glimmered.

"I will reward you."

She let the silence hang.

"But when you fail—when you die screaming and twitching—well…"

She grinned wide.

"I'll train you until your bones beg to stay broken."

Then she clapped her hands once, cheerful.

"Anyways—good luck."

Above them, Lira looked pale but mesmerized.

Below her, the others felt the pressure rise like a tidal wave.

And across the arena—

Younger Nyxara stood with a blank expression.

—Part IV—

"Alright, quick and dirty," Nerys said, drawing her blade. "I go high. Solene, pin her down with ice. Seraphyne—"

"I'm with Solene," Seraphyne cut in, voice clipped.

Nerys narrowed her eyes. "We can't all focus on the same angle."

"She and I move better together. Let me flank with her."

Nerys hesitated—then scoffed. "Fine. Just don't get in my way."

The three turned their focus to the other end of the arena where Younger Nyxara stood perfectly still, arms at her sides, her bare feet barely touching the mist-slick stone.

She blinked once.

Then smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

Solene tensed.

"Now."

Nerys charged first—blade drawn, fast, sharp, like lightning off a cliff.

Solene raised both arms, cold ripping from her palms in a spiraling burst. Ice bloomed beneath Nyxara's feet, cracking the air as jagged spikes lunged upward.

Seraphyne vanished into a veil of shadow.

In a blink, she reappeared beside Solene, launching a whip of shadowflame around their target's neck, twisting with perfect timing as Solene launched a barrage of frost toward her exposed side.

Their movements were synced—reflexive. Trained through days of shared breathing, nights of tangled limbs and whispered confessions.

But then—

Nerys cut in from above, her arc too wide.

Seraphyne stepped forward, expecting an opening.

Nerys swerved to avoid her.

They clipped each other.

Just barely.

But it was enough.

Young Nyxara moved.

In a flash of speed so violent it left wind scars in the air, she slipped between them. Her hand caught Seraphyne by the throat—lifted her. A split-second pulse of raw power surged through Seraphyne's body before she was flung backward, crashing into a frozen spike of Solene's own magic with a choked scream.

"Seraphyne!" Solene shouted, charging—

Too late.

Nyxara was already inside her range.

A flat palm drove into Solene's sternum.

Crack.

Her breath vanished. Her legs gave out. The world flipped. She didn't remember hitting the ground.

Nerys roared and came in from behind—

Nyxara caught her sword between two fingers.

Then snapped the blade in half with a single twist.

Nerys's eyes widened just as a blast of invisible force threw her across the arena.

Three bodies.

Three crashes.

Three still forms.

Up in the stands, Lira covered her mouth.

The crowd was empty. The sky was quiet.

But in that moment—

The arena was death itself.

Young Nyxara stood in the center again.

Calm. Perfect.

Above them, the real Nyxara laughed softly, amused, even proud.

"Ah," she mused. "And so, the first deaths arrive…"

Below, Solene blinked awake—

Reforming on the viewing platform, chest heaving, tears in her eyes from the pain still echoing through her lungs.

Nerys and Seraphyne appeared beside her moments later.

All three gasping.

Shaking.