Solis

  The moment Phoenix falls, time stops.

  The platform shatters beneath her feet, stone breaking away into the abyss. For the smallest instant her figure is framed against the burning sky of the Citadel.

  Then she disappears.

  Swallowed by darkness.

  The sound of falling stone echoes endlessly into the chasm below.

  I do not move.

  My hand tightens slowly around the hilt of my sword.

  No.

  That was not supposed to happen.

  She should have—

  My jaw clenches.

  Across the remaining platform, Azrith still stands at the edge where she vanished. He looks down into the abyss as if the world itself has been carved open in front of him.

  For a moment neither of us moves.

  The broken chain between them lies on the stone.

  Phoenix cut it herself.

  She chose this.

  She chose him.

  My chest feels strangely tight.

  Why?

  Why would she—

  My gaze shifts back to Azrith.

  He is still staring into the darkness, waiting as if he expects her to climb back out of the abyss.

  My voice leaves me before I fully think the words.

  “Why?”

  Azrith turns slowly. His eyes burn.

  “Why what?”

  My grip tightens on the sword.

  “Why did she fall?”

  The words come out quieter than I intended.

  Azrith’s jaw hardens.

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  “She cut the chain.”

  “I saw that.”

  Silence hangs between us. The abyss roars below.

  My eyes search his face.

  “She chose you.”

  Azrith looks away.

  “She chose the trial.”

  “No.”

  The word leaves my mouth sharper than expected.

  He looks back at me.

  “She chose you.”

  Before he can respond, the arena trembles.

  The black crystal pillar between us begins to glow. Ancient magic floods the arena as the shattered platforms shift and reform into a single circular ground.

  Above the Citadel, the sky splits open.

  Darkness gathers like a storm.

  The Devil descends.

  His voice echoes across the abyss.

  “The Trial of Bonds has ended.”

  The pillar erupts with light. Something begins to rise from its center.

  A weapon.

  Black metal streaked with molten gold. Ancient. Primordial.

  Even from here its power presses against the air like gravity.

  Azrith’s eyes shift toward it.

  Mine remain on him.

  “The final trial begins,” the Devil declares.

  The weapon lifts into the air between us.

  “The Weapon’s Judgment.”

  Silence spreads across the arena.

  Then the rule comes.

  “Only one may claim it.”

  Azrith moves first.

  Fire explodes beneath his feet as he charges forward, his blade swinging toward me in a wide arc.

  I step aside.

  Our swords collide with a sharp crack.

  Azrith presses forward immediately. Strike after strike rains down, wild and heavy, driven by fury.

  I block each one.

  Steel clashes again and again.

  “Fight me,” he snaps.

  “I am,” I reply, parrying another blow.

  “That’s not fighting.”

  Our blades crash again.

  “Did you see her fall?” he demands.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re still calm?”

  I deflect his strike.

  “You’re still alive.”

  His sword comes faster now, fire erupting along its edge.

  “Don’t talk like you understand!”

  Another clash.

  “Why did she fall for me?”

  I do not answer.

  Our blades lock together. Azrith pushes harder.

  “Why not you?”

  My sword slips slightly.

  Just slightly.

  He presses forward.

  “She could have cut the chain and run ahead herself!”

  Strike.

  “She could have left both of us!”

  Strike.

  “But she didn’t!”

  His blade crashes against mine again.

  “She chose me!”

  The words echo across the arena.

  For a moment my chest tightens.

  Yes.

  She did.

  Azrith swings again.

  I pivot and sweep his legs.

  He falls onto the stone, the impact ringing across the arena. My sword stops just short of his throat.

  He breathes heavily.

  “Go on,” he mutters. “Finish it.”

  I look down at him.

  “She trusted you,” I say quietly.

  Azrith blinks.

  “What?”

  I step back and allow him to stand.

  “She fell,” I say, “so you could stand here.”

  Azrith’s expression hardens again. He raises his sword.

  “Then I guess I don’t get to lose.”

  He charges.

  This time the duel changes.

  Azrith moves faster now, more controlled. The wild fury fades from his strikes, replaced by purpose.

  Our swords collide again and again as he drives forward relentlessly. The force of his attacks pushes me back across the arena.

  The Primordial Weapon glows behind him, burning brighter with every step he takes.

  Azrith swings again. Our blades clash violently, the sound ringing across the Citadel.

  The arena falls silent around us.

  For a moment the world narrows to the space between our blades.

  His breathing is heavy.

  Mine remains steady.

  Then his sword breaks through my guard.

  The edge stops at my throat.

  Silence settles over the arena.

  Azrith stares at me.

  “Why?”

  A single word.

  But I understand what he means.

  Why am I not fighting harder?

  Why am I not trying to win?

  Why did I stop?

  My eyes drift past him, toward the abyss where Phoenix vanished.

  The memory flashes again.

  The chain snapping.

  The certainty in her eyes.

  The way she looked at him.

  Not at the weapon.

  Not at victory.

  At him.

  My chest tightens.

  Of course.

  She didn’t choose survival.

  She chose who she believed could carry the world forward.

  I let out a slow breath and step back.

  Azrith’s blade leaves my throat.

  “Go,” I say quietly.

  He doesn’t move.

  “What are you doing?”

  “She trusted you.”

  Azrith stares at me.

  “You’re stronger than me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The word comes easily.

  “But she didn’t fall for me.”

  The silence that follows is heavy.

  I gesture toward the pillar.

  “Claim the weapon.”

  Azrith’s jaw tightens.

  “You’re just going to let me win?”

  “She trusted you. Dont make her sacrifice be meaningless, because she deserves everything she wants."

  He watches me for a long moment.

  Then he turns.

  The Primordial Weapon floats before him, humming with ancient power. When his hand closes around the hilt, the arena erupts with light.

  Fire and shadow spiral around him as the ancient blade awakens.

  The Devil’s voice shakes the Citadel.

  “The weapon has chosen.”

  Azrith stands at the center of the arena, the Primordial Blade blazing in his grasp.

  Victor of the trials.

  I watch him quietly.

  Then my gaze drifts once more to the abyss below.

  Phoenix fell into darkness.

  Phoenix.

  You reckless, impossible woman.

  For the first time since she fell, I allow the thought to surface.

  If you are still alive…

  Then the world has just become far more interesting.

  I turn away from the abyss.

  Azrith stands before the pillar, the weapon blazing with primordial fire.

  Phoenix chose him.

  And for reasons I cannot quite explain—

  I hope she was right.