Mirai woke to a wall of sound.

  It wasn’t just ordinary noise. It was a rising tide of human voices slipping through the shuttered window to fill the room with a frantic energy she had never known. Screams mixed with laughter, the overlapping cries of merchants, and a rhythmic thrumming like distant war drums that echoed the heartbeat of the city itself. She opened her eyes slowly. Golden, warm light bled in from the edges of the curtains.

  She sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped her face. Her body still felt heavy with sleep, but her mind was already sharpening against the clamor outside. She left the room to find Hikari sitting at a table near the window.

  He turned at her approach and offered a smile. "Morning. You ready?"

  Mirai nodded. "Yeah."

  The moment they stepped out of the inn, the current swallowed them whole. It wasn't merely a crowd. It was a unified movement, a living stream with a will of its own. Every soul on the street surged in the same direction, flowing like a river toward a single estuary. Mirai found herself carried along without even trying. Hikari stayed close, his shoulder brushing hers whenever the street narrowed to ensure the throng didn't tear them apart.

  Commerce, shouting, and laughter erupted from every corner. Hikari leaned in to make himself heard over the din. "The whole city lives for this tournament."

  After a while, the crushing flow of bodies deposited them at the Colosseum.

  It was a gray stone monolith that spiraled upward until it seemed to scrape the heavens. The outer walls featured endless repeating arches, dozens or perhaps hundreds of them, each overlooking the dark interior. Massive banners hung from the summit and snapped in the wind, bearing crests and colors Mirai didn’t recognize.

  "Let's go." Mirai’s voice held a note of excitement as she started toward the entrance.

  The main gate was organized chaos. Long lines snaked before multiple iron gates. Some were for spectators, others for combatants. Guards in leather armor herded the masses, shouting instructions that were frequently drowned out by the roar. "Participants this way! Spectators over there! Don't block the lanes!"

  Mirai turned to Hikari. "Alright, we split up here. Go grab a seat. I'll meet you after the first round."

  He nodded and gestured toward the interior. "I'll wait for you inside when you're done."

  Before he could turn away, Mirai stopped him. "Wait. Hikari, hold on. There's something important."

  He tilted his head. "What is it?"

  "Drop the defensive ward you put on me," Mirai said. "It feels like cheating if I fight while you're protecting me from the stands."

  Hikari scratched his head. "Hadn't looked at it from that angle. Though I honestly don't think you'd need the barrier anyway."

  He dispelled the ward, gave a quick wave, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Mirai took her place in line.

  It was as long as she had feared. Most fighters must have registered in the days prior. Ahead of her stood dozens of people of every age and build. Some wore swords at their belts while others carried heavy axes. One man had a long metal chain wrapped around his arm. She waited as the line crawled forward. A man in front of her boasted loudly to his friend about a "guaranteed" strategy, his hands chopping the air to mime imaginary strikes. She tuned him out.

  "Next."

  It was her turn. Behind the table sat a thin man with thick spectacles, hunched over a massive ledger and clutching an ink pen. He didn’t bother to look up.

  "Name and number?"

  "Mirai. Number 47."

  "You're in match 24. Go to the holding area. The bracket for the first round goes up in an hour."

  He shoved a slip of paper toward her.

  Mirai took it and headed inside.

  She entered a cavernous hall packed with warriors. Finding a secluded corner, she sat alone, closed her eyes, and began to focus her spiritual energy.

  Meanwhile, Hikari navigated the stands in search of a decent vantage point. The stadium was already packed. Rows of spectators flooded the seats, waving small flags and nursing cups of drink while shouting rumors back and forth. The air here hung heavy, saturated with the smell of sweat and dust.

  He found a seat in the third row from the bottom. It was close enough to see the action clearly but far removed from the front rows reserved for nobility. He sat and wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve, gazing out at the vast circular arena. Light yellow sand covered the ground, shimmering under the sunlight reflecting off the high walls. In the center, a slender stone pillar rose like a finger pointing at the sky.

  A few minutes later, a sharp whistle shook the arena. The announcer emerged from a side gate. He was a burly man in a flame-red robe, carrying a large scroll. He took his place before the stone pillar and signaled his assistants, who began hoisting a giant wooden board facing the stands. It was blank at first, but large inked symbols soon filled the surface, bold enough to be read from anywhere in the Colosseum. It was the match list for the first round. Pairs of names, numbered one through twenty.

  Hikari scanned the board with sharp eyes. His gaze darted through the names until it locked on match 24. *Mirai (No. 47) vs. Raiden (No. 312).*

  The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, amplified by a metallic resonance echoing from the gates. "Ladies and gentlemen! The first round begins now!"

  The crowd erupted. The matches began, one after another. Blows were exchanged. Blood spilled. Some won with ease while others fell in seconds. The first bout ended quickly. The second was more violent. The third whipped the audience into a frenzy. The sun climbed higher, baking the sand until it seemed to burn underfoot.

  Then, for the fourth match, the announcer’s voice shifted. It became louder, swelling with pride. "And now, honored guests! The fighter you've all been waiting for! Our champion. The pride of our city. The undefeated warrior, Haru!"

  The stands shook. It wasn't normal cheering. It was a thunderclap of screaming and applause that filled the bowl of the Colosseum. Huge banners went up everywhere. Some bore his name in gold letters while others displayed drawings of his famous spear. Even the nobles in the front rows leaned forward, watching the gate with anticipation.

  Haru stepped out from a side entrance with a confident stride, his spear resting on his shoulder. He was a young man in his mid-twenties of average height and build. He wasn't massive like the heavy warriors, nor slight like the speed fighters. Yet the way he moved, the confidence in his eyes, the calm rhythm of his steps, all screamed that he was no ordinary combatant. He raised a hand to the crowd, a bright, eager smile on his face, and the cheering grew violent in its intensity.

  From the opposite gate, his opponent emerged. A massive man wielding a broadsword, his shoulders wide and his leather armor mapped with old scars. He planted himself, staring at Haru with cold eyes, unimpressed by the noise.

  The announcer bellowed. "The match... starts now!"

  The giant didn't wait. He surged toward Haru with shocking speed for his size, raising the broadsword overhead and bringing it down with enough force to shatter armor. But Haru was already gone. He sidestepped lightly, the spear in his hand spinning like a dancer's baton to deflect the blow with the shaft before pushing it aside without losing his balance.

  The big man stumbled back a step then attacked again with a fast horizontal slash. Haru hopped backward, his feet barely kissing the sand, then lunged forward with a rapid thrust toward the opponent's shoulder. The giant raised his shield to block, but Haru had already pivoted. His spear bit from the side and grazed the man's arm.

  A little blood flowed, but the man didn't flinch. He attacked again, this time with a sequence of fast, savage strikes. Haru weaved through them like the wind. He read every blow before it arrived, parrying, spinning, and stabbing. Every time, the spear found its mark. A scratch on the thigh. A hit to the shoulder. A shallow cut on the flank.

  In the second minute, the giant overcommitted. His sword cleaved empty air, throwing him off balance for a split second. Haru seized the opening. He spun around the man and drove the butt of his spear into the back of the knee. The giant buckled. A final thrust to the shoulder followed, not deep but precise, forcing the man to drop his sword and raise his hands in surrender.

  "The winner is... Haru! As expected!" the announcer cried.

  The crowd exploded. Banners waved. People threw coins into the air. Haru raised his spear high, waved to the fans once more, then turned and walked toward the gate with that same smile plastered on his face.

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  The matches continued. Some were short, some long, but nothing approached the fervor of Haru’s bout. The sun climbed higher. The sand burned. The crowd waited.

  As match 24 approached, the side gates rumbled open again. The announcer’s voice commanded the arena. "Match twenty-four! Mirai, Number 47, versus Raiden, Number 312! Spectators, get ready!"

  Mirai walked out with steady steps, her sword hanging at her side. She felt the hot sand beneath her boots and smelled the lingering scent of previous battles in the air. She looked up at the stands, taking in the excited faces and the noise. She stopped near the stone pillar in the center and waited for her opponent, her eyes scanning the crowd for Hikari. She found him waving with a smile.

  Then, from the opposite side, a man began to walk slowly. He was old, slightly hunched, and moved with a measured gait. His eyes were closed. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, and his white hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a faded gray robe and carried a long Nodachi, its blade encased in a black leather sheath.

  Mirai watched him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. In the stands, Hikari’s eyes went wide the moment he saw Raiden and the Nodachi. He stood up in shock.

  Raiden stopped twenty paces away. He stood calm and still, his eyes remaining closed.

  "Heroes!" the announcer shouted. "Mirai versus Raiden! The match... starts now!"

  Mirai gripped her sword. Her fingers tightened around the hilt until she could feel the texture of the leather. Her spiritual energy was primed and pulsing in her fingertips. She breathed deep, trying to focus on the sand in front of her. The sun pressed down on her shoulders while the relative silence of the arena made her heartbeat echo in her ears. She expected the first move, perhaps a quick spin or a probing thrust, but she was not prepared for the void that followed.

  Before she could lift her foot, before her body could move even an inch, the air parted in front of her. The Nodachi was simply *there*. It rested against her throat with a feather-light touch. A shallow cut, a thin red line, began to weep slow drops of blood that fell to the sand and vanished without a sound.

  Only three seconds had passed since the announcement. It was as if time itself had stuttered. Mirai couldn't move. Her hand was frozen on her sword. Her eyes widened in a shock that blurred the world, making the sand seem to shift beneath her feet. She felt the warm blood trickling down. It wasn't pain. It was emptiness. The sensation that everything she had built in her mind had collapsed in a single blink.

  A sudden silence fell over the stands. It was as if everyone was holding their breath. Then the noise exploded in a wave of confused shouting. "What happened?" "That's impossible!" Some leaped from their seats pointing at the arena in disbelief while others exchanged bewildered glances, trying to comprehend what they had just seen.

  Raiden opened his eyes slowly, as if listening to something invisible. They were entirely white, devoid of pupils or color. He was blind. He tilted his head slightly toward her, gauging her pulse by sound alone. His voice was calm, cutting through the noise without effort. "What are you? A female soul... wrapped around a shard of a male spirit. Twisted together. As if one was stolen from the other."

  Mirai didn't hear the words. Her mind was drowning. The shock made the sounds echo from a great distance, as if she were underwater. The blood continued to bleed slowly, drop following drop. Her hand still gripped her sword, but she hadn't raised it. She couldn't even breathe normally. She felt that this old man wasn't just an opponent. He was something larger, something she couldn't comprehend.

  The announcer’s voice boomed, trying to regain control of the chaos. "The winner... Raiden! In just three seconds!"

  Raiden waited a moment longer, head still tilted, as if expecting an answer that might not come. When he heard nothing but her silence, he shook his head slowly. He withdrew his sword with a gentle motion, sheathing the blade without a sound. He turned calmly and walked toward the side gate, his steady steps swallowing him gradually until it seemed the arena was nothing more than a passing station in his day.

  Mirai remained standing in the center of the arena. Blood dripped onto the sand, creating small spots that vanished quickly under the sun. The crowd continued to whisper in confusion. Some clapped hesitantly. Others shook their heads. In the stands, Hikari leaped from his seat, pushed through the people, and ran toward the stairs, his heart pounding as he tried to reach her before the feeling of failure swallowed her whole.

  Mirai moved slowly. Her steps were heavy, as if the sand were clinging to her feet. She entered the narrow tunnel leading to the waiting rooms where rough stone walls absorbed the dim sunlight. The air here was cooler, saturated with the smell of earth and stale sweat. Her right hand remained pressed against the shallow cut on her throat. The warm blood seeping between her fingers wasn't deep, but it burned like a sharp reminder. She was frustrated, shocked, her mind spinning in loops. *How did I let him get that close?*

  She stopped suddenly in the middle of the tunnel and stared at the ground, at the sand sticking to the edge of her boot. She whispered to herself, voice trembling. "When... how... I didn't see him. I didn't sense him. He was like..."

  She didn't finish the sentence. Darkness was creeping in. Not the darkness from outside, but the kind that comes from within.

  She heard footsteps approaching from behind, fast but cautious. It was Hikari. He had sprinted from the stands through the crowded corridors, his face masked with worry. He reached her and stopped two paces away, then reached out gently toward her neck. Faint green spiritual energy flowed from his fingers. The wound began to close, the bleeding stopped, and the red line slowly faded.

  He examined her carefully. His eyes roamed her pale face and her slightly trembling hands. He scratched his head awkwardly, searching for the right words. "Don't beat yourself up. When I saw him, I knew winning was impossible. That wasn't a normal man."

  Mirai lifted her head slowly and looked at him, but said nothing. Her eyes were empty, looking at him from somewhere far away.

  Hikari hesitated a moment, then continued, his voice trying to be reassuring. "Um... that man, Raiden. He's known as the Nodachi Swordmaster. He's ranked as the third strongest swordsman alive. So... even my father at full power would have a hard time beating him."

  The words were meant to calm her. They did the opposite.

  For Mirai, it was a stab in the chest. Sharp. Sudden. Her eyes widened in shock, and her heart rate spiked. Everything around her vanished.

  Pitch black.

  She saw only memories of the past, memories buried years ago.

  She was standing in the back tunnel of an arena, waiting for her brother, Lars. He walked out with heavy steps, head bowed, crushed after his defeat in the academy fighting tournament.

  She heard her own voice. Calm. Almost indifferent. "Did you actually expect to win?"

  Lars stopped. He didn't speak. Silence reigned for a moment.

  Mirai continued. "Be realistic, Lars. Even I, at full power, would have a hard time winning that. I thought you were smarter than this."

  He didn't reply. He stood there, head low, hands limp at his sides.

  Then he looked up at her. His eyes were shattered, drowning in sorrow. He spoke in a quiet, broken voice. "I wasn't trying to win. I wanted to prove something."

  She waited.

  He continued, every word a struggle. "Mirai... you'll never understand what it means to try and try... and nothing changes. That is my suffering. A pain you will never know."

  He turned and walked away. She watched him disappear into the dark tunnel. She didn't follow him. She didn't call out. She didn't understand what he meant, and she hadn't tried to understand.

  ***

  "Mirai?"

  Hikari’s voice brought her back. She found herself standing in the same spot, hands shaking, breath coming fast and shallow. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

  "Mirai, are you okay? You're so pale—" He reached toward her, anxiety filling his eyes.

  Mirai took a step back. "I'm sorry."

  Her voice was different. Hikari noticed it immediately and froze. He had never heard her speak with that tone before. Weak. Fragile. As if she were on the verge of breaking.

  She continued, her voice barely a whisper. "Hikari. I... I need to be alone."

  He looked at her. He saw something in her eyes that made him stop. Something that told him pressure would break her right now.

  Mirai turned and walked away. Hikari watched her until she vanished down the corridor. He decided to let her go, at least for now. He turned slowly and went back to the stands, pushing through crowds that were still whispering about the match that had ended minutes ago. He sat in his seat. The sand in the arena shifted under the feet of new fighters, but he didn't really see them. His mind was with her.

  The tournament continued. Matches flowed one after another. Halfway through, an hour or so later, Haru continued his advance. Match after match, he won with the same style. Intelligence and speed. He read his opponents as if he had known them for years. Every time he walked out, the crowd cheered. Every time he won, they threw more coins and banners.

  Raiden, however, continued to win with terrifying speed, just as he had against Mirai. In the next match, he faced a fighter with a heavy shield. Seconds passed before the blade found the opponent's shoulder, a shallow cut forcing a retreat. The match after was even faster. Against a woman throwing daggers from a distance, Raiden barely moved. His eyes remained closed, yet the sword appeared suddenly to deflect the final dagger and send it flying back toward her with the speed of lightning. The crowd began to whisper louder, wondering about this old man who seemed like a ghost.

  The final round arrived with the setting sun. The sky turned a faint orange that reflected off the stone walls. "The Final! Raiden versus Haru!" the announcer shouted. The crowd leaped from their seats, cheers filling the Colosseum like thunder. Haru came out first, spear ready, eyes fixed on the opposite gate. Then Raiden appeared with his usual quiet steps, the Nodachi hanging at his side, eyes closed.

  The fight began at the announcer's signal. Haru didn't wait. He lunged with a direct spear thrust to the chest, fast and precise. Yet Raiden didn't move with the insane speed Hikari had seen earlier. Instead, he raised his sword with relative slowness, parrying the thrust with a standard side block. Metal clashed against metal with a small spark. Haru stepped back, then attacked again, circling Raiden before stabbing from the side. Raiden blocked that too, but his movement was sluggish, as if he were testing the opponent rather than ending it.

  The fight continued like that. Haru circled and attacked. Raiden parried and replied with calm strikes, never advancing, never using that visual blur that had stunned everyone. In the third minute, Raiden missed a parry. The spear grazed his arm, drawing a slow trickle of blood. Haru seized the chance. A strong blow to the leg made Raiden kneel for a moment, followed by a final thrust to the shoulder. Raiden raised his hands in surrender, eyes still closed.

  The announcer bellowed. "The winner... Haru! Champion of the day!"

  The crowd exploded. Banners fluttered. But Hikari stared at the arena in confusion. Raiden’s movements had been wrong. The mistakes were obvious.

  After the finale, Hikari left with the flowing crowd. The sun set behind the walls, casting long shadows across the streets. He walked back to the inn with slow steps, thinking about the fight. Raiden's initial speed, then that strange lethargy in the final. The city around him was still celebrating. Singing and laughter filled the air, but he felt detached. His mind was on Mirai, wondering if she was alright.

  ***

  Sunlight gave way to night. The room in the inn was quiet as a grave. Mirai lay on the bed, motionless since her return. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't drunk. She barely breathed. She lay on her side, knees pulled to her chest, eyes staring at the wall without seeing it.

  The room was dark. She hadn't lit the lamp. The only light was a faint strip slipping under the door to draw a thin line on the floorboards.

  *That is my suffering. A pain you will never know*

  Lars's voice echoed in her head. Over and over. Nonstop. She remembered his face in that moment. The look she hadn't understood.

  Mirai closed her eyes. A single tear escaped, sliding slowly down her cheek to vanish into the pillow. She kept her eyes shut and sank into sleep, the darkness finally embracing her.

  Mirai’s Shatter Index: 50%

  Just a heads up—I have final exams ahead, so updates will be paused until January 3rd. I'll be back with a new chapter then.

  Thanks for your understanding, and see you soon!