Chapter 7 - The Fire That Didn’t Burn
The Emberglass Arena shimmered under the weight of a thousand voices.
Forged from crystallized flame, the dueling platform cracked and hissed with latent heat. Towering above it were concentric viewing rings filled with students—some eager, some bored, most salivating for spectacle. And today's offering? A Hollowborn.
Kaien stood alone at the edge of the circle, his breath fogging despite the heat. His robes were ill-fitted, borrowed from the Academy's lowest tier. Protocol insignias shimmered on everyone else's sleeves like badges of birthright. His? Blank.
At the opposite end stood Vash Ulrik, a third-rank initiate with a jaw sculpted for smirking and a Protocol rooted in combustion.
"You sure you wanna do this, Hollow?" Vash cracked his neck. "Could just lie down now, save us both the waste of time."
Kaien didn't answer. Not because he was brave—but because his mouth had gone dry.
He heard Ayari's voice from the stands — not directed at him, but enough to catch his soul like a hook.
"He's not even flammable," she murmured to a friend.
Kaien clenched his fists. The tether inside him stayed silent.
Protocol Zero…
Say something.
Do something.
Please.
A bell tolled above, and the match began.
Vash didn't wait.
He surged forward with a grin, launching a crimson arc of flame from his open palm. The inferno cracked like a whip, scorching a spiral pattern across the obsidian floor.
Kaien dove. Rolled. Scrambled.
The crowd roared.
"You've got nothing!" Vash spat. He clapped his hands — a shockwave burst outward in a bloom of heat. Kaien was flung across the ring like ash on wind, skidding against the glassy floor until his shoulder cracked.
Pain blurred the world. Laughter rang.
Kaien forced himself up, chest heaving.
He stared at Vash — not just his flames, but his body: the muscle tension, the balance in his knees, the rhythm of breath before each strike. A part of Kaien's mind, unbidden, began to observe — not copy. Understand.
Then came the voice — not from above or around, but within.
"Do not imitate. Learn."
Kaien's breath steadied.
Vash came again, swinging low with a burning arc. Kaien sidestepped, barely. Not graceful — instinctive. He wasn't calculating anymore. He was feeling.
Then — he moved.
A step forward.
Twist.
Palm open.
Strike.
Vash reeled backward, stunned. There was no flame — no visible energy — but he stumbled, his balance broken.
Kaien blinked. His hand burned faintly, not hot, but tingling. Like touching something before it was born.
A hush fell across the arena.
"What was that?" a student muttered.
Ayari's eyes sharpened, focused for the first time.
Professor Velle leaned forward in the observation booth, whispering to himself like he'd found a long-lost formula:
"Not mimicry… translation."
Vash growled. "Cheap trick."
He spun into a full combustion spiral, sending molten shards flying like knives.
Kaien ducked under the first, rolled past the second. Pain lanced across his thigh as a shard grazed him — but he didn't stop.
This time, he struck again. Elbow to rib. Knee to thigh. Every move a mirror — but not of Vash's flame. Of his method.
And then — for a breath — Kaien's Protocol flickered.
A faint corona of light. No element. No emblem. Just potential.
"Protocol Zero: Phase One... initializing."
Vash fell.
Hard.
The crowd gasped.
Kaien stood over him, trembling.
No fire. No showy display. Just silence. Stillness.
The judges didn't declare a winner — not for a long moment. No one knew what had just happened.
And then—
"Duel complete. Victor: Kaien Virell."
Kaien turned slowly to the crowd. His hand glowed faintly — not flame, not force. Just something.
Ayari stared. Not mocking. Not amused.
Interested.
Professor Velle laughed softly to himself.
"The fire that didn't burn..."
As Kaien limped off the field, he heard Vash mutter behind him:
"You're not supposed to be real…"
Kaien didn't look back.
He just whispered, half to himself, half to whatever stirred within:
"I'm not here to be real."
"I'm here to rewrite real."