From Cradle to Coliseum

The fog of the Lower Crescent drifted low, curling like the breath of a tired beast before dawn. Setsuna moved through it with ease, the faint clink of his sword hilt barely louder than the hush of the street. He stopped before a familiar-looking door, its frame warped with age, and knocked.

It opened almost immediately.

"Yo," Setsuna said, casual but searching, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

Gramps sighed, as if he'd been expecting him all along. "I suppose you're not here for tea."

Setsuna stepped inside, boots scuffing against the worn floorboards. His mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smirk. "Tea wouldn't hurt. But that's not why I came."

The small room was unchanged. Dusty. Quiet. And somehow still warmer than most places in the capital. Books were stacked against the walls like bricks in a fortress. The kettle hissed softly.

Setsuna dropped into a chair without waiting for an invitation and poured himself a drink from the chipped pot. He let the steam rise against his face for a moment before setting the cup down untouched.

"You know," Setsuna said casually, though his eyes stayed sharp, "when Kazuo was tied up in front of King Cedric and said, 'You can't kill Gramps — he has noble eyes'… I had to see for myself."

Gramps chuckled low as he tipped the teapot for himself, steam curling between them. He raised the cup, taking a slow sip before answering. "So he noticed. Sounds like he gambled on my life."

Setsuna watched the liquid swirl in his own cup, voice edged. "You do realize me being here means Cedric gave me full authority."

Gramps set his cup down with steady hands. "So you saved my neck? Knowing you, that only means you want something in return."

Setsuna smirked, fingers drumming lightly against the porcelain rim. "Cedric sees you as some old noble geezer, rotting quietly in the Lower Crescent."

"But you don't," Gramps said.

Setsuna tilted his head, mouth quirking faintly. He raised the cup, but only stared into the steam before setting it back down. "Did you… I don't know… choose this? A man with violet eyes, raising a boy with mismatched ones… doesn't exactly ring like coincidence. Things like that don't just happen out of the blue."

For a moment, silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain.

Gramps finally leaned back, eyes glinting with something unreadable. He took another slow sip before speaking. "I know how deeply you despise lies, Setsuna. And how easily you detect them. So I'll tell you everything I know. This is the truth."

He set the teacup down with a quiet clink, eyes fixed on the memory.

"That night," Gramps said slowly, "someone knocked at my door. And when I opened it… all there was was a cradle. A child wrapped in old cloth, crying in the cold. No footsteps, no presence nearby. Just him."

His gaze darkened. "Around his neck hung an old silver medallion. That was all."

Setsuna's eyes narrowed. "Medallion? The one he's wearing now?"

"Yes," Gramps said, nodding faintly. "But when I saw his eyes… mismatched like that… even I felt fear. I'd never seen such a thing, not in all my years. For a moment, I thought of closing the door." His hand lingered near the cup, but he didn't lift it this time. "But I couldn't leave him there. Whatever he was — whatever those eyes meant — he was still just a baby. So I took him in. As for the medallion… it was nothing more than a piece of old metal. No markings, no craft I could place. No trace of where it came from."

Setsuna's gaze drifted toward the towering piles of books lining the cramped room. His untouched tea had gone lukewarm.

"Kazuo said you trained him in Water Magic," Setsuna muttered. "That caught me off guard." He let the thought settle before continuing.

Gramps didn't answer.

"It's rare," Setsuna continued. "There isn't a single noble I know who's ever wielded it — I've only seen it mentioned in old war reports. You don't find Water Magic out in the streets… and definitely not in the Lower Crescent."

A silence lingered.

Then Gramps shifted the conversation, "How is he doing?"

Setsuna noticed but glanced down into his tea, then gave a short, honest exhale. "Well… his goal is to return to you. That much is obvious. It's what's driving him — that stubborn promise of his."

A faint smile tugged at Gramps' lips.

"He's talented," Setsuna said. "Smart. Powerful. I won't deny that. He learns faster than most, and he has instincts I haven't seen in years."

Then he shrugged, more grounded. "But he's still clumsy. Hesitant and his control's rough. Like he's still scared to use magic so bluntly."

Gramps nodded slowly, the smile fading into something more thoughtful.

"Give him time," he said.

Setsuna looked at him. "You know time is not on his side when he has to enter the Tournament of Nobles."

Another silence.

Setsuna looked more serious now "You still didn't answer my question"

"I taught him what I knew." Gramps replied.

"That's not an answer."

Gramps remained quiet.

You can't guide a water mage without understanding the nature of it," Setsuna said, voice low. "Spell structure. Flow manipulation. Elemental push and recoil. It's not like sword training. You need precision — real knowledge.

He paused.

"Even I can't teach him anything new. I don't even know a single Water spell."

Then his gaze locked on Gramps.

And you… you're not a Water Magic user… are you?"

A beat of silence.

Gramps looked up, meeting Setsuna's eyes. Neither moved. The air between them shifted.

Then Setsuna cracked a grin — too smooth to be innocent.

"…Just kidding."

Gramps didn't smile back.

But after a moment, he spoke.

"There's a book in the Royal Library," he said quietly. "It's not catalogued. Probably wasn't meant to survive."

He glanced at the steam rising from his cup.

"It's called Whispers of Water. You'll know it when you see it."

Setsuna blinked. "You read it?"

"Studied it," Gramps said calmly. "Most of it was theory, and it was full of Water spells. I could only teach him some — standard things, in case he ever needed to defend himself."

Setsuna stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Well this is all I needed to know for now. We'll be heading there eventually. He'll need more than what you gave him if he wants to survive what's coming."

Gramps gave a quiet nod.

Setsuna moved to the door, adjusting his sword at his hip.

"…The Royal Library, huh," he muttered, glancing back one last time. A thought clicked behind his eyes.

He turned — almost left — then stopped again.

"By the way…"Setsuna glanced back, voice quiet.

"Does Shiranami know you're here, Professor?"

Gramps flinched — barely — but his face settled into a blank, unreadable calm.

Then, slowly, he looked up and met Setsuna's eyes.

His voice was low. Steady.

"No. And let's keep it that way."

A single drop of sweat slid down his temple.

The silence that followed held. Both stared at each other with high tension.

Setsuna didn't push. He simply turned and stepped out into the mist, leaving behind a room full of answers wrapped in secrets.

The sun hung high and merciless above the capital, casting long shadows down the marble path leading toward the arena. The white stone shimmered in the heat, and the quiet hum of the city felt distant — like the calm before something far too loud.

Kazuo walked at the front, invitation letter clutched in his hand, thumb smudging the ink on the royal seal. His cloak fluttered with each step, a little too warm for the weather — or maybe that was just his nerves.

Behind him, Tetsu was already sweating. "Why do they schedule things at noon? I'm pretty sure I'm melting."

"Because the nobles want to see us fry," Sora answered cheerfully, flicking a pebble with her boot. "Good lighting for blood and politics."

Setsuna, as usual, said nothing. He walked beside them like a bored ghost with a sword. But his eyes lingered on The Medaillon Kazuo is wearing around his neck.

They were halfway down the curved road to the main gates when a figure stepped from the side alley — hooded, but familiar.

Kazuo froze. "…Rei?"

The hood fell back with a grin.

"Heyo!".

Kazuo blinked, stunned for a moment, then crossed the distance in two strides and pulled him into a tight hug. "What are you doing here? It's dangerous."

Rei gave a crooked smile, patting him on the back. "Relax. I'm just reporting back to my 'majestic noble boss' or whatever title he's using today. I can't stay anyways."

Kazuo looked pained. "You're not watching the tournament?"

Rei snorted. "No, brown eyes, you idiot. It's like you're a fly — forget things seconds after hearing it. Isn't today only the ceremony anyway?"

Tetsu adjusted his glasses. "You're the merchant friend, right? Rei?"

Rei beamed. "So you must be his team members."

Sora tilted her head. "You look less shady than I imagined."

"That's because I'm too poor to afford real villain energy."

Kazuo rolled his eyes, but there was warmth behind it.

Rei leaned toward Tetsu and Sora, lowering his voice just enough to make it theatrical. "Did you know, back when we were fourteen, Kazuo once tried to impress a girl by using Water Magic to summon a—"

"DON'T YOU DARE—" Kazuo warned.

"—giant wet heart shape. It collapsed on him. The girl laughed. I think he swallowed half a bucket of pond water."

Sora burst into laughter. "You serious?"

Kazuo gave a long, world-weary sigh. "It was years ago. Let it die."

Even Tetsu was wheezing. "Is that even a real spell?!"

Rei winked. "He's gotten better. Slightly."

Sora grinned, her catlike fangs barely visible. She nudged Kazuo with her elbow, then jerked her thumb toward Rei. "Oh, I like this one. When this is all over, I need to know more. We should hang out. Trade stories. Maybe embarrass Kazuo in front of nobles."

"Hope they end me in the arena before I witness that."

Setsuna finally spoke up, as if summoned by the weight of dramatic timing. "Alright let's keep going."

As they walked off toward the towering gates, Rei lingered behind for just a second, watching.

"Good luck, Kazuo," he muttered under his breath. "If you die I am going to kill you."

He turned with a grin, cloak rustling as he melted into the city — like he'd never been there at all.

As they turned the final corner, the road opened wide — and there it was.

The arena.

A colossal coliseum of polished stone, rising like a crown of thorns above the capital. Its gates stood open, yawning like the mouth of some ancient beast ready to devour the brave and the foolish alike. Trumpets echoed faintly from within, ceremonial and sharp.

Kazuo stopped, wind brushing against his hair, the invitation letter still clenched in his hand.

This was it.

The world was watching. The game had begun. And any second now… the opening ceremony would start.

There was no turning back.