Chapter 134| What the Others Showed

The rest of the preliminary bracket unfolded over the following two days, and Allen found himself, in the gaps between Fallen Crown’s own scheduled matches, drawn increasingly toward the gallery’s front row, watching the tournament’s wider field with the same careful, considering attention Myria had always brought to studying an opponent.

"You don’t have to watch every match," Myria said, settling beside him during a lull between engagements, though her own tablet remained open, tracking outcomes with characteristic thoroughness.

"I know," Allen said. "I want to, though. Feels important, understanding who we’re actually sharing this tournament with."

Ashenfall Company’s own preliminary match, when it finally arrived on the schedule two days after Fallen Crown’s win over Thornwood Vanguard, revealed a party built almost entirely around brute, overwhelming force — five Hunters whose considerable size and raw physical power had apparently carried them through recruitment and early sponsorship on reputation alone, their captain a mountain of a man named Gruff Halloran who dispatched his own preliminary opponent with a single, devastating strike that left the stadium momentarily, collectively stunned.

"Strength without much finesse," Vivian observed, watching the replay with professional, unbothered assessment. "Dangerous if we let the engagement turn into a straightforward contest of power. Considerably less dangerous if we don’t."

"We won’t," Myria confirmed, already adjusting Fallen Crown’s own preparation schedule to account for the specific challenge Ashenfall’s brute strength presented.

Their own match arrived the following morning, the stadium’s considerable crowd noise settling into familiar, expectant quiet as both parties took their positions across the arena floor. Halloran studied Allen’s party with the particular, dismissive confidence of a man who measured threat almost entirely in visible muscle, and found, in his brief assessment, little that troubled him.

"Pretty little army you’ve built," he said, voice carrying easily across the field. "Won’t matter much once we’re close enough to hit you."

"We don’t intend to let you get close enough," Allen said simply, and the countdown began.

Ashenfall charged the instant the horn sounded, five considerable bodies covering the field’s open ground with alarming speed for their size, and Allen watched the engagement’s shape reveal itself exactly as Myria had planned — Everlyn’s vines erupting from the terrain before the charge had covered half the distance, not to restrain outright, which their considerable strength could likely tear through given enough effort, but to slow, to disrupt footing, to buy the precious seconds that mattered considerably more than any single restraint ever could.

Irene met Halloran’s own considerable charge with flame rather than force, refusing the direct collision his own instincts clearly anticipated, circling instead and letting her fire erode his considerable stamina in short, punishing bursts that his brute strength had no good answer for.

"You’re fast," Halloran growled, swinging at empty air as Irene danced clear of his considerable reach a third time.

"Considerably faster than you’re used to," Irene said, grinning fiercely, and pressed the advantage with renewed intensity.

Vivian and Myria handled the remaining flanking members with the same patient, coordinated precision that had carried them through Thornwood Vanguard’s own aggressive opening, refusing to let raw strength dictate the engagement’s terms, and Allen found himself, watching his own party dismantle Ashenfall’s considerable size advantage through pure, deliberate tactical patience, struck by exactly how far they’d all come from the desperate, improvised survival that had defined their earliest fights together.

Myria, watching the engagement’s shape settle firmly into her own predicted pattern, allowed herself a brief, satisfied glance toward Allen before turning her attention back toward her own assigned opponent, a broad-shouldered woman whose considerable strength had, until that moment, gone almost entirely untested by anyone willing to simply refuse the fight she wanted. Myria gave her nothing to work with — no fixed position to charge, no straightforward exchange to overpower, only patient, circling pressure that slowly, methodically eroded the woman’s confidence alongside her stamina, until the engagement ended not with some singular, decisive blow, but with quiet, accumulated inevitability.

The match ended within minutes, Ashenfall’s own considerable strength ultimately proving irrelevant against opponents who had simply refused to fight the battle on its terms, and Halloran accepted the defeat with gruff, surprised respect once the engagement finally concluded.

"Never lost that fast before," he admitted, extending a massive hand for Allen to shake.

"You never faced a party built around patience before, either," Allen said, and the observation seemed to land somewhere genuine, Halloran’s earlier dismissive confidence giving way to something more thoughtful as his own party retreated toward the tunnel.

---

That evening, back at their quarters, Allen found himself turning over the day’s accumulated observations with quiet, considering focus, Myria’s tablet spread across the low table between them, displaying the tournament’s continuing bracket progression.

"Sixteen parties remain," she reported. "Edward’s Golden Reckoning advanced today as well, against a considerably weaker opponent than either of our own preliminary matches."

"How’d he look?" Allen asked, unable to fully suppress old, complicated concern.

"Efficient," Myria said. "Genuinely skilled, as you’ve always maintained. Though I noted something worth mentioning — he fought with a particular, controlled restraint I haven’t previously observed in his combat footage. As though he were deliberately conserving something rather than simply winning as decisively as his ability allows."

Allen absorbed that with quiet unease. "Conserving it for what?"

"I don’t know," Myria admitted. "It’s possible I’m reading too much into a single match. But I intend to keep watching."

Everlyn joined them a moment later, settling beside Allen with quiet, easy warmth, and the conversation gradually shifted toward lighter territory — Irene recounting Halloran’s stunned expression with considerable, delighted embellishment, Vivian offering her own dry, understated commentary on the day’s wider bracket developments, and Allen let himself, for a while, simply enjoy the accumulated warmth of a hard-won victory shared among people who mattered more to him than any tournament outcome ever could.

"One preliminary round left," Myria said eventually, as the evening wound toward rest. "Silverwake Company. Myria’s own projected opponent, given their captain’s particular specialty."

Allen glanced toward Myria at that, catching the flicker of something focused and personal behind her usually composed expression. "You’ve got history there?"

"Not history," Myria said. "Simply a specialty I’ve studied closely enough to have genuine opinions about. Corin Ashby’s ice manipulation is considerably refined. I look forward to testing it against my own."

"Should I be worried?" Allen asked, half-teasing.

Myria’s answering smile carried quiet, unmistakable confidence. "No," she said simply. "You should be excited. It’s been a while since I’ve faced someone whose skill genuinely matches my own reputation."

The evening settled toward rest not long after, the tournament’s final preliminary round waiting just ahead, and Allen found himself, drifting toward sleep, quietly grateful for exactly how far his family had come — not simply in strength, though that mattered considerably, but in the patient, deliberate wisdom that had let them dismantle Ashenfall’s brute force without ever needing to match it blow for reckless blow.

’One more,’ he thought, settling into rest beside Myria’s already quieting presence, ’and then the real test begins.’