The trophy was heavier than it looked.

Lucian stood at the center of the arena, the silver cup in his hands, the weight of it pressing against his palms. Beside him, Cora had her hand on the base, her grin wide enough to split her face. Mason stood to his left, arms crossed, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Sera was on Cora’s other side, her phone out, recording everything despite the tears she’d never admit to. Derek hovered at the edge of the group, his staff in one hand, his other hand trembling as he touched the trophy’s rim.

The crowd was still roaring. Not the startled silence of the finals—this was celebration. Ashford’s colors waved from every section. Strangers chanted Ashen Dawn’s name like they’d known it all along.

Lucian didn’t know how to feel about that.

The announcer’s voice cut through the noise. "And now, to present the tournament rewards, please welcome the High Flame Council representatives—Councilor Margaret Vale and Councilor Albrecht Hartmann."

The crowd’s cheers shifted, still loud but more respectful. Margaret walked onto the arena floor first, her dark coat pristine, her face calm but her eyes bright. Behind her came a man Lucian hadn’t seen before—tall, silver-haired, with a face that looked carved from old stone. He wore the grey of the Ashen Guard but his collar bore the crimson trim of the Council.

Albrecht Hartmann. Lucian filed the name away.

Margaret stopped in front of the team. She looked at the trophy, then at Lucian, then at each of the others. Her smile was small but real.

"You’ve done Ashford proud," she said. "More than proud. You’ve reminded everyone why we train the next generation."

Cora puffed out her chest. "We aim to please."

Margaret’s eyes crinkled. "I’m sure you do."

Councilor Hartmann stepped forward. His voice was deep, measured, the kind of voice that had been used to giving orders for decades.

"The tournament committee has approved the following rewards for Ashen Dawn." He gestured, and three assistants stepped forward carrying velvet boxes.

The first box opened to reveal a crystal the size of a fist, its facets catching the light and scattering it into rainbows. The second box contained five sets of upgraded weapons and armor—each one tailored to its recipient, the metal gleaming with fresh enchantments. The third box held scrolls, tied with silver ribbon, their seals unbroken.

"The crystal," Hartmann said, "is a Heartstone. It amplifies the abilities of those who bond with it. You may share its power among yourselves as you see fit."

Cora reached out, almost touching it, then pulled her hand back. "Share? Like, pass it around?"

"It’s not a potato," Sera muttered.

"Nobody said potato."

"You thought it."

Hartmann continued, unbothered. "The equipment was forged by the Ashen Guard’s master artisans. Each piece is attuned to its wielder’s unique abilities." He looked at Mason’s gauntlets, at Sera’s crossbow, at Derek’s staff. "They will serve you well."

Mason flexed his fingers. "Better than the old ones?"

"Considerably."

Mason nodded. That was enough.

Hartmann turned to the scrolls. "And these are your admission to the Celestial Springs—a two-week training retreat in a location rich with natural spiritual energy. Few are granted access. Use the time wisely."

Derek’s eyes went wide. "The Celestial Springs? I’ve read about that place. The monks who guard it don’t let just anyone in."

"They’re letting you in," Margaret said. "Don’t make them regret it."

Cora pumped her fist. "Two weeks. Hot springs. Training. This is the best day of my life."

"You said that yesterday," Sera said.

"That was before the hot springs."

The crowd laughed. Even Hartmann’s stern face cracked, just a little.

Margaret stepped closer to Lucian, lowering her voice. "The Springs will do more than train your body. They’ll help you understand your abilities—the ones you’re still hiding."

Lucian’s expression didn’t change. "I’m not hiding anything."

Margaret’s eyes said otherwise. But she didn’t push.

The ceremony wound down. Assistants packed the rewards into reinforced crates. The crowd began to disperse, trickling toward the exits, their voices still buzzing with excitement.

Cora was already planning outfits. "We need swimsuits. Do they have swimsuits at the Springs? It’s a spiritual retreat, not a beach, but still. Water is water."

Sera was on her phone. "I’m ordering five. Just in case."

Derek was talking to Dr. Blackwood, who was muttering something about "monastic architecture" and "historical significance."

Mason stood apart, watching the empty arena, his new gauntlets gleaming on his hands.

Lucian stood with the trophy, waiting.

Dorian approached.

His Silver Falcons uniform was still immaculate, his hair still perfect, but there was something different in his eyes. The smugness was gone. Not replaced by humility—Dorian would never be humble—but by something sharper. Respect, maybe. Or the understanding that the world was bigger than he’d thought. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

He stopped in front of Lucian. Looked at the trophy. Looked at Lucian.

"I underestimated you."

Lucian said nothing.

"I won’t make that mistake again." Dorian extended his hand. "Next year, we’ll be ready."

Lucian looked at the hand. Then at Dorian’s face. Then he took it.

"So will we."

They shook. Firm. Brief. No posturing.

Dorian turned and walked away, his team falling in behind him. Lena glanced back once, her expression unreadable. Jace was already talking about next season’s training regimen. Vera cracked her knuckles. Mira was adjusting her barrier focus, muttering about "timing errors."

Cora appeared at Lucian’s side. "That was civil."

"He’s not a bad person," Lucian said. "Just competitive."

"So are we."

"So are we."

She bumped his shoulder. "Celestial Springs. Two weeks. No demons. No missions. Just training and hot water."

"Sounds boring."

"Sounds perfect."

He looked at her. At Mason, still admiring his gauntlets. At Sera, deep in her phone, already researching the Springs. At Derek, laughing at something Dr. Blackwood said.

"Maybe," Lucian said.

The arena was almost empty now. The banners still hung from the rafters, but the crowd was gone, the noise faded to echoes. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, painting the floor in gold.