Chapter 33 – Enter the Arena

I stood at the base of the rising platform, the Arena of All casting its shadow over us like the hand of a god.

The Tree shimmered behind it, impossibly ancient and silent. Above, the Arena hovered in midair, glowing runes forming bridges between it and the root-strewn land below. Around us, the gathered participants murmured, argued, stepped forward, or backed away. Tension buzzed like a live wire through the air.

Behind me, I felt Freya and Lyssira hesitate. I didn't turn at first. My eyes were locked on the stone archway forming ahead — the entrance.

This was it.

No rules. No mercy.Only one would stand. Only one would be granted a wish.

"I'm not going," Freya's voice came first — low and quiet, but hard like stone.

I turned.

She stood with arms folded across her chest, but her knuckles were pale from the pressure. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes betrayed everything — guilt, fear, frustration.

"You're not?" I asked.

Freya's eyes flicked up toward the Arena, then away. "I want to. You know I do. But if I go up there and... lose control again—" Her voice cracked just slightly. "I can't risk that. Not with both of you."

The wind tousled her white hair, now tied back in a rough braid. Her leather armor was stained from the last skirmish. There were still healing claw marks across her ribs. She hadn't even noticed them.

"I still see him, you know?" she whispered. "My brother. Every time I shift, he's there. That moment. His face. The blood. If that happens again—" She bit her lip. "If I hurt you… I'd never come back from it."

I nodded slowly. She wasn't weak.She was just human — in the ways that mattered.

Lyssira stepped forward next. Her expression was different. Not conflicted like Freya's, but… tender.

"I won't enter either," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

She glanced away, her hands folding in front of her robe, emerald sleeves fluttering.

"Because if I enter… I might have to fight you." She looked back, and her voice dropped. "And I know I couldn't."

My breath caught.

"I know what I want," she said softly. "I want my people to be free. I want the corruption at home purged. I want to see the starlakes bloom again. But not at your cost. Not by stepping on the bodies of those I care about."

There was no hesitation in her eyes now. Just painful clarity.

She stepped closer and placed a hand on my chest, where my draconic core thudded gently.

"You're more than just power, Zavier. You're more than the Tree's chosen. If the multiverse has any balance at all… you'll win this. So win it for all of us."

I exhaled slowly.

Neither of them would enter.

Not because they were afraid to fight… but because they weren't willing to lose what mattered more.

I looked at them both — the stoic shifter who'd barely held herself together these past days, and the girl with eyes like galaxies who had chosen me long before I ever noticed.

"Thank you," I said. "I'll carry your wishes with me."

Freya scoffed, brushing past with a weak punch to my arm. "Don't get cocky, hatchling. You're strong, but you're not immortal. Watch your back in there."

"I will."

Lyssira stepped back. "We'll be waiting."

And then I stepped forward.

The archway pulsed as I approached. Gold runes twisted and rearranged themselves midair. My name appeared across the entrance in silver-blue light.

ZAVIER VON DRAKARYN

I felt it in my blood — the Arena acknowledging me, recognizing my presence.

One of the Tree's chosen.

But even chosen could die.

As I passed through the threshold, a pulse of energy raced through me, and I emerged into a new sky.

The Arena was massive.Like a continent in the clouds — shifting platforms, jagged floating spires, ancient colosseum walls inscribed with forgotten languages. Giant hovering rings hovered overhead, each one a battlefield. There were no boundaries.

Just… chaos waiting to ignite.

Already, a few participants had entered. Far off, I spotted a giant made of molten crystal crouching on a far platform. Closer, a twin-bladed insectoid creature clicked its mandibles and leapt from one ring to another. Above, a serpentine being wreathed in blue fire spiraled through the air, trailing laughter like smoke.

All of them sizing up one another.

All of them watching for the strongest… or the weakest.

A storm was coming.

A few steps behind me, another portal shimmered and more participants spilled in. Some I recognized from earlier in the map. Others were new — silent powerhouses who had stayed hidden till now.

This was no longer survival.

This was war.

I stepped to the center platform. There, a pillar of light rose — and inside it, floating midair, was a stone slab glowing with runes.

A final message, written in every tongue:

"The One Who Remains May Claim the Tree's Gift."

But beneath that, smaller text shimmered into view:

A prospect's crown is not eternal. Those who rise may fall. And those who fall may rise again. Fight, or be forgotten.

My claws clenched unconsciously.I was still a hatchling by draconic standards. Still new. Still raw.

But I had come too far to run.

I raised my gaze toward the sky, where the Tree's branches shimmered above us like constellations.

Let it begin.