Back to Yuki…

  The golden clearing returned around them with a soft, rippling shudder, like a curtain of light falling back into place. Phèdre stood exactly where she had been, her posture flawless, her breathing controlled, her expression composed… too composed, Yuki thought helplessly, too calm for what she had just witnessed.

  The echo-fox watched them all, still and patient.

  But Yuki only saw Phèdre. Her stomach knotted. Her lips parted as the realization clicked into place. “You…” Her voice came out smaller than she intended, thin as thread. “You didn’t let me go.”

  Phèdre turned her head slightly, eyes soft but unwavering. “Non. I did not.”

  Yuki felt her throat tighten around something embarrassing. “I could have done it,” she insisted, crossing her arms hard enough that her shoulders ached. “I’m not—I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting!”

  She pivoted away, chin up in a defiant little tilt that fooled absolutely no one. Her cheeks burned. Her chest burned harder.

  Inside her mind, the truth churned.

  But I was scared. I didn’t want to see it. I’m glad she stopped it… because I didn’t want to know what the fox would show me. But I can’t tell them that. They already think I’m the weak one. The support. The utility. The one you shield first.

  Phèdre didn’t rush after her. Didn’t apologize or placate. Instead, she spoke in that maddeningly calm, matter-of-fact tone that somehow always sliced straight to the softest part of Yuki’s heart. “I know you could have, mon c?ur,” she whispered. “But watching you break when I could prevent it? That was not a price I was willing to pay.”

  Yuki’s breath hitched. “So you thought I would break.”

  Phèdre didn’t answer in words. She just gave Yuki a look. The look said I saw your hands shaking, and you don’t have to prove everything you feel, and I would rather you hate me than hurt yourself.

  Yuki’s heartbeat tangled into a mess.

  Tramar stepped in quickly, awkward but clearly trying to help. “Look, Yuki… you’re our light mage. Our brain. We need you at your best for whatever’s next.”

  He gestured vaguely to the forest. “If you went all emotional-trauma like I did, we’d be screwed.”

  Yuki swallowed. “So I’m the weak link.”

  “No!” Tramar threw his arms out, disturbed. “You’re the—the IMPORTANT link! The one that makes the rest of us function! The one who knows stuff! The one we can’t lose!”

  Yuki hugged herself tighter. Her hands were shaking. She tucked them under her crossed arms so no one would see. Her mind vacillated between relief and resentment, spiraling in frustrated loops. She wanted to be angry. She wanted not to care. She wanted… she didn’t even know what she wanted.

  So she settled into a pout and glared at the ground instead.

  Silence hung over them like damp fabric.

  Then the fox spoke; its voice held no trace of the earlier playful warmth.

  “The last trial awaits.”

  The clearing dimmed, shadows lengthened, golden glimmers curled around roots and stones. Yuki’s breath steadied despite herself. Instinct overpowered emotion; the historian in her, the scholar, the lover of ancient mysteries, snapped awake at the tone alone.

  “What… what is it?” she whispered.

  The fox’s eyes lingered on her. “You will face,” it said softly, “what destroyed me. What took everything I tried to protect.”

  Yuki felt her pulse stop for a beat. “The… the Grandmaster?” she whispered.

  The fox dipped its head, a slow, solemn acknowledgment. “Protect me,” it murmured. “As I could not protect mine.”

  Golden light rippled outward from its body, and with each pulse it seemed to shrink, its tails drawing in, its form dimming slightly, shifting from majestic echo to something smaller.

  Yuki took a slow breath, eyes burning.

  Light fractured in the center of the clearing.

  Not shattered, fractured, like a stained-glass window illuminated from the wrong side. Shards of brilliance folded inward, forming a silhouette: tall, commanding, unmistakably human.

  Robes coalesced first, sweeping white, embroidered in geometric sigils Yuki recognized from old manuscripts and temple murals. Then came the mantle of light draped over his shoulders like a second spine. Then the staff, silver and gold, resting in his hand with the casual confidence of someone who had no equal.

  Finally, his face carved itself from the radiance: elegant and detached in the way all terrifying geniuses seemed to be.

  Yuki’s heart dropped into her stomach.

  “That’s…” she whispered, voice trembling with awe and dread. “Oh no. That’s him.” She swallowed. “White Grandmaster. He killed so many spirits—his light magic was the best in—”

  “Yuki.” Tramar elbowed her subtly. “Please tell me he’s not as scary as you’re making him sound.”

  Yuki gave him a side-glance as she whispered, “…He’s worse.”

  [White Grandmaster Lv. 30]

  Type: 7-legendary | HP: 2100/2100

  Tramar swore softly.

  Phèdre’s grip tightened on her staff.

  The Grandmaster’s projection surveyed the clearing with cool curiosity, like a scholar examining a mildly interesting specimen. His gaze slid over Tramar, then Phèdre, then paused on Yuki, head tilting slightly. “Curious,” he mused. “Why do you aid enemies of Altandai?” His tone wasn’t cruel. If anything, it was… puzzled. Almost amused.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You three.” His voice carried the calm authority of someone who had never met a challenge he could not solve. “Allies of this creature?”

  Yuki stammered, hands fluttering helplessly. “W—we’re not? I mean—we are! But not like—we’re protecting it but—it’s complicated—”

  The Grandmaster raised one hand, silencing her effortlessly. “Unwilling allies,” he remarked dryly. “How quaint. Just look at you.” He stepped forward, evaluating them with slow, piercing strokes.

  To Tramar:

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Fire mage. Amateur.”

  Tramar made an annoyed choking noise.

  To Phèdre:

  “Healer. More looks than skill.”

  Phèdre’s eye gave the slightest twitch. Just one.

  To Yuki:

  “Light mage. Unrefined.”

  Yuki turned the color of a cherry blossom mid-blush.

  The Grandmaster smiled, not unkindly, but with the absolute certainty of someone who had never needed to doubt himself. “Very well,” he said. “Let me teach you why spirits kneel to humans.”

  Instinctively, all three moved closer together, Tramar stepping half a pace back, Yuki gripping her sword so tightly her knuckles whitened and stepping forward, Phèdre raising her staff with elegance, her expression smoothing into its most dangerous calm.

  Yuki’s throat tightened.

  This is it.

  The Grandmaster did not move at first. He didn’t posture, didn’t draw power dramatically, didn’t announce an opening lesson.

  He simply lifted two fingers.

  A thin lance of light snapped through the clearing with the elegance of a brushstroke and the precision of a scalpel. Yuki reacted on instinct, mirrors blooming into existence with crystalline pops, three shields, angled carefully, meant to redirect the beam.

  It hit the first mirror and shattered it instantly; the fragments dissolving before they even touched the moss.

  The second mirror lasted even shorter.

  The third imploded with a shriek of bending light.

  Yuki gasped, stumbling backward as mana recoiled through her palms. “He’s—he’s not even trying! That was nothing for him!”

  The Grandmaster barely looked at her.

  Tramar, furious at how casually the man ignored them, snapped his hands outward and hurled a volley of firebolts. Three rapid shots, each hot enough to scorch bark into ash.

  The Grandmaster extended one finger again.

  One.

  A translucent shield flickered into existence, softer than glass, more like a ripple in water… and the firebolts curved around it like they’d been politely redirected. Not even extinguished. Just… gently dismissed.

  Tramar sputtered. “Are you—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

  Phèdre was already casting, light coiling up her staff’s spirals, her expression drawn tight with focus. “This will not be simple,” she murmured. “Préparez-vous.”

  The Grandmaster drifted forward, robes whispering against a breeze that didn’t exist. “Your form is adequate, healer,” he observed with professorial detachment. “But predictable.”

  He passed Yuki.

  She tried again, this time her almost never used skill, whip of concentrated light, a slicing ribbon meant to crack through the shield’s edges. It struck his barrier and passed through it like water, losing coherence the moment it touched the curved surface.

  The Grandmaster didn’t bother facing her when he spoke. “Light mage. You create mirrors. So tell me… why not simply bend light around them?”

  He lifted his hand, and the surrounding light mirrored form obeyed… curving and ignoring all geometry she attempted to impose. Her magic unraveled like thread pulled from a torn seam.

  Yuki’s stomach lurched. He’s rewriting my spells mid-cast… he’s—he’s too far ahead—I can’t…

  Her breath hitched.

  I’m too weak for this.

  Tramar, refusing to be ignored, roared and launched into motion… firebolt, firebolt, another, his hands a blur, the air cracking with heat. He didn’t fling them wildly; he created a pattern, a staggered rhythm, trying to force the Grandmaster into a corner with sheer volume.

  For a moment it almost looked coordinated. Impressive. Dangerous. The Grandmaster watched quietly, amused. “Interesting. You’re attempting to overwhelm me with volume.” He paused.

  “It won’t work.”

  A pulse of light radiated from him, just a small one, like a lazy exhale, and every firebolt scattered, redirected into harmless arcs that scorched only the moss.

  Then his gaze settled fully on Tramar. “You. Fire mage. Come here.”

  Tramar’s entire body snapped rigid. “I’m—I’m good where I am, thanks!”

  The Grandmaster sighed like a disappointed teacher and flicked his wrist. A ribbon of light wrapped around Tramar and yanked him forward… not violently, just effortlessly, as if pulling a curtain.

  Tramar staggered.

  The Grandmaster tilted his head, examining him as if assessing a poorly written essay. “Your runes are sloppy,” he said.

  Tramar’s hands curled into fists. “Sloppy?! They WORK, don’t they?!”

  The Grandmaster’s lips quirked. “Do they? Or do you merely shout louder until something catches fire?”

  Tramar’s face flushed red. “Shut. Up.”

  “Ah.” The Grandmaster’s voice softened… not kindly, but knowingly. “I see. You were the one others mocked, weren’t you?”

  Tramar froze.

  Yuki felt something inside her twist. His shoulders hunched. His eyes dropped. His hands began to shake… just a tremor at first, then a noticeable tremble, as if each finger had its own pulse.

  “Stop it,” he whispered. “Stop talking.”

  “Always the one who struggled a step behind the others,” the Grandmaster continued gently, like dissecting a wound. “Even now. Even here.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Always loud,” the Grandmaster said, “because silence meant truth.”

  Tramar tried to form a rune, something simple, a flare. His fingers stuttered. The rune pattern collapsed. Mana fizzled at his fingertips and died.

  Yuki lunged forward. “Tramar?! Hey—hey, look at me!” But he didn’t hear her. He was breathing too fast, eyes too wide, the world closing in on him the same way the illusion had… fear swallowing focus.

  “I said—STOP—” he shouted, forcing another rune, but it fell apart immediately.

  Grandmaster watched. “It seems you were never taught properly. Not resilience. Not magic. Not anything.”

  “SHUT UP!” Tramar roared, but the sound cracked on the last syllable.

  Yuki threw up a wall of mirrors between them, voice trembling with anger. “Leave him alone!”

  The Grandmaster looked genuinely curious. “Protective.” He extended his hand and a thin beam of light grazed across the shields.

  They all evaporated.

  “But futile.”

  He sounded disappointed now. “If you cannot accept instruction…” Light gathered in his palm, swirling, condensing into a spear of radiance.

  “Wait—” Yuki screamed, “WAIT—DON’T—”

  He launched it at Tramar, who tried to dodge.

  He wasn’t fast enough.

  The light-spear slammed into his chest.

  CRACK.

  The sound echoed horribly as his body collided with a tree; bark shattered, splintering outward as he hit the ground with a thud so loud Yuki felt it in her teeth. His health bar plummeted, seventy percent gone in a single strike.

  Yuki sprinted toward him, conjuring barrier after barrier, but they broke instantly, shredded by the Grandmaster’s casual counter-casting. Phèdre was already moving too, her staff glowing with healing magic, skirts swishing around her boots as her steps quickened.

  Yuki reached Tramar first.

  “Tramar—Tramar, please—!”

  He slumped against the cracked tree trunk, wheezing. Blood soaked through his tunic where the spear had hit, pooling under him. His hands shook uncontrollably as he fumbled for a health potion.

  He tried to form another rune. “I can’t—” he choked out, voice breaking, “Yuki… I can’t remember the runes— they’re—they’re too hard for me! I failed math—! I—”

  Yuki’s heart shattered. She’d never seen him like this. Not loud, not cocky, not reckless. Scared. Truly scared. “Tramar, you can do this,” she whispered desperately. “You’re strong! You always—”

  He downed the potion in a gulp. His health climbed, but his hands still trembled violently. He tried to stand, stumbled, and caught himself on the tree.

  The Grandmaster approached with unhurried steps, as if they had all the time in the world.

  Phèdre slid between him and Tramar, staff raised like a spear. “That is enough.”

  The Grandmaster barely glanced at her. “Is it? He has not learned yet.”

  “He is down,” Phèdre said coldly. “You proved your point.”

  “Did I?”

  His voice was soft, almost disappointed.

  Behind her, Tramar pushed off the tree again, wobbling but upright. He spread his fingers, trying to summon flame.

  Only sparks came after he messed the runes. Tiny orange sputters, nothing coherent.

  His expression collapsed.

  Yuki felt tears sting her eyes. He’s giving up. He thinks he’s nothing. He thinks he can’t do it.

  Before the Grandmaster lifted his hand for the next attack… the fox’s voice cut the clearing in half. “Tramar.” The word was soft, but it rang like a bell. Tramar’s head snapped toward the fox. “You survived by being loud,” the fox said gently. “But dawn does not roar.”

  It stepped closer, its body glowing brighter.

  “It simply… arrives.”

  Golden light unfurled from the fox’s tails, threads of warmth, soft and unwavering, wrapping around Tramar’s arms, his chest, his trembling fingers, weaving through him like light filtering through morning mist.

  He gasped.

  His eyes widened.

  Something entered him and Yuki’s interface flashed.

  [Ally Acquired New Skill: Dawn-Fire]

  He stared at his hands.

  Golden flame danced between his fingers, not orange, not red, not wild or unstable. “…I— I got a new skill,” he breathed. “Dawn-fire.”

  His voice trembled, but not with fear this time.

  With awe.

  He looked up at the Grandmaster, still shaking, but something in his eyes had changed; still afraid, but newly anchored, like a rope thrown to someone drowning. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Let’s try this again.”

  He raised both hands.

  Dawn-fire swirled, gathering into a compact sphere that hummed with luminous heat as he used the simplest runes for fireball.

  He hurled it.

  The bolt hit the Grandmaster’s shield… and cracked it. A visible fissure ran across the barrier. The Grandmaster’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”

  Yuki’s breath escaped her in a stunned exhale. “Tramar…”

  He grinned, shaky but determined. “Round two, old man.”

  He summoned another bolt and the Grandmaster had to dodge.

  Yuki’s heart leapt.

  We can hurt him now.

  Phèdre lifted her staff beside Tramar, light swirling. Yuki formed new mirrors and they stepped forward as a unit now.

  A real team.

  The Grandmaster’s eyes narrowed and his magic intensified, light gathering like a storm.

  “Enough games.”