The Bright Dark

"Long time no see, Ipsum. Still as stuck up as ever, I see," Mendr said with a light tone, her voice laced with a subtle defiance at the evident displeasure of her presence.

"Stuck up? My bad-I just don't love Witnesses, Mendr," he replied, his voice sharp as he tried to explain the irritation.

"You like Witnesses?!" Atenyos cut in, his tone full of surprise and confusion in trying to understand what Ipsum had just said.

The expression in Mendr's face shifted, and the smile fell as she looked at Atenyos. "What do you know about the Witnesses and the Bright Dark?"

Atenyos's face had turned somber, his voice deadpan, laced with something stronger, though-pain, sorrow. "What I know comes from my father's journals. He wrote that the Bright Dark is a force that engulfs worlds, leaving nothing but suffering and death, and leaves what we call Witnesses to prove its power. They cross through gates, and for four days, they try to take us down, stealing the essence to save what's left of their own worlds."

She then fixed her eyes on his face for several minutes before answering, "Why would we hate people who lost everything-the whole world-who want to save what's still left?" When she spoke these words-from a standing position-her voice did not even tremble, yet it was full of the weight of her thoughts. "Anyway, I shall be going. I do not fancy Witnesses either, Ipsum, but I can somehow understand them. See you later, Atenyos." Saying this, she turned and went away.

"Why?" Atenyos's voice cut her off. Anger brewed inside, his stare fixed on hers. "They killed my fa- Never mind. But Mendr, people who suffer and then believe that gives them a license to distribute it. They're just as bad as the evil that hurt them."

Mendr stopped, her eyes clinging to his face. "Are we not them? In a manner of speaking, anyway," she whispered so lowly he could hardly catch her words. "Maybe our ancestors never even tried talking with them; tried to understand their souls. Perhaps if that had been the case-then-perhaps we might have found some common ground."

"See? We are no different, we're evil," she said with shame in her voice and walked away.

Atenyos didn't say a word; the white ring glittered strangely again, just like at the moment they had met. He let go of it for now but held the thought deep in his head.

He sat there, lost in thought as he reflected on her words. He saw the logic in what she said; however, his hate both for his own people and the Witnesses he blamed for his father's death clouded his judgment. The weight of her perspective pressed on him, and clarity was far from obtained.

"Don't think too much about it, Atenyos," Ipsum said in a softer tone, trying to lighten the mood. "Enjoy your meal and let's get some rest. Tomorrow's Elvora's match. I bet it's going to be fun."

Atenyos shook his head slightly, as if he was trying to shake himself awake from his thoughts. "…Yes, let's forget about this. I'm excited for tomorrow as well."

They finished in silence, each going their separate ways to prepare for the morning, the unspoken words between them a heavy silence.

Elvora vs. Lurrianne

Kantara stood tall at the edge of the field. His voice was firm and commanding as he called out, "Elvora. Lurianne. Step forward." Crackling tension filled the air as two fighters entered the arena, each showing a different type of confidence. The sun cast long shadows across the field as Lurianne glanced over at Atenyos, her lips curled into a playful smirk.

"Watch me," she said, an edge of defiance in her tone, and she inclined her head slightly to him before turning back to Elvora.

The latter narrowed her eyes. "Do not underestimate me, Lurianne," she rejoined calmly, though edged, as her fingers fidgeted at her sides in anticipation of the gale.

Lurianne's smirk only widened. She knew of Elvora's power, her ability to heal being one of the strongest, which meant that in order to win, she needed to strike fast and leave no room for recovery. With a deep breath, Lurianne turned her power on. A radiance of blinding light erupted from her body, casting an almost surreal glow over the entire field. The mere watchers covered their eyes, trying to gaze for the scene in a squinting way.

In the present time, as the use of sight is lost, Elvora closed her eyes and straightened herself up, turning to her heightened senses that would track motion. That first blow was fast-forwarded-a good solid punch directly into her stomach. At the last second, she screwed around, her forearm flailing out to block it but the force jolting through her bones. After which, Lurianne pursued her with a rain of blows. Every strike came with flashes of light so bright the veterans watching from the sides squirmed.

With a practiced precision, Elvora fought back, moving in tandem to Lurianne's rhythm. Each time a fist or elbow connected, near-instantaneous healing popped the bruises and fractured bones away like so many wisps of smoke into the breeze. But it was clear that Lurianne seemed to be simply endless, her attacks heavy with feral energy, though labored. A sweat-soaked brow spilled perspiration down her forehead; breathing heavily, yet not relenting.

The ground shook beneath their blows, the sand and grass flying in every direction with each blow. Yet, despite her effort, Elvora could feel something odd: Lurianne's strikes had become sharp and controlled, her breathing easy, like a second wind. In that instant, a gleam of metal caught Elvora's eye, and she realized too late that Lurianne had produced twin daggers from her hips.

Lurianne's eyes now blazed with determination. In but an instant, she sprang forward, her movements blurred as she lashed out with her blades. Elvora tried to create some space between them because she knew the smaller the injury, the slower she would heal, but Lurianne closed the gap in that very instant and pressed her advantage. The dance now started becoming a lot more brutal every slash of Lurianne's daggers followed by punches and kicks. A sudden strike then caught Elvora's left hand, and she felt the sharp snap of her finger breaking.

In the sidelines, Lutens leaned forward, and a line of concern creased his forehead. "Should we stop this?" he whispered to Kantara.

Kantara watched the combatant, his face impassive. He shook his head slowly. "Not yet."

On the field, Elvora grimaced, her hand shaking as the bone knitted itself back together. But Lurianne's sharp eyes caught that though her opponent's injuries healed, the slashes the daggers left did not close at the same rate.

"So, the blades take longer, don't they?" Lurianne muttered, a gleam in her eye, and surged forward again. The daggers danced in the sun, aiming at the exposed sides of Elvora.

She was blocking as many blows as she could, muscles screaming in protest with every ounce of pressure that was piling on. The drips of blood slid down her arms and legs onto the ground beneath her. A punch connected with Lurianne's side, the blow sending her back three steps. For a moment after that, the air was dead of sound and thick with tension and metallic scents. Smearing her mouth with the back of her hand, Lurianne grinned, though her bruised jaw protested the motion.

"You are strong, but not strong enough," she gasped, her voice trembling but not breaking.

Elvora stood her ground, her chest heaving as she tried to gather what little strength was left in her body. But she knew the truth: while she could heal cuts and bruises, she couldn't mend exhaustion. Lurianne's stamina had held, and her precision with the daggers had chipped away at Elvora's resilience. She raised her hand wearily, signaling defeat.

"I yield," Elvora said, her voice steady but laced with frustration.

The field fell silent, except for the sound of labored breathing, as Lurianne's light dimmed to reveal the true extent of the battle. Deep, unhealed slashes scored Elvora's body; her white uniform was sopping wet with her own blood. Lurianne looked disheveled, her breathing ragged, but she bore only a few scrapes and bruises. Kantara stepped forward, his voice carrying across the field.

"The winner is Lurianne," he called out.

The teammates who were standing on the sidelines exchanged uneasy glances; surprise flickered in their expressions. Some of them whispered, not quite sure if Lurianne's relentless use of her daggers and the brutal slashes on Elvora's body had crossed the boundary of Rule 2-prohibiting lethal or life-threatening force. But Kantara didn't flinch; he knew better than anyone that Elvora's resilience and healing capabilities meant none of Lurianne's strikes could ever be fatal. He knew Elvora's strength and the fact that Lurianne's attacks, though intense, were well within the limits of what the match allowed.

The two fighters drew closer, their eyes locking. Lurianne reached out a hand, which Elvora took in a firm grip-a wordless display of respect from one fighter to another.

Atenyos, having watched this whole battle closely, made his way towards Elvora as she stepped off the field. "Why did you give up? You can heal your injuries."

Elvora's eyes flashed, a mix of irritation and acceptance. "Yes, I can heal injuries, but not stamina, that girl can take a punch and if we continued to fight, she'd have eventually worn me out."

Atenyos's eyes caught the healing slashes on Elvora's arms, and a thought came into his mind.

No more could be said before Lurianne approached them from behind. Bent close to Atenyos, she whispered low, "Do not disappoint me, two rings." A fire shone in her eyes, the same one that had been there when she entered her battle.

The fighters and the onlookers withdrew. Mumbled conversations and murmurs of respect reached the air. The field stood witness to their fight: scattered grass, splattered blood, and the heavy memory of a battle fought with skill and heart.