The applause had thinned into scattered conversations by the time Aria led me away from the dueling floor.

  The circular tables arranged around the arena were not placed randomly. The closer to the front, the more influence the seats implied.

  Aria did not hesitate.

  She walked directly toward one of the nearest tables.

  Four seats. Three occupied.

  They had not moved during the match.

  They had watched.

  Kyle noticed us first. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, ankle resting on his opposite knee in a posture that would have earned reprimand anywhere else. Golden-blonde hair fell carelessly across his forehead, catching the lantern light. His expression carried the easy amusement of someone who enjoyed competition — especially when it wasn’t his own.

  Beside him sat Raine.

  Unlike Kyle, her posture was impeccable. Straight-backed. Controlled. White hair, smooth and unbound, cascaded over her shoulders like freshly fallen snow. Under the warm glow of the hall, it almost shimmered silver. Her hands rested lightly on the table, fingers loosely intertwined — composed, but not relaxed.

  She was the kind of person who watched everything.

  And remembered.

  At the center of the table sat Princess Iris.

  Even seated, the subtle shift in presence was unmistakable.

  Her red hair was not the wild shade of flame — it was deeper. Refined. Like polished ruby under sunlight. It framed her features neatly, elegant without effort. There was no visible tension in her posture, yet the air around her felt… ordered. Balanced.

  Authority without display.

  Aria stopped beside the table.

  “This is Lucian Aurelian,” she said, her voice carrying easily across the table.

  Aria gestured toward the white-haired girl first.

  “Raine Aquilon.”

  Raine inclined her head — precise, controlled. “Your adjustments during the final exchange were efficient,” she said calmly. No praise. No dismissal. Just fact.

  Aria gestured next to the blonde.

  “Kyle Voltrian.”

  Kyle gave an exaggerated half-bow from his seat. “The man who just bonked Aria on the head. I approve.”

  “I was careless,” Aria replied flatly.

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  “Of course you were,” Kyle said lightly.

  Finally, Aria turned slightly toward the red-haired figure at the center. Her tone shifted — not submissive, but respectful.

  “Her Highness, Princess Iris Solaris.”

  I inclined my head more deeply this time. “Your Highness.”

  Princess Iris offered a gentle smile — measured, not overly warm. “Your composure under pressure was admirable, Lord Aurelian.”

  Her fingers lifted slightly from the table. A subtle gesture.

  A uniformed attendant stepped forward at once, as if he had been waiting for the signal. He carried a chair from a nearby table and placed it with quiet precision.

  Beside Aria.

  Kyle and Raine occupied the right side of the table.

  Aria and I now sat to the left.

  Princess Iris remained at the center.

  It was not accidental.

  The arrangement was balanced.

  Deliberate.

  The attendant stepped back into the shadows.

  For a brief moment, the five of them sat in balanced silence.

  Iris waited until I had taken my seat.

  Then she spoke.

  “Welcome,” she said gently, though the calm in her voice carried quiet authority, “to our faction.”

  The chair settled into place.

  For a moment, the conversation returned to the arena below, where the next pair were stepping forward.

  Then Kyle spoke.

  “So,” he said lightly, “let’s talk about that final exchange.”

  Aria shot him a look. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “There absolutely is,” he replied. “You had the range advantage. Then suddenly you didn’t.”

  Kyle rested his chin against his hand, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Your main attribute is dark,” he said. “Yet you barely used it.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Only at the very end.”

  Raine nodded once. “You relied on earth to stabilize. Steel for close pressure. You only invoked dark when the match was already decided.”

  Aria’s eyes shifted to me now, no longer irritated — but curious.

  “Why?” she asked simply.

  Kyle leaned forward slightly. “Your main attribute is dark, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “Then why branch out?”

  Raine added calmly, “Most focus entirely on their primary affinity. Mastering one completely is more efficient than spreading effort thin.”

  Princess Iris watched without interrupting.

  I considered my answer briefly.

  “That depends on what you define as mastery,” I said.

  Kyle smirked. “Enlighten us.”

  “A single blade forged to perfection is formidable,” I said calmly. “But a foundation built on only one pillar collapses when that pillar is countered.”

  Raine’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Dark excels in suppression. But it lacks flexibility in open exchanges. Earth stabilizes. Water redirects. Wind creates distance. Each compensates for the other.”

  I met their gazes evenly.

  “I am not trying to master everything.”

  A small pause.

  “I am eliminating weaknesses.”

  The table fell silent for a moment.

  Kyle leaned back again, but this time his amusement had faded.

  Raine’s fingers tightened slightly against the table’s surface.

  Princess Iris’ expression softened—almost thoughtful.

  “A dangerous way of thinking,” she said quietly.

  “Only if one lacks discipline,” I replied.

  The conversation gradually shifted back to the arena below. Another pair had begun their exchange, steel clashing dully under the afternoon light.

  But their earlier assumption lingered in my thoughts.

  That I was neglecting dark.

  That I was dividing my focus in pursuit of shallow versatility.

  It was an understandable conclusion.

  From the outside, I had barely used it.

  A trace at the end. Nothing more.

  They had seen earth steady my footing. Wind redirect force.

  Dark, however, had seemed absent.

  In truth, I had not stopped using it for even a moment.

  Since deciding to form the singularity, the dark attribute within my soul had remained in constant motion.

  Compressing mana.

  Layer upon layer.

  Each rotation layered density upon density, increasing its weight without increasing its volume.

  Adding weight to it with deliberate precision.

  It was not explosive.

  It was not visible.

  But it was always there.

  The process demanded consistency.

  Even minor external fluctuations — a sudden release, an unstable surge — could disturb the equilibrium I was constructing.

  So I refrained from casting it openly unless necessary.

  Dark was not being withheld.

  It was being forged.

  Silently.

  Heavily.

  It was forging the future.