The scent of blood still hung thick and sharp in the air, like iron needles piercing every breath, when Sophia finally dropped to her knees beside Jake's battered body. The ground beneath them, once the proud and polished floor of the ancient coliseum, had long lost any trace of its former glory — it had become a grim, dry lakebed made of shattered viscera, pulverized bones, and broken columns, the jagged remains of a battle that had pushed both the stone and the flesh past their limits. The stench of it, a raw and unshakable metallic rot, clung to her lungs as stubbornly as the despair tightening around her chest. Raven had vanished, only for a brief moment, swallowed by the shadows at the fringes of the arena — but Sophia knew, deep in her bones, that she wasn't going to let Jake die there. Not now. Not today.
She cradled him in her arms with a tenderness that defied the brutality around them. His body was heavy, limp with the exhaustion of a life slowly slipping away, and his face, usually so animated and alive, was now a rigid mask of pain. His jaw remained clenched, locked in a grimace that looked like it had frozen there the moment agony had struck him. His eyes, wide open, stared blankly into the void, unfocused and unseeing, as if the world in front of him had already faded beyond his reach.
"Hold on, you idiot..." Sophia whispered, her voice barely more than a tremor caught between clenched teeth and the lump swelling painfully in her throat. Her fingers, trembling but determined, pressed against his chest as she began channeling the faint glimmer of starlight energy through her palms. Shimmering waves of light, soft yet pulsing with an untamed power, started to crawl up along her arms like streams of liquid silver weaving beneath her skin. But the warmth of the energy couldn't drown out the wildfire of rage burning behind her ribs. She held it back, forcing herself to stay steady, to focus on the fragile thread of life inside Jake. When his breathing finally softened, shifting from erratic gasps to something slightly more stable, she knew it was only temporary. Without wasting another heartbeat, she hoisted his weight onto her shoulder, her own breath hitching under the strain, and pushed herself forward, staggering away from the ruined coliseum.
Every step she took was a struggle — her boots leaving a trail of smeared crimson footprints on the once-polished stone path, the blood not her own but belonging to all those who had fallen before Jake. The night had long since claimed the sky, blanketing the academy grounds in darkness, and the moon — pale, thin, stretched like an old scar across the heavens — stood witness to her solitary march toward the central square.
When she reached it, she lowered Jake down as gently as her strained arms would allow, laying him at the heart of what used to be a fountain. The once majestic structure, which had served as a centerpiece of the academy, now stood dry and fractured — its cracked basin an echo of the shattered peace that had ruled this place before. Around her, the silent sentinels of the square stood broken: stained glass windows that once glowed with vibrant colors were now little more than sharp-edged ruins, and the decapitated statues of long-forgotten sages gazed blankly into the void, their wisdom lost along with their heads. Sophia dropped to her knees again, her focus narrowing into a single, unwavering purpose — she poured every ounce of her energy into sealing Jake's wounds. She refused to let him go. Not like this. Not now. Not here.
And that was when she felt it.
That suffocating, invisible force that crept into her lungs like smoke. That pressure, so dense and crushing, it coiled around her neck and sent cold shivers down her spine, setting every hair on her body on end. Slowly, with the dread sinking its claws deeper, she turned her head. And there he was. Raven.
Emerging from the veil of shadows with the same unnerving calm that had always wrapped around him like a second skin. He walked toward her at a measured, almost casual pace, his black cloak hanging from his shoulders in tatters, its fabric still scarred and frayed from the violence of their earlier battle. Though part of his mask had splintered, revealing slivers of pale, bruised skin beneath, the core of it still pulsed with that same haunting, molten-orange glow — the light streaming through the fractures like veins of living magma, casting eerie reflections across the ground.
"You have no idea how much I despise interruptions," Raven spoke, his voice the same cold, hollow melody she had heard too many times before — a voice that dressed itself in calm but couldn't hide the storm swirling beneath. "It didn't have to end like this, Sophia. None of this did."
Sophia pushed herself upright, panting, her chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths.
"Raven... tell me," she said, her voice breaking under the weight of both exhaustion and barely contained fury. "Where were you? The three days before the tournament — where the hell did you go? Where were you?"
Raven stopped walking. That single pause, as brief as it was, spoke more than any words ever could. His silence filled the air, thick and heavy, and the slightest shift in his breathing — that faint, almost imperceptible hesitation — gave her all the answer she needed.
Something inside Sophia snapped. A surge of anger, white-hot and blinding, boiled up from the pit of her stomach, flooding her chest with a raw and uncontrollable need for truth.
"Zephyr..." she hissed, the name slicing through the night like a blade. "That bastard. He has something to do with you, doesn't he? I knew it. Ever since you showed up, your energy — you've changed. You're not the same person."
Raven raised his hand, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Don't speak his name so lightly," he warned, his voice dipping lower, sharper. "You don't understand what you've done, saying it here."
But Sophia didn't give him the chance to finish. With a defiant cry ripped straight from the core of her being, she unleashed a concentrated sphere of starlight — the raw, condensed energy gleaming like a miniature sun — and hurled it directly at Raven's chest.
He slid to the side, his movements disturbingly fluid, almost effortless. His feet barely made a sound against the fractured stone as he shifted, and in the blink of an eye, he lunged forward — closing the gap between them with an inhuman grace that sent a fresh bolt of fear racing through her spine.
The clash was immediate, and brutal.
Fists wrapped in crackling light collided with enough force to fracture the air itself. Their kicks and strikes shattered stone columns when they missed their mark. Sophia fought with everything she had left, summoning every scrap of strength and skill, but each blow told her the same, awful truth — Raven's energy wasn't fading. It wasn't weakening. It was growing. With every passing second, every clash of fists, he became stronger.
"You chose this path," Sophia growled through gritted teeth, slamming her knee into his stomach and sending him hurtling backward, his body crashing into a stone bench that cracked under the impact.
Raven staggered back to his feet, wiping the thick, inky blood from the corner of his mouth.
"And you chose to resist the inevitable," he replied, each word a cold dagger.
But his voice wasn't what cut the deepest — it was his presence. The sheer weight of it pressed down on her, suffocating and merciless. Her vision blurred around the edges. A second later, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold stone. Around her, the CEES Prisms — those invisible, parasitic crystals — had activated, draining her energy with a relentless hunger.
"This... can't be happening..." she whispered.
Raven advanced, each step deliberate, each movement unstoppable. But Sophia wasn't done. With one last surge of desperate strength, she pushed herself off the ground, spinning mid-air and launching a sweeping, energy-charged kick that sent Raven flying back. She didn't stop there. In a flash, she closed the distance and unleashed a flurry of blows — each strike aimed with surgical precision, each one powerful enough to snap bone.
But as he landed, Raven's body did the impossible.
The wounds closed. His broken flesh reassembled, as if the darkness itself had rewoven his form from nothing. His eyes, now glowing brighter than before, fixed on her with that unholy, hellish light. He wasn't just a fighter. He wasn't just a man. He was something else entirely — a messenger of whatever waited beyond the veil of reality.
"All of this, Sophia," Raven said, his voice as steady as the grave. "All of this for him. For someone who will never understand the weight you carry inside."
"Shut up!" she roared.
And once again, they collided. A whirlwind of violence, a dance of destruction. Every clash sent shockwaves through the plaza. Every near-miss toppled statues. Windows burst apart under the pressure. But Sophia refused to stop. Even as the pain sank deeper, even as the fatigue wrapped around her like chains. Even as the void inside her grew, threatening to swallow her whole for every second she continued to push her limits.
The exhaustion hit her like the crushing weight of a world. She could no longer pretend she didn't feel it — the constant strain of channeling starlight energy, the relentless impacts, the grueling exchange with Raven — it had drained her. Her breathing came in ragged bursts. Her right arm trembled, refusing to obey. Her legs wobbled beneath her, each step heavier than the last. And Raven, of course, noticed. How could he not?