Angelo woke to the muffled sounds of movement outside the CampShip, distant grunts and the scuff of boots on dirt. Normally, such faint noises wouldn't stir him, but his body was a roadmap of agony, making his sleep shallow and fragile. Every breath was a reminder of yesterday’s violence.

  He dragged himself out of his bunk, his limbs protesting with every inch. By the time he shuffled into the main cabin, he looked like a specter haunting his own ship.

  "Good morniiiinnng—" Sol started, his cheerful greeting dying in his throat as he got a good look at Angelo. "Dear god. What happened to your face?"

  Angelo glanced at the small mirror Neiva had hung near the entrance. He winced at the reflection. His face was a swollen canvas of trauma, blooming with dark purples, sickly greens, and angry yellows. His left eye was swollen nearly shut, a mere slit in the bruised flesh.

  "Stupid robot..." he muttered, his jaw aching with the words.

  He dropped into one of the chairs, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as his bruised ribs protested the sudden movement. "Son of a... Gah..."

  "Easy there, buddy. They really did a number on you." Sol winced in sympathy, sliding the small glass vial across the table. "Here. All yours."

  Angelo stared at the Regenwater, feeling a pang of guilt. "You sure? Isn't this the last bottle?"

  Sol smiled, though it didn't quite reach his tired eyes. "Don't worry about it. Right now, you're our heavy hitter. With that Trinergy Mode of yours, we need you in top shape if those freaks come back."

  Angelo uncorked the bottle, the scent of ozone and rain filling his nose. He hesitated before downing it. "About that..."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Red and I... we had a blowout last night," Angelo admitted, staring at the empty vial. "He said I can forget about Trinergy Mode. Or any help, for that matter."

  Sol’s concern melted into a warm, knowing smile. "I wouldn't worry about it too much."

  "I would! You should be extremely worried!" Red chimed in, his mental voice sharp and unforgiving.

  "Here we go again," Blue sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

  "I don't know," Angelo murmured, rubbing his temple. "He sounds serious."

  "I am!"

  "Come on, siblings fight all the time," Sol reassured him, leaning back. "It's part of the package."

  "We're not exactly—"

  "I know, I know, technically you're not brothers. But effectively? You're triplets with a few extra quirks."

  Angelo paused, considering. "I guess."

  "So don't sweat it. I'm sure this isn't the first time you and Red have clashed, and it definitely won't be the last."

  "Not sure if I should be comforted or terrified by that logic..."

  "What were you two fighting about, anyway?" Sol asked gently. "If you don't mind me asking."

  Angelo shook his head. "He was paranoid about this Kirren guy. Wanted to go spy on him personally. I was too exhausted to recharge his body, and he... took it personally."

  "Ah." Sol nodded, understanding dawning. "Must be tough. For both of you."

  "It is. And look, I get it. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes either..." Angelo replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "I didn't ask for this arrangement! This isn't my fault!"

  "I hear you," Sol said softly.

  "I'm trying to make this work, but he makes it so goddamned difficult..." Angelo admitted, slumping in his chair.

  Red stayed silent in the back of his mind. But he was listening.

  Sol leaned forward, locking eyes with Angelo. "Listen. You two might drive each other crazy, but when you put those differences aside? You achieve the impossible. Don't forget that. Both of you."

  "I agree with the sentiment," Blue concurred quietly. "It is as the Professor said."

  "A gift wrapped in thorns... huh," Angelo murmured.

  Neiva's cabin door slid open with a hiss. She stepped out looking like she’d lost a fight with a wind tunnel, her red hair standing up in chaotic tufts. "Morning..." she groaned, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  "Morning," they replied in unison.

  She shuffled past the window, blinking against the morning light. Outside, two blurry figures were moving in a rhythmic dance of violence. She rubbed her eyes, squinting to bring the scene into focus. "What are they doing?"

  "Been at it all morning," Sol replied, nodding toward the window. "Guess they're the real deal."

  Outside, Kirren and Sienna were sparring without auras, their movements crisp and practiced.

  "Makes you wonder," Neiva mused, leaning against the frame. "Why would pro-Aurons practice hand-to-hand combat? Couldn't they just do EDR training instead? Get stronger?"

  Angelo shook his head, the movement stiff. "In the arena, when raw power is evenly matched, martial arts are the tiebreaker. Just look at Blue. He could dodge that robot when none of us could touch him."

  "Didn't figure you to be an expert on—" Neiva turned, her eyes widening as she finally registered Angelo's face. "Dear god! What happened to you!?"

  Angelo sighed, touching his swollen cheek. "The robot happened."

  Sol chuckled, a low rumble. "Yeah, I'm surprised you're so insightful about the pro-Auron meta. You a fan? That would explain all the attack shouting." Sol snapped his fingers. "Wait, that's it! That makes perfect sense now!"

  "Easy there, detective," Angelo said, holding up a hand. "I was never hot on the pro scene."

  "It was Bill, right?" Neiva asked gently. "You told Marcus about him."

  "Yeah. Bill was a die-hard fan... But no. I got that pearl of wisdom from my master, Sleeser." Angelo’s gaze drifted to the table surface. "I hear he was a golden boy back in the day. A rising star. He had his eyes set on the pro circuit, and everyone predicted a bright future for him."

  "Wait, isn't he with the army now?" Neiva asked, confused. "How did that happen?"

  Angelo shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he grew up. Joined the army right after that New Light Festival massacre in Ashford when I was twelve." He looked up at the ceiling, his expression thoughtful. "Come to think of it... I never really understood why he gave up his dream."

  "So wait," Sol asked, amusement coloring his tone. "Does Sleeser shout his attack names too?"

  "Yeah. He was workshopping moves for his debut. The 'Energy Bomb'? That's all him."

  Sol’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Another mystery solved."

  "Right then..." Angelo slid off the chair with deliberate care, testing his healed limbs.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Where are you going?" Neiva asked.

  "Need to recharge Red and Blue if we want to get to SolThanor today." Angelo opened the main doors and stepped out into the morning air. The sunlight revealed the full extent of the damage to the clearing; it looked like a natural disaster had localized entirely within a hundred yards. Trees were splintered, the earth was churned into mud, and deep craters scarred the landscape.

  Angelo's aura flickered to life, forming a chair of forged energy. He sat down slowly, closing his eyes to concentrate.

  Kirren noticed him immediately, breaking his stance to wave enthusiastically. "Heyyyy! Good morning!"

  Sol and Neiva joined Angelo outside as he waved a lazy hand in return.

  "Funny one, isn't he?" Sol commented, eyes narrowing slightly. He looked down at Angelo, his voice dropping. "Do you think he has ulterior motives?"

  "How could you, Sol? He saved our lives!" Neiva shot him a look of betrayal.

  Sol held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just being cautious. All these coincidences are raising some flags. That's all."

  "Good morning, kids!" Sienna called out as she and Kirren jogged over, not a hair out of place. She noticed Angelo's battered face. "I see you got some marks of honor there."

  "Ha. Ha." Angelo deadpanned.

  "So, how exactly did you get beef with a robot dude?" Kirren asked, leaning against a tree stump.

  "I didn't. I have zero clue who they were or what they wanted," Angelo said quickly, clearly done with that line of questioning.

  "Right," Kirren said, his tone cheerful but his eyes sharp. "Wait." He paused, pointing a finger. "Wasn't your aura silver last night? How come it's orange now? You a Duoron?"

  Angelo rubbed his face, exhausted just thinking about explaining it. "No. It's hard to explain. Just forget about it. I assure you, trying to understand it will only give you a headache."

  "Ooh, a secret," Sienna teased, a playful glint in her eye.

  Angelo sighed, changing the subject. "So. How long are you two planning to stick around?"

  Sol winced at the bluntness. "What he meant to say is, thanks for the save yesterday. We appreciate it. Now that we're safe... what's your next move?" He shot Angelo a look, but Angelo just rolled his eyes and let Sol handle the diplomacy.

  "You're very welcome," Sienna beamed. "Kirren?"

  "Well, we don't really have a plan. We just let the wind take us where it may," Kirren said, striking a casual pose. "Mind if we stick with you for a short while? Maybe that robot will return stronger than ever! Perfect practice for us!"

  Neiva looked at the others, considering. "I kinda like the sound of that. They did make short work of him."

  Angelo sighed, defeated. "Do what you want. Just don't get in our way."

  Sienna didn't look amused by his choice of words, her smile tightening, but Kirren jumped forward before she could speak. "Deal! So, where are we heading?"

  Angelo gave Sol a tired look. Sol thought for a moment. "We're heading to Leilani. Ever heard of it?"

  "Mmmm... nope!" Kirren admitted cheerfully. "Has a Maridian ring to it, though."

  Sol offered a knowing smile, his blue eyes reflecting a hint of history. "You've got a good ear. Leilani was founded by ex-Inferni refugees who settled in Maridian territory."

  "Is it far from here?" Sienna asked, checking the polish on her nails.

  "If we maintain a steady pace and limit our pit stops," Sol mused, calculating the distance, "we should be knocking on their door by nightfall."

  "Fantastic!" Kirren spun on his heel, facing a random patch of forest with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. "Let's roll out!" He paused, blinking. "Wait. Why aren't we moving?"

  Angelo rolled his eyes, his aura flickering with irritation like a dying bulb. "We’re taking the ship. We just need a minute to prep."

  Kirren leaned over, inspecting the glowing hull of the CampShip. "Right, the magic bus. It really does have the silhouette of a military transport. Not quite a Flying Scorpion, but close enough to be its cousin."

  "Uh," Neiva interjected, raising a hand. "Scorpions don't fly."

  "It's a military aircraft," Angelo muttered, rubbing his temples. The group stared at him as if he’d started speaking binary. "What? Sleeser told me about them, okay? Back off."

  "Sleeser?" Sienna asked, her interest piqued. "Who's that, your father?"

  "Former mentor actually," Sol corrected smoothly. "He's with the army now."

  "You don't say," Kirren murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  "I'm more surprised you know the specific model names," Angelo countered, eyeing the sand-user. "That’s not exactly common knowledge for civilians."

  "W-well," Kirren stammered, recovering his grin quickly. "My big bro is ex-military too. He actually let me ride shotgun in one back in the day. Perks of the trade."

  "So, what is this thing, really?" Sienna asked, tapping the side of the CampShip. "If I'm being honest, it looks less like a vehicle and more like an elaborate Auron construct."

  "Now that you mention it," Kirren agreed, his gaze dropping to the chair Angelo had created. "That chair... is that solid light? Or energy?"

  "I call it Forged energy," Angelo corrected. "Yeah."

  Kirren whistled low. "That’s some serious craftsmanship. The detailing alone is wild. You’ve got talent, kid."

  "Th-thanks," Angelo mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the praise.

  "Oh! Oh! Watch this!" Neiva stepped forward, her blue aura flaring. She concentrated, metal particles swirling and clumping together until they formed a crude, lumpy metal chair.

  Kirren and Sienna inspected the creation with the scrutiny of art critics.

  "Hmm," they hummed in unison.

  "A bit... rustic," Sienna concluded.

  Neiva’s face fell.

  "Hey, cut her some slack," Angelo interjected, his voice firm. Neiva looked up, surprise and gratitude washing over her. "She’s only been an Auron for a few months."

  "Months?" Sol added. "Try weeks."

  Kirren’s eyebrows shot up. "Weeks? For a rookie, that’s actually solid work. Nice hustle!"

  Neiva flushed a deep crimson. "Oh, it’s nothing... I’ve still got a long way to go..." She looked down, but she couldn't hide the beaming smile plastering her face.

  "So," Kirren said, pivoting the conversation to his favorite subject. "With talent like this, have you kids ever considered going pro?"

  "No." "Not really." "Nah." The rejection was unanimous.

  "Seriously?" Kirren looked genuinely offended on their behalf. "You guys are a talented bunch! You should train for the next Crucible. It’s only three years out."

  "Funny you should mention that," Sol said. "We actually met a team owner recently who just lost his star fighter for the upcoming season."

  "No kidding? Which team?" Sienna asked.

  "Uh... The Underdogs," Neiva recalled.

  Sienna and Kirren exchanged blank looks. "Can't say that rings a bell," Kirren admitted.

  "What is so special about this tournament, anyway?" Angelo asked, waving a dismissive hand. "It sounds like just another brawl."

  "What’s so sp— Everything!" Kirren threw his hands up, gesturing wildly. "It is the pinnacle of hype! The drama! The stakes!"

  "Right," Angelo deadpanned.

  "Kirren, just explain the format," Sienna suggested, amused. "They'll understand."

  "Alright, class is in session. Listen up," Kirren said, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "You know what a tournament bracket is, right? That tree structure where fighters eliminate each other?"

  "Yeah," Sol said. "Standard elimination. The field halves with every round."

  "Forget the math," Kirren said, waving Sol off. "That’s a normal tournament. Then you have tournaments with a 'Losers Bracket.' It’s a shadow tournament where everyone who loses a match gets thrown into a pit to fight for a second chance. The grand final is the winner of the main bracket versus the survivor of the loser's pit."

  "Wait!" Neiva frowned. "That doesn't seem fair! The person who never lost has a disadvantage if they have one bad match at the end!"

  "Correct," Kirren nodded. "That’s why the winner's bracket usually gets a bonus advantage."

  "Still sounds like a lot of work for a trophy," Angelo grumbled.

  "Hold on, I didn't say that was the Crucible's structure!" Kirren grinned.

  "Then get to the point," Angelo snapped, his patience thinning.

  "Impatient, aren't we?" Kirren chuckled. "Alright. The Crucible... is the Losers Bracket."

  They all blinked. "I don't follow," Neiva admitted.

  Kirren’s grin turned predatory. "The Winners Bracket works normally. But anyone who loses? They fall into the Crucible. And here’s the kicker: only one participant can hold the position of the Challenger."

  Sol unfolded his arms, his analytical mind spinning. "Hold on then—"

  "Exactly!" Kirren shouted. "The Crucible Challenger has to act as the gatekeeper. They have to defeat every single loser dropping down from the main bracket, one after another."

  "So the earlier you lose, the harder it is to survive," Sol summarized, impressed. "You run a gauntlet."

  "That's right. And the survivor of the Crucible takes on the undefeated champion in the Grand Final!"

  "What's the bonus for the winner, then?" Neiva asked.

  Sienna nodded approvingly. "Good question. The undefeated finalist gets a do-over. If they lose the first match, the bracket resets for one final bout."

  "Wait, what?" Sol clarified. "So the Crucible finalist has to win the Grand Final twice?"

  Kirren shot him finger guns. "Bingo!"

  "What kind of sadistic lunatic comes up with a format like that?" Angelo asked, horrified.

  "What do you mean?! It’s poetic!" Kirren countered.

  Angelo scoffed. "Poetic how?"

  Kirren adopted a noble pose, hand over his heart. "The Crucible is meant to give a fallen warrior a path to redemption. To be reforged in the fires of endless combat and emerge stronger than ever before!"

  "So that's where the name comes from. I can kinda dig it," Sol chuckled.

  "Yeah, me too," Neiva agreed.

  "But it does make me wonder," Sol mused. "It’s statistically unbalanced. The very first loser of the tournament has the hardest path. They would essentially have to defeat every single fighter in the roster to win."

  "You’re on fire today, kid!" Kirren beamed. "That’s the stuff legends are made of!"

  Sol rubbed his silver hair. "Really? Why?"

  "What you just described is called 'The Crucible Challenge'! And anyone crazy enough to pull it off earns the title 'Champion of the Crucible'!" Kirren’s voice rose with excitement.

  "Wait a minute," Angelo said, actually absorbed in the logic. "Doesn't that mean only the losers of the very first round even have a shot at that title?"

  "That’s right," Sienna purred smoothly. "The idea is that destiny plays a hand. It’s quite romantic, don't you think?"

  "I don't know if 'romantic' is the word I'd use for a bloodsport..." Angelo muttered.

  "And it's my destiny to claim!" Kirren announced, striking a pose. "I can feel it! Half a year from now, you will be addressing me as 'Kirren, Champion of the Crucible'!"

  "Oh darling," Sienna laughed, a polite sound with a serrated edge. "Your title will be 'Kirren, Husband to the Crucible's Champion'. Hohoho."

  The banter died instantly.

  Crimson smoke began to bleed from Angelo’s skin, thick and heavy. Neiva gasped as it swirled outward, passing directly through Sienna. She flinched, covering her face as if a cold wind had just cut through her soul.

  They turned to see a figure crouching in the dirt.

  He rose slowly, the movement disjointed and wrong. He glanced over his shoulder, his face splitting into a grin that showed far too many sharp teeth.

  "Did someone say... violence?"