Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

"What was that...?" Sylphia whispered, eyes fixed on the arena.

Her voice was soft, almost lost in the air, but her mother heard it effortlessly.

"How... did she end up there? Thalos had the advantage. And that moment when... she just touched him with her fingers? And he just... collapsed?"

Veynessa was silent for a moment. Her gaze focused, calm.

"I wish I knew," she finally said. "It’s not a technique from our bloodline. It doesn’t come from any of our ancestors, nor was it passed down through the royal family."

Sylphia stared at her in disbelief.

"Not even you...?"

"Not even me," the queen replied. "Calista has never shared the details of her cultivation. And she shouldn't. No one who understands their worth reveals the secrets of their technique. Only a fool would tell the world how their style works and give enemies time to prepare a counter. Everything we know is speculation. And that last move..."

Veynessa paused, her eyes drifting.

...To Kaen.

He sat still, arms crossed, face unreadable. But in his eyes, a faint trace of a smile glimmered. It wasn’t mockery. Nor surprise. Something far more personal—satisfaction.

She finally mastered the eighth petal, he thought.

He didn’t say a word. But for those who watched closely—he knew.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sylphia noticed her brother Kaelis sitting in absolute silence. His hands were clasped, his gaze drilled into Calista with intensity impossible to miss.

Not far from them, in the section designated for their family branch, Prince Roland leaned toward his children—Lioren and Cassya.

"Did you see that?" he asked quietly, though his tone carried weight. "It’s not just power. It’s... something else."

Cassya nodded. "It looked like she was... cutting off his Qi. Or something close. But it wasn’t a typical seal."

"It wasn’t any technique we know," Lioren added.

Roland stared at the arena, his gaze cold, calculating.

"She probably blends spiritual control with pinpoint strikes to disrupt Qi pathways... but there’s more. It’s like she doesn’t just understand how energy flows—she knows exactly where to cut to collapse everything."

He fell silent for a moment, then murmured:

"This isn’t a royal family technique. But it’s... brilliant. When Thalos unleashed his strongest move, she knelt and touched the ground. And then... everything froze. Like his entire power was absorbed into something we couldn’t see. Then she moved—teleporting across the field like she was walking hidden paths between realities. She appeared beside him, touched his neck—and it was over."

He looked toward Maren, who was now descending onto the arena.

"I wonder how she’ll handle... her."

At the center of the arena, Calista still stood motionless. As if she hadn’t exhaled even once since the fight ended. Her gaze drifted across the stands until it settled.

A woman stood.

Long dark hair, braided into a crown. Her posture straight, every movement measured.

A whisper swept through the stands.

Without a word, she descended the steps. Her strides were calm. Steady. The Qi around her was different than Thalos'—not wild, not furious—but deep. Heavy. Like the ocean before a storm.

In her mind, she replayed the earlier fight.

It wasn’t her strikes that were most dangerous... she thought. It was how she moved. That teleportation. If my guess is right, there’s a way to limit it.

Maren's lips remained shut, but her eyes held the chill of calculation. She had no intention of becoming another one-touch defeat.

Calista didn’t move. Their eyes met halfway.

No smiles.

No disdain.

Only understanding.

This will be harder, Calista thought.

Their feet came to a stop, facing one another.

Kaen, seated atop the highest stands, cast his gaze toward the arena—specifically, at the fractures and scorched marks left from the previous battle. His eyes lingered on a deep gouge carved into the stone floor, a lingering memory of Thalos' final strike.

He sighed softly. Then raised his hand... and snapped his fingers.

A ripple of Qi spread like a silent echo, almost imperceptible—but instantaneous.

The arena trembled. The damage vanished like water absorbed into dry sand. Everything returned to its pristine, untouched state. Even the delicate engravings reappeared as if they'd never been disturbed.

Kaen swept his gaze across the gathered crowd, and his voice filled the air:

"Time for the second match."

The moment she heard Kaen's voice, spoken like a divine verdict, Maren had no interest in theatrics.

She didn’t even move. She simply opened her eyes—and uttered a single word:

"Water Domain."

In an instant, the air thickened.

Maren's Qi exploded without sound, like a hidden ocean gate had been flung wide open. A wave of spiritual pressure flooded the arena, and the ground beneath their feet... began to vanish.

It wasn’t an illusion. Not a hallucination.

First came the sound—a low, ancient rumble, like something primordial stirring from slumber. The ground shuddered—then cracked. From a hundred fissures, water burst forth—not ordinary water, but pure and frigid, as if summoned from the world's deepest depths.

Second by second, the water rose, until the entire arena was submerged. The stone floor disappeared beneath the surface, and the borders of the battlefield became a gently rippling lake. This was no longer a dueling ground. It was a body of water—alive, pulsing, and unnervingly silent.

The waves lapped softly around Calista, as if trying to embrace her.

The stands were protected by a barrier—for a moment, water slammed against it with a sharp hiss, as if trying to break through. But the ward held firm, cloaking the audience in calming light that muted all danger.

Calista raised an eyebrow, glancing at the water beneath her feet. She stood steadily upon it, a thin layer of Qi glowing softly around her soles—a silent platform that held her above the surface.

"So this time, no warm-up?" she murmured. "Alright then..."

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. Her hand brushed the air.

"Lotus Chamber."

The response came instantly.

Faint, almost invisible petals of light shimmered on the lake’s surface around her, forming eight gentle points that pulsed in unison with her breath.

The red mark on her hand reappeared.

And only then... they moved.