Prologue: Part 2

By dusk, the wards hummed; by dawn, the decision hardened like cooled glass.

The arena quaked as fire clashed with shadow.

Arata swung his blade, the flame trailing arcs of searing light through the crimson air. His shadow met the strike with its own black-flame sword, sparks exploding as steel met steel. The shockwave cracked the arena floor, golden veins pulsing brighter from the impact.

Days later in the world below—years in Caelestia—wind and stone met Arata on the balcony.

Arata gritted his teeth, and he’s faster than me—stronger too.

The shadow pressed forward, strikes relentless. Each swing forced Arata backward, his arms trembling under the sheer weight. Sparks flew, blades colliding again and again—clang, clash, screech.—the sounds echoing like war drums across the void.

A horizontal slash whistled toward his ribs. Arata twisted, narrowly evading, the heat of his opponent’s blade searing across his side. Pain flared, but he refused to falter.

The shadow sneered—“You’re weak—Always were—Always will be. ”

“Shut up. ” Arata roared.

He drove forward, his flaming sword bursting brighter, forcing his other self to give ground. The heat licked his face, but he welcomed it—it was his fire, his will taking form.

Their blades locked, sparks crackling. Face to face, Arata glared into the eyes of his darker self.

“I’m not letting you decide who I am anymore. ”

With a surge of strength he didn’t know he had, Arata shoved the shadow back. His body moved on instinct, fire coursing through his muscles, guiding his strikes. The blade of flame cut arcs of brilliant light, each swing faster, sharper.

The shadow’s a faint smirk faltered as Arata’s momentum grew.

For the first time, he was the one retreating.

But the shadow snarled, shifting its stance. The black flame sword extended unnaturally, its edge twisting into a spear. With a vicious thrust, it pierced the air—straight for Arata’s chest.

Arata’s eyes widened—Reflex alone saved him, and he sidestepped, fire bursting along his blade, and slashed downward.

The flaming sword carved across the shadow’s shoulder, white sparks scattering. The clone hissed, form flickering, but held its ground.

Arata’s chest heaved, sweat stinging his eyes. But for the first time, a fierce grin curved his lips.

He could fight, and he could win.

The ember inside him flared higher, fire racing down his sword until the blade blazed like a sun.

The shadow glared, rage twisting its features. Both combatants raised their weapons, the arena trembling under the pressure of their clashing wills.

And then—

They charged.

Elsewhere, orders shifted hands; intent gathered like a storm over stone.

The clash shook the heavens.

Flame and shadow collided, blades sparking in blinding bursts that painted the crimson sky. Every strike carried the weight of Arata’s will and the venom of his darker self’s hatred. The arena floor cracked beneath their feet, obsidian shards scattering like glass.

Arata roared, swinging with all his strength. His flaming sword met the shadow’s black spear in a shower of molten sparks. The weapons locked, grinding, each combatant pushing for dominance.

The shadow’s lips curled in a twisted grin—“You’ll never escape me. I am you—”

Arata’s arms trembled, muscles screaming—but his eyes blazed with defiance.

“Then I’ll burn you away. ”

He shoved forward, fire erupting from his blade in a brilliant surge. The light consumed the lock, forcing the shadow back. But it retaliated instantly, spinning the spear into a downward slash.

Arata raised his sword to block—

crash.

The impact sent shockwaves tearing through the arena, golden veins bursting into rivers of molten light. The force threw Arata to his knees, his sword quivering under the pressure.

The shadow loomed over him, spear pressing closer, black flame snarling like a living beast—“Fall. ”

Arata’s vision blurred—His arms shook, ready to give.

But then—

A voice echoed in his chest—Elyon’s words, distant yet resounding.

“Not as a god—not as a beast but as a man who burns brighter than both. ”

The ember inside him ignited, erupting into a blaze that roared through his veins. Heat surged, unbearable yet empowering, filling every fiber of his being.

Arata’s scream split the air—“I won’t—Lose—”

His sword exploded in radiant fire, engulfing the arena in light. The black spear cracked under the force, shattering into fragments of shadow that scattered like ash.

The shadow-Arata staggered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“No—impossible—. ”

Arata rose to his feet, flame sword blazing like a sun. He lunged, pouring everything into a single strike.

“Disappear. ”

The blade cleaved through his darker self.

The shadow howled, its form fracturing into shards of black mist before dissolving into the void. The arena fell silent, save for the crackling of Arata’s sword.

Breathless, Arata lowered his blade. The fire flickered, then dissipated, leaving only his trembling hands.

The ember within his chest glowed faintly, steady now—not a spark of desperation, but a flame that was his to wield.

He looked at his empty palm, then clenched it tight.

“—I won. ”

From above, Elyon’s voice descended, warm and proud.

“You have cut the chains of your doubt. Rise, Arata Renji. Your path as a warrior begins. ”

Light enveloped him once more, lifting him from the shattered arena toward a horizon of golden fire.

The trial was over.

The journey had just begun.