The air in the arena was thick with tension as Torrack stood, facing Elgard, a dark mage with a black aura pulsing around him like a storm ready to strike. Elgard's magic was ominous, suffused with the stench of decay and death. He had already summoned one undead—a grotesque amalgamation of bones and sinew. This was no ordinary foe. Torrack could feel his fury building as he faced the man who would sacrifice lives for something as petty as a vote, his anger rising with every second. But Torrack was no stranger to powerful emotions—he had faced greater threats, and this was no different.
Elgard, eyes glowing with malevolence, raised his hand, summoning another medium undead. The twisted, skeletal figure of the new creature materialized, glowing faintly with an eerie blue aura, its body immune to water-based attacks. But Torrack was not fazed.
With a mere flick of his hand, Torrack used his creation ability, mimicking and manipulating the earth beneath his feet. A hole opened in the ground beneath the undead, swallowing it whole into the void below. In an instant, the ground restored itself, leaving no trace of the creature. All the while, Torrack never shifted his gaze from Elgard. The sheer force of Torrack's control over the elements made the dark mage sweat.
Elgard's composure was crumbling. Desperation seeped into his voice as he attempted to summon yet another undead. But his energy was dwindling, and this time, all he could manage was a feeble lower-tier undead. Torrack's expression remained unchanged, cold and detached. As he walked toward Elgard, his gaze locked on the dark mage, he passed the newly summoned undead, barely acknowledging it. He reached out and touched the creature's skeletal form. Instantly, its bones turned to ash, falling silently to the ground as dust.
Elgard's heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm a frantic, dissonant melody. Torrack's power was terrifying. Every step Torrack took felt like a hammer blow to Elgard's crumbling resolve. The once-proud mage, now trembling and terrified, dropped to his knees, pleading. "I quit!" he cried out. "Please, stop him! I surrender!"
Torrack, eyes cold and full of disdain, smiled darkly. "So at least you know when to quit," he said, his voice calm but with a hint of mockery.
He turned away from the defeated Elgard, his focus shifting to where Kaelith was waiting beside Eleon's still form. Without a word, Torrack knelt beside Eleon and placed a hand on his forehead. Closing his eyes, Torrack allowed his healing magic to flow, a soft, warm light enveloping Eleon. In moments, the injuries were gone, and Eleon stirred, returning to consciousness.
Before Eleon could speak, the healers rushed into the arena. They stopped short, confused. "I thought he was hurt," one of them said, glancing at the perfectly healthy Eleon.
"We must have missed something," said the other, equally puzzled. The two healers exchanged glances before leaving, unsure of what had just occurred.
The battle was over, and the outcome was clear: Torrack and his team from Brightwater were the victors. Elgard had been thoroughly defeated, his dark magic no match for Torrack's overwhelming power and sheer force of will.
Back in the training and waiting area, Torrack, Kaelith, and Eleon prepared for their next move. Torrack, though present, seemed distant, as though his interest in the tournament had waned. His mind was elsewhere, focused on something greater.
"How long until the next fight?" Torrack asked absently, though his tone carried little urgency.
Eleon glanced at Kaelith, unsure. Kaelith answered instead. "We've got plenty of time. I don't think we'll be fighting again today. But if we are, I'll let you know through our link. You go do what you need to do, Torrack. I'll stay here and gather more information on our potential opponents."
With a nod, Torrack left the training area, his mind clouded with exhaustion. His body demanded rest, and his thoughts were far from the tournament. He made his way to a small cottage nearby, renting a room for the night. After a quick meal, he lay down on the bed, the weight of the day pulling him swiftly into sleep.
In his dream, Torrack was no longer the warrior of Arenthia. He was something ancient, primal, born of fire and magic. The black scales that armored his body shimmered as he soared through skies painted in crimson and gold by a setting sun, casting long shadows over the land below. The winds roared in his ears, and the scent of burning filled the air.
Below him, an ancient city burned—a place of obsidian towers, long since forgotten by time. The people fleeing its destruction were not human. They were creatures with dark skin, elongated faces, and horns curling back over their skulls. Their cries echoed like the distant ringing of a broken bell, each one carrying a sense of finality. This city, this place, was falling—falling under the devastating power of a dragon far older than Torrack.
The dragon was massive, its scales a deep, shimmering blue that seemed to reflect the very heart of winter. Its eyes burned cold and calculating, and every beat of its enormous wings sent gusts of icy wind rippling through the air. As Torrack flew, he watched in awe and terror as this elder beast breathed deep, releasing torrents of flame from its maw, turning entire buildings to molten slag in an instant.
Yet it wasn't fire that roared from the blue dragon's mouth—it was something else. The flames were not hot; they were frigid, a freezing fire that turned stone and flesh alike to brittle crystal before shattering into icy shards. The blue flames spread across the city like an unstoppable tide, freezing everything in their path. The creatures that once filled the streets turned to statues of ice, their faces twisted in terror forever frozen in time.
Torrack's heart pounded in his chest as he hovered in the sky, powerless to intervene. The blue dragon was more than just a creature of raw strength—it was a being of ancient magic, elemental and terrifying. Torrack felt the weight of his own insignificance bearing down on him, a familiar feeling that had once haunted him in his younger days. This was not his fight—this was a conflict from an age long past, an age when dragons ruled and magic flowed like rivers through the veins of the earth.
The elder dragon suddenly turned its head toward Torrack, and their eyes met. The cold, ancient gaze pierced through Torrack's soul, as though the dragon was staring straight into his essence. There was recognition there, a knowing that transcended time and reality. The blue dragon opened its maw again, but this time it wasn't flames that came forth—it was a voice, deep and resonant, echoing in Torrack's mind.
"You are not ready."
The words struck him like a blow, reverberating through his consciousness. His wings faltered for a moment as doubt clouded his thoughts. Not ready? What did that mean? Torrack's mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but before he could respond, the dream shifted.
Now, Torrack found himself in a vast, dark forest. The trees around him were twisted, their bark blackened as though scorched by fire, their leaves brittle and lifeless. The air here was thick with an unnatural stillness, as if the very world was holding its breath. Shadows moved between the trees—figures just out of sight, watching, waiting.
He was no longer a dragon but himself again, the man from the waking world, though his body felt different, heavier, and his hands glowed faintly with the power of the core he had taken in. He looked down and saw the ring he carried, Lyra, pulsing with a soft, golden light. It flickered, as though trying to guide him, but where? To what?
From the shadows emerged a figure, tall and cloaked in darkness. It was Elgard, but not the Elgard from the arena. This Elgard was twisted, his body elongated, eyes hollow and glowing with an unnatural light. The black aura that had once surrounded him now consumed him entirely, his form barely recognizable beneath the writhing darkness.
"You think you've won?" Elgard's voice was a rasping whisper, filled with malice. "You've only delayed the inevitable. There's something far worse waiting, and you can't stop it."
Torrack clenched his fists, the power of his ring responding to his rising anger. "You were willing to kill for your greed," Torrack spat, stepping forward. "You've lost, Elgard. Whatever dark magic you have left won't save you."
Elgard's hollow laugh echoed through the trees. "This is only the beginning, Torrack. You're a child playing with forces you can't comprehend. You think you can control them, but they will consume you."
As Elgard spoke, the shadows around them twisted and formed into creatures—dark beasts with glowing eyes, their bodies made of writhing smoke and bone. They growled and hissed, circling Torrack, waiting for the command to strike.
Torrack took a deep breath, and his magic flared in response. The ground beneath him trembled, and with a wave of his hand, he summoned the earth itself to his defense. Pillars of stone erupted from the ground, smashing through the shadowy creatures, sending them scattering like mist in the wind.
Elgard only smiled. "It doesn't matter. You'll see soon enough."
Before Torrack could react, the dream shifted again.
Now, he stood in a place unfamiliar to him—a throne room of obsidian and gold. The walls were lined with towering statues of beings Torrack did not recognize, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. At the far end of the room sat a throne, and upon it, a figure cloaked in shadow.
The figure was massive, its presence suffocating, and though Torrack could not see its face, he could feel its gaze upon him. The weight of its power pressed down on him, far greater than anything he had ever encountered. The air was thick with the scent of ash and fire, and Torrack's heart pounded in his chest.
The figure spoke, its voice like the crackling of burning wood. "You have walked a path few can tread, Torrack. You carry a power that was never meant to be yours."
Torrack stood his ground, though the weight of the figure's words made him feel small. "Who are you?"
The figure laughed, a sound that sent shivers down Torrack's spine. "I am the fire that burns in the heart of the world. I am the storm that tears the sky asunder. And I am the shadow that has watched you since the beginning."
Torrack felt a sudden surge of anger, his defiance rising. "I've faced power before, and I've survived. I'll survive you too."
The figure leaned forward, its eyes glowing brighter. "Perhaps. But power comes with a price. The question is—are you willing to pay it?"
The dream began to fade, the figure's voice echoing in Torrack's mind. "We shall see, Torrack. We shall see."