Chapter Three: What Yolti Carries (Part Four)
Date: May 22, Year 204 PCR (Maelis 22)
Location: Trial Arena – Harmonic Lyceum
Time: Early Afternoon
Kallien stared at the floating lattice fragments orbiting him.
They didn't bind. They didn't burn.
They simply hung in the air—waiting.
And something about that stillness rattled him worse than being slammed.
"You're bluffing," he said, voice tight. "That's just pulse debris. Glyph residue. It's not a technique."
Yolti didn't respond. Not at first.
She simply extended one hand—not as a threat, but as an invitation.
"Strike again."
Kallien's jaw locked. He was drenched in sweat now, and not from exertion.
From doubt.
His glyphs—once sharp and proud—now pulsed erratically along his forearms. Not gone. But off-balance. As though they were trying to figure out what he believed anymore.
"You gonna pray me into submission?" Kallien barked, half-laughing.
Still—his fists didn't rise.
The crowd didn't cheer. The stands had gone quiet again. Just like with Selka.
Yolti's glyph hum stayed soft. Steady.
Like water cupped in calm hands.
"I don't need to convince you," she said. "I just need you to see what you've done to yourself."
The lattice particles slowly rotated around Kallien's torso now—more tightly, more deliberate. One touched his shoulder.
No pain.
But the glyph beneath it flickered again. The resonance wobbled.
Kallien flinched—not from impact, but from the feeling of being seen.
"Get it off," he hissed. "Get it off!"
Yolti stepped forward. "Then stop pretending you're whole."
Kallien swung—not a technique. Just panic.
Yolti ducked beneath it and tapped his palm to Kallien's chest glyph.
One ring of white energy burst outward.
No flash. No heat.
Just a shimmer of balance.
"VEILMARK ART — Essence Recalibrate."
Kallien staggered back, blinking.
And for a brief moment—he wasn't fighting.
He was breathing.
The lattice fragments stilled. They rotated slower now. Not invasive.
Guiding.
His glyph lines shifted back into harmonic alignment.
Not flaring.
Not fading.
Just… quiet.
Kallien's hands dropped to his sides.
"What… did you do to me?"
"I healed what you weren't letting go of."
Yolti exhaled.
"You're running your body like it's a sword."
"But you're not forged for war, Kallien."
"You're forged for something better."
Kallien's lip curled—part pride, part shame. He stepped back, staring down at his hands.
"You saying I'm weak?"
"No," Yolti said. "I'm saying you're not broken."
Silence again.
Then Kallien turned—slow, deliberate—and walked toward the edge of the ring.
No shame in his stride. No limp. Just a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
He didn't wait for the match call.
He just left.
The crowd didn't erupt.
But heads nodded. Quiet respect buzzed like a second pulse through the arena.
The instructor's voice came after a long pause.
"VICTORY — YOLTI."
Zephryn stood near the edge of the stands, watching with narrowed eyes.
Not suspicious.
Impressed.
"She didn't overpower him," Zephryn said quietly. "She undid him."
Selka, seated now and recovering slowly, cracked one eye open.
"Told you he was dangerous."
Kaelen smirked. "She fights like a medic."
"She wins like a ghost."
Yolti stepped back into the waiting line.
She didn't raise a hand. Didn't look for praise.
But when she passed Zephryn, her voice came low.
"Hope your memory's steady. You're gonna need it."
Zephryn's breath caught.
Because something in Yolti's tone didn't feel like encouragement.
It felt like a warning.