Chapter 15: The Hollow Arena
Dawn broke cold and unforgiving over Luther Keep. The sky bled hues of gray and crimson—an omen, some whispered. A signal, others believed.
At the center of the keep's oldest battleground, The Hollow Arena, warriors gathered like ghosts of the past. Once used only for duels between Patriarchs and their challengers, it had not seen blood in decades. Not since the War of the Three Sons.
Today, that silence would be broken.
Jean Luther stepped onto the stone dais, white cape trailing behind her like a banner of defiance. The wind tugged at her hair. Her face was calm, but her eyes were steel.
Across from her stood Adam Luther, bare-chested beneath a cloak of black wolf fur, sword resting lazily on his shoulder. His aura crackled with menace.
Their grandfather sat high above, on the Stone Seat of Judgment, flanked by Elders of the inner circle. Charles Luther said nothing. His gaze was a blade of its own.
Whitney crouched behind Jean, eyes never leaving Adam.
Ryan Magus and Freya watched from the guest stands, protected by binding wards. Even they could feel it—the unspoken pressure in the air.
The kind that came before storms.
---
A horn sounded.
The match had no rules.
No referees.
Only blood would decide.
Adam moved first—faster than most eyes could follow. His sword, Nightfang, cleaved down with devastating weight.
Jean met it mid-strike. Lightbringer flashed, golden aura clashing against his midnight black.
Boom.
The ground cracked beneath their feet.
Adam grinned, teeth bared. "You've grown."
Jean didn't answer. She twisted under his second strike, stepped into his guard, and struck across his chest. The cut was shallow—but it drew first blood.
A murmur rippled through the arena.
Adam stepped back, eyes narrowing.
Then he laughed.
"Well done. But I'm not here to play."
His aura exploded outward—black and violet, like smoke and shadow. The air around him howled as his power surged to its peak.
Transcendent Master.
But Jean stood firm, her aura glowing brighter—brilliant white and gold, the divine essence of Celeste radiating through her veins.
Then, behind her, Whitney roared—a blast of holy light erupting into the sky.
The clash resumed.
---
Steel rang.
Aura shrieked.
The Hollow Arena shook with every blow.
But even as their swords collided and their wills clashed, Jean could feel it: Adam was testing her. Pushing her. Not fighting to kill.
Why?
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Then it came.
Adam swept her legs and slammed her into the stone floor. He held Nightfang at her throat.
The arena went silent.
Charles Luther raised his hand.
But Adam didn't move.
"I could kill you now," he whispered. "But what comes next will need all of us. Even you."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
He leaned closer. "Antares is stirring. But he's not alone anymore. The dragons have bred a king."
---
The match was over.
Charles spoke only one sentence:
"Let the war for the Patriarchy begin."
But in Jean's heart, something deeper had taken root.
Adam hadn't returned for the throne alone.
He had seen something—something darker than power.
And the Luther Clan was running out of time.
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