NOVEL NEXT Chapter 108: Arena
The light of the branded sigil faded, but its weight remained—an unseen seal burned into the marrow of reality itself.
Then the arena stirred, as though exhaling after centuries of holding its breath. The cracked ceiling of stars dimmed, folding in on itself until only the cold stone roof remained. The shadows that had once been an audience were gone, leaving only silence—not oppressive, but reverent.
And in that silence, power answered.
From where the sigil had sunk, three threads of light rose—silver, emerald, and black. They coiled like serpents of radiance before each of them, waiting, asking.
Fenric's hand trembled as he reached forward, the silver thread slipping into his chest. His flames roared, but they were no longer wild. They flowed with crystalline clarity, silence woven into every flicker. He felt as though the very concept of stillness had chosen him as its vessel.
Aria closed her eyes as the emerald thread touched her heart. Her fire blossomed outward, no longer bound by form. Wings of green light spread again, but now each feather shimmered with constellations. She could feel every ember like a star, eternal and guiding.
Laxin chuckled weakly as the black thread wrapped around his chains. Each link pulsed with a new gravity, ancient runes etching themselves into the steel. They weren't just weapons anymore—they were echoes of eternity itself, bound to his will.
When the last threads sank into them, the floor stilled. The runes dulled. The crown of light was gone.
But their souls burned brighter than ever.
Fenric opened his eyes, silver irises gleaming with quiet fire. "It chose us."
Aria's voice was soft, but steady. "No… it joined us."
Laxin grinned through his bloodied teeth, chains rattling like laughter. "Heh. About damn time something old recognized what we are."
The arena doors groaned open again, revealing a corridor beyond—lit not by flame or rune, but by a faint trail of stars drifting along the path.
Fenric took a slow step forward, his flames coiling around him like a mantle. "The trial has ended."
Aria's green eyes met his, calm and unyielding. "No. It's only changed."
Laxin spat blood to the side, then slung his chains across his shoulders, grin sharp as ever. "Good. Would've been boring if this was the peak."
The three of them crossed the threshold together.
Behind them, the arena grew silent once more, sealing away its crown and its shadows. But the air still thrummed faintly, as if whispering a promise.
They had not merely survived.
They had not merely won.
They had been forged.
And the world beyond the door waited, unaware that three mortals now carried the echo of eternity in their bones.
The corridor was not stone, nor metal, nor any substance their hands or eyes could name. It was as if they walked within the seam of reality itself. Stars drifted in slow arcs along invisible currents, illuminating the passage with a light that was neither warm nor cold. Each step they took set ripples through the cosmos around them, as though their presence was stitching something long-unraveled back together.
The air carried no scent, no weight, but every breath filled their chests with power. It was intoxicating—yet heavy with expectation.
Fenric's flames quieted to a faint silver shimmer, dancing along his shoulders like watchful sentinels. His hand unconsciously brushed against his chest, where the sigil had branded itself deep within his core. Stillness… clarity… it hummed in him, as though his very heartbeat had learned a new rhythm.
Aria walked beside him, her green fire folded into the shape of wings at her back, soft and radiant as a constellation caught in motion. Yet her gaze wasn't on the stars—they were locked forward, as if she saw something beyond the horizon. For the first time, her usual sharpness was tempered with a serenity that looked almost divine.
Laxin, of course, broke the silence with a chuckle, chains jingling lazily across his shoulders. The runes along them glowed faintly with every step, as if echoing the rhythm of the universe itself. "Well," he said, voice rough but dripping with amusement, "I've had hangovers less weird than this place."
Aria shot him a sidelong glance, half exasperation, half relief that he still was Laxin. "Only you could compare the aftermath of eternity to cheap wine."
"Hey," he smirked, "cheap wine gets you through some expensive problems."
Fenric allowed himself a faint smile, though his eyes stayed ahead. The trail of drifting stars was leading them somewhere—it wasn't random, wasn't endless. The pull of it thrummed in his bones, in the new fire that had claimed him. "It's guiding us," he murmured.
Aria nodded, softly. "To what, though? Another trial?"
Laxin shrugged, his grin widening. "Or maybe a reward."
As if answering, the corridor opened.
The star-lit seam unraveled into a vast chamber—circular, cathedral-like, but with no walls or ceiling. Instead, an ocean of constellations spread in every direction, infinity bending into a dome. At its center floated a dais of black stone, etched with the same runes they had seen in the arena.
And upon that dais, a throne waited.
It was empty—yet not. Its outline shimmered between presence and absence, as though something immense should have been sitting there but had long departed.
Fenric's chest tightened. The silver fire within him pulsed harder, as if bowing to something unseen.
Aria stopped, her wings folding close as her voice dropped to a whisper. "This… is no reward."
Laxin tilted his head, chains rattling with anticipation. "No. This is an invitation."
The throne pulsed once, sending a tremor through the chamber. Stars rippled outward like waves on water. And then, a voice—not spoken, not heard, but felt in every corner of their beings:
"Those who are forged must decide—bearers, wielders, or rulers."
The air itself shuddered with the weight of the choice.
Fenric's flames coiled tight, silver blazing in his eyes.
Aria's wings trembled, her breath catching.
Laxin only grinned wider, his black runes sparking like thunder waiting for release.
The throne was waiting for an answer.
For a moment, none of them moved. The silence of the chamber pressed on them—not empty, but laden with possibility, like the breath held before creation.
Fenric's gaze lingered on the throne. Bearer. Wielder. Ruler. Each word rippled through him, their meanings unraveling like rivers into his soul.
A Bearer—to carry eternity's weight without bending it, the vessel of what was left behind.
A Wielder—to grasp eternity as a blade, to direct its flow, to command it.
A Ruler—to become eternity's seat, no longer separate from the stars but enthroned among them.
The silver flames at his core flickered uncertainly. He had been overlooked his entire life, unwanted in his own court. To rule was tempting—yet his silence whispered against it. Stillness did not dominate. Stillness endured, it bore, it carried.
Aria's wings trembled, their emerald feathers scattering soft sparks across the void. Her heart pulled in another direction. The Wielder's path called to her, resonant with her vow. To direct her fire, to carve destiny's shape, to be the sword and shield for others—that was what she had always been. To wield meant to choose, and to choose meant to protect.
Laxin laughed, the sound echoing far too loud in the star-drenched chamber. He tilted his head back, grinning as though he were drunk on the weight of it all. "Ruler, wielder, bearer… tch. You two hear that?" His chains rattled, pulsing with the black starlight now coiled into them. "It's asking if we'll wear the crown, swing the blade, or drag the burden. I say—why not all of the above?"
Fenric turned to him, frowning slightly. "It's not that simple."
But Aria's eyes widened, catching the flicker of truth in Laxin's madness. "Wait…"
The throne pulsed again, brighter, harsher. The choice demanded resolution. The stars above rumbled like distant thunder.
And then Fenric spoke, his voice carrying not defiance, but clarity. "No. We won't divide. Not after what we became in the arena. Flame, chain, silence… none of it stands alone."
Aria stepped forward, her voice threading with his. "We are not bearers, wielders, or rulers. We are all of them—together."
Laxin barked a laugh, spreading his arms wide as his chains cracked with starlight. "Now that's an answer."
The throne blazed. The empty outline flared with such force the chamber itself seemed to shudder. But it did not reject them.
Instead, it fractured. The stone dais split into three arcs, orbiting one another like planets around a hidden sun. The throne's shimmer divided, weaving itself into three thrones of light—each reflecting flame, chain, and silence.
The voice returned, deeper now, almost reverent:
"Then be forged as one crown with three points. Bearers, wielders, rulers—no longer apart. The Trinity of Eternity."
The chamber shook. The stars above shifted, constellations rearranging themselves to form a sigil none of them had ever seen. The three thrones flared once more—then collapsed into streams of radiance that poured into their souls.
Fenric staggered as the silver fire around him crystallized, becoming sharper, clearer, unshakable.
Aria's wings burst wider, her fire no longer a weapon alone but a commandment.
Laxin's chains grew heavy and vast, each one now bearing the weight of starlit law itself.
The throne was gone. The chamber dimmed.
But the cosmos had acknowledged them.
Fenric's voice broke the silence, soft but steady. "We didn't take the throne."
Aria smiled faintly, though her eyes glowed like galaxies. "No. We became something greater."
Laxin spat a fleck of blood onto the void, grinning sharp as ever. "Guess that means the universe just crowned us its problem."
The stars trembled once more—then fell still. The path ahead reopened, marked by a river of starlight.
They had not chosen a role.
They had become all three.
And the world waiting beyond would never be the same.