The tokens vanish.
The silence that follows is sharp, reverent.
Elvare's gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary, then lifts to address the crowd gathered across the upper terraces.
Her voice carries without force—amplified not by volume, but by the authority Stillwater has long held sacred.
"Let it be known," she says, "that in the history of the trial, no one has claimed thirty tokens."
Murmurs ripple outward. Even the wind stills.
"For this feat," she continues, "you are granted not only the rank of Elite... but a rare privilege."
She extends her hand toward me, fingers splayed.
"You may choose four among those whose tokens you claimed to rise with you. They will be granted elite status, despite losing their tokens. A bond of your making. A sign of your judgment."
Four.
A gift meant for trust. For empire-building.
I nod. Slowly.
But there's a weight pressing against my ribs, and I speak before she turns to go.
"I have a request," I say, voice calm.
She pauses, eyes narrowing faintly.
"I wish to name someone who I did *not* take a token from. One who tried to take mine—and failed. But I see strength in him. He deserves to rise."
Gasps whisper through the gathering like a shiver.
Elvare's lips tighten. "Such a choice has not been granted before."
"I know," I reply.
"But the law did not forbid it," she says slowly, "only stated the chosen must be among those you bested. You did not best this one... but you saw him."
"I *see* him still," I say. "He fought. Not to win—but to grow."
There is a long, pulsing silence.
Then, softly, Elvare says, "Name him."
I turn my head slightly. "Neko."
From behind the edge of the crowd, he steps forward, wide-eyed, stunned.
And then... he kneels.
Elvare's hand lifts.
"So be it," she declares.
The obelisks around the terrace pulse. Light spirals from the base of each and briefly marks five figures—myself, and four others.
I name them one by one.
"Tessa. Dorin. Callen. Neko."
The glyphs burn across the ground in gold and fade.
Elite status is sealed.
The crowd erupts—not with cheers, but with fevered murmurs.
The ring pulses.
And in the stillness beneath the noise, I hear them.
**"He didn't even *take* the last boy's token—why choose him?"**
**"He's rewriting the rules. With a *look.*"**
**"I would've fought harder if I'd known *that* could happen…"**
**"He's not just strong—he's *building* something."**
**"That mask… it's more than armor. It's a throne."**
I feel the weight of every eye. Every word. Some sharp with envy. Others laced with awe. And a few—dangerously quiet.
Tessa steps to my side, not out of duty, but resolve.
Dorin says nothing, but his hands, once shaking, now fold behind his back with purpose.
Callen glances at me once, then at the crowd. "This path's not clean," she mutters. "But it's real."
Neko doesn't speak. His silence is louder than the crowd.
"You still think you're weak?" I ask him softly.
"I think I don't know what I am," he replies.
"Good," I say. "That means you haven't stopped growing."
Elvare watches us for a final heartbeat, then turns.
Without another word, she steps through a shimmer of space and vanishes.
The terrace belongs to me now.
Not as a follower.
Not as a name to forget.
But as a storm that stills the water.
And from this moment on…
Stillwater will *remember* me.