The grand arena of Batangara was alight with excitement. Streamers danced in the wind, nobles stood in applause, and commoners roared from the stands. The tournament had ended—its final victor cloaked not in royal blood or guild prestige, but in mystery. The name was now spoken aloud: Ari Solen.
His face no longer hidden, the Compiler of Threads stood at the center of the grand stage, the fractured sunlight reflecting off the hundreds of weaving Threads orbiting him in subtle, controlled motion. He had fought, adapted, and earned his place at the pinnacle—not through brute force, but through intellect and mastery that left even prodigies speechless.
Gem approached him during the awarding ceremony, a glimmer of curiosity still shining in her eyes. Her diamond gem pulsed faintly with the imprint he had left behind. She held it up between them, the thin blue Threads still connected to her palm. "That spell… what did you leave in here?"
Ari gave her a soft, tired smile. "A memory. A calculation I never want forgotten. Use it when you need to shift fate."
Before she could question further, Theian descended from the stands. Draped in ceremonial silk and scaled accessories from her dragons, she stepped lightly on the platform, eyes calm and resolute. She walked up to Ari and spoke clearly for all to hear:
"I wish to challenge the victor to a royal exhibition duel."
The arena hushed. Kaien turned sharply, and even Gem blinked in surprise. But before Ari could answer—
Theian's two ancient dragons, Ry and Unna, emerged from their spiritual veil behind her. The pressure of their ancient lineage suffocated the air. Heads raised. Their golden and azure eyes locked on Ari.
Then—they bowed.
Not to the nobles. Not to their princess.
But to Ari Solen.
Gasps swept through the arena like wildfire.
Theian froze. Her connection to Ry and Unna allowed her to feel it—the truth. Not submission, but reverence. The magic within Ari was ancient, older than even the dragons' bloodlines. A deeper thread woven not by mortals, but by something closer to the Firstweavers.
One of the dragons, Ry, let out a low, sonorous growl that resonated with Ari's Threads.
Theian's voice softened, "What… are you?"
Ari looked up at the dragons, then back at her, the light in his eyes unreadable. "Just a Threadbearer. Like you."
But in that moment, everyone understood—Ari Solen was something far more.
The nobles stood stunned. The warriors watched in awe.
And Theian, still standing with poise, simply nodded in respect. Her challenge withdrawn—not out of fear, but reverence.
"Then let's walk together, not duel."
Ari extended a hand. She took it.
The victor had claimed more than a title—he had earned the bow of dragons.