An illustrious manifold garden was snuggled within the metropolitan stonescape of Proselyte, hidden behind Ersatz University. The garden bloomed beautifully as a verdant jewel, impossibly thriving through odd nourishing magics. The garden was both a place for noble exhibition and alchemical harvesting. The garden contained a nearly exhaustive collection of flora—a living archive, at once wild in its density yet precisely curated in its purpose.

  Despite its abundance, the garden saw few visitors. Now and then, an ambitious student wandered in, lured by some fleeting whim, or a weary apprentice drifted through in search of rare ingredients. But for the most part, the garden was appreciated from a distance. From the towering spires of Ersatz University and vast balconies, scholars and dignitaries gazed down at its treetops, admiring the woven canopy as one might admire a masterful painting—beautiful, untouchable.

  Inside the garden, hidden from the observational towers and deep enough to avoid attention from the shallow delving inquisitives, lived a different world. And within that world, concealed behind a thicket of bristling bushes, lay a small, hidden clearing.

  A space unnoticed, untouched.

  At its center stood a single flower.

  And beside it, a single girl.

  Névé stretched her sore limbs, wincing as the motion sent dull aches rippling through her battered body. Bruises of every shade—deep violets, sickly yellows, angry reds—marked her pale skin like an artist's careless strokes. One of her brown eyes was swollen shut beneath the puffy bloat of battered flesh, her lips split and raw. Her ears burned a furious red, the sting of recent blows still clinging to them.

  Things had spiralled quickly after her debut match.

  The Sodality of Cinder had been outraged by what they called an "act of aggression" and threatened retaliation. The Sodality of Rain, on the other hand, denied any forethought to orchestration, insisting that Névé's incredible performance had merely been an unfortunate oversight—a miscalculation by the festival staff underestimating her.

  The festival staff, in turn, did not take the push of responsibility lightly and had their own misgivings to share.

  Accusations, denials, and grievances had flung back and forth, each party eager to wash their hands of responsibility. In the end, a compromise was reached: Névé was expelled from this year's tournament and given what they called a minor retaliatory punishment.

  To her, it had not felt minor at all.

  Amid all the turmoil, Névé was still struggling to understand why everyone had been so upset in the first place. Thankfully, her confusion was mostly alleviated when she met the royal family of Rain.

  It was her first time encountering nobles in person. They spoke weirdly and dressed weirder still. She was smart enough to tell that when they spoke, they were saying so much more than just the words spoken, but she wasn't smart enough to decipher any of it. What she did know was that behind closed doors, they had made one thing perfectly clear—they were proud of her.

  They told her she had done a wonderful thing, that her performance had been commendable.

  For the first time since her fight concluded, someone finally praised her efforts, and she smiled.

  They even said they would reward her for her outstanding performance. They assured her that when the festival ended and they all returned to the sodality, she would no longer be under the guidance of her 'weak-willed chaperone.' Instead, they would save her from the tragic life of a pauper and ensure that she had nothing but the finest resources available to properly cultivate her growth.

  For now, however, she was to lay low. She was to avoid anyone from the Sodality of Cinder. Apparently, it would be safest for Névé to stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind for the rest of the festival duration.

  Névé carefully pricked the swollen mess around her eye with a thorn she had procured from the garden, and lanced the bloated flesh. A stream of pressurized blood jettisoned from the blobby mass, splattering onto the once-bright green grass. She pinched at the engorged flesh, forcing more of the thick liquid out until the swelling had shrunken enough for her to see clearly again.

  On her way to this secluded alcove, she had gathered an assortment of plants, which she now ground and mixed with practiced efficiency—fabricating healing salves and calming tinctures.

  The Rain royalty had assured her that, now that her potential was undeniable, she no longer had to concern herself with commoner problems like food or shelter. That was nice, she supposed. But she doubted the new chaperone they would select for her would have as practically useful advice like which common herbs abated infections or which flower buds dulled hunger.

  She would still need to take care of herself.

  A rustling in the distance made her fingers still.

  The thick vegetation shuffled unnaturally, deliberately.

  Being a metropolitan garden, the only possible intruder was human.

  However, given her current infamy, she would have preferred a wild beast.

  She heard the irritated grunts of a boy struggling through the dense foliage, his heavy steps crunching over twigs and leaves. Névé remained perfectly still, hoping he would pass by without noticing her.

  Alas, luck had never been her ally.

  With a final, clumsy push, the boy burst through the bristling bushes, his fine Cinder garb snagged with thorny spikes.

  To most people, the nine-year-old was undoubtedly a young boy. To Névé, he was massive. He was more than twice her age and still looked larger than his peers, while Névé was considered small for her own age.

  The boy towered over Névé; his dishevelled hair was tangled with leaves, his face ruddy with exertion. Scowling, he swiped at his clothes, dusting off the grime before his gaze locked onto hers—or, more precisely, onto the colour of her clothes.

  The boy reacted without hesitation, fanning a large ball of flame out of his fist and hurtling it at the little girl.

  Névé leaned slightly to the side, letting the flames pass harmlessly by. The fire crashed into the small flower adjacent to her, reducing it to nothing but a blackened smear of ash.

  She dropped into a defensive stance, her eyes darting over him, analyzing every detail.

  Unfortunately, this child was much more skilled than the tournament contestant she previously fought, and his added size posed a daunting challenge for her.

  Flames surged around him, engulfing his body in a thick, roiling inferno. Raging tongues of fire licked off his roused body; the heat rippled through the clearing, pressing against her skin in oppressive waves.

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  He glared at her, eyes burning with pure, unfiltered hatred.

  Névé braced herself, enveloping her body in a thin film of cool water. Though meagre in volume compared to her opponent's raging flames, the liquid pulsed with concentrated essence, flowing like a second skin.

  The boy's fire surged, condensing around his dominant hand into a spear-like inferno. With a fierce leap, he lunged at her, driving his burning fist straight toward her chest.

  Névé remained steady, keeping her body calm and her mind clear.

  She twisted smoothly to the side at the last possible moment, his strike slicing through empty air. A smirk curled on her lips as she could see herself triumphing over this daunting challenger.

  Then, the explosion came.

  A fiery detonation erupted from his fist, sending a wave of scorching heat in every direction. Her watery armour hissed as it painfully evaporated into burning steam. Reflexively, she released control, letting whatever remaining liquid there was to splash onto the dirt below and muddying the ground before it could boil her alive.

  The explosion's resultant shockwave struck like a hammer. Névé was flung backward, crashing onto the hard garden floor. Every bruise and welt from her earlier punishment flared with searing pain, the fresh burns layering agony atop agony.

  No time to breathe.

  The boy was already upon her, his foot wreathed in flames as he aimed a brutal kick at her skull.

  She rolled.

  The blazing strike missed by inches, heat licking at her exposed skin. The moment his foot passed overhead, she reversed direction, rolling inward. Her legs snapped around his grounded limb in a fluid motion, yanking him off balance.

  He crashed into the damp mud where her discarded water armour had pooled.

  Before he could react, Névé seized control. The moisture surged, swallowing him whole. The mud sucked him downward, encasing his limbs, his chest, and his head.

  She tightened her grip.

  The moment his body was fully buried, she stripped the water away—solidifying the ground into an unyielding prison.

  And then, she waited for him to suffocate.

  Muffled cries rose from beneath the hardened ground. Unlike her opponent from earlier that day, this boy didn't plead for mercy but rather angrily howled for vengeance.

  He fought to free himself, channelling fire to crumble the caked dirt, but it only sent thin streams of smoke escaping through the few cracks in the ground.

  Névé watched, unimpressed.

  The smoke only revealed what air pockets she needed to plug to complete her entrapment. Once she fully sealed him in, any further attempts with fire just burned through his oxygen supply expediting his asphyxiation.

  Névé waited a while for a silence to settle below her feet. She was fully content to let him die.

  She had always been told by her parents and teachers that those of Cinder deserved nothing more than absolute animosity. Besides, it wasn't too strange for the occasional sodality member to go mysteriously missing during the element festival.

  Though given some time for pensive reflection, she realized that murdering this boy probably was not abiding by her laying low requirement, which she had been very explicitly ordered to follow by her royal patrons.

  She sighed. If she let him go, surely everyone would understand this was just self-defence… right?

  She really didn't want to be punished again.

  Névé siphoned moisture from the nearby plants, saturating the hardened clay until it softened back into pliable mud. With a flick of her magic, she loosened just enough of the ground for the boy's head to break the surface.

  His face emerged, pale and slack. The fury that once burned in his eyes had dulled to a vacant glaze. His breath came slow and uneven, his body too starved of air to do anything but focus on surviving.

  Névé exhaled, relieved. She had nearly been too late.

  For a long moment, he lay motionless, drinking in the air like a parched animal. Then, once he had recollected himself, his wrathful ire snapped back into place. His eyes sharpened, his expression twisting with rage.

  "You… dirty… water… bug," he rasped, his voice weak but seething. "I'll… kill you."

  His threats barely registered to her as he was still fully immobilized by his muddy coffin. She pondered releasing him, but she still planned on relaxing here for a while longer, and he was clearly going to resume his attack the second he was released; rather, she chose that it would be best to just ignore the boy and resume her planned activities as if he wasn't even there.

  Névé walked over back towards where she had left her half-concocted medicine and returned to tending to her wounds now with the added task of making some soothing ointments for her newfound burns.

  "Hey! Don't ignore me!" He thrashed against the mud to no avail. "Do you even know who I am? Do you know who you picked a fight with? I'm Scoria Cinder—THE Cinder! As in, prince of the Sodality of Cinder! You're just a dirty, pathetic commoner! There's no one to protect you! When I get out of here, I'm going to—"

  Névé calmly readjusted the mud, sealing his mouth shut while leaving his nose free to breathe. She released her hold on the water and let out a relaxed sigh. She couldn't kill him, but she certainly didn't have to listen to him either. His furious shouting softened to muffled grunts, and eventually, he gave up on trying to curse her.

  A few hours passed with her peacefully treating her wounds, reading a book she had brought, and at one point, when wanting a brief respite from studying, even tried her hand at braiding the boy's dirty hair.

  His hair wasn't quite long enough for proper braids, but she found the repetitive motion soothing nonetheless. More surprising was the boy's utter lack of resistance. He sat still beneath her hands, whether in quiet resignation or because he thought cooperating would make her forget about his slow, subtle attempts at escape.

  Névé was fully aware of his attempts to escape, of course. She simply saw no need to intervene. He could barely conjure a flicker of flame in his tightly packed prison, and besides, she found studying how he toyed with his fire surprisingly educational. It was always useful to collect information on the enemy… whatever that meant.

  Finally, with her treatment completed, and her allotted break time coming to an end, Névé turned her focus back to her own training. With no natural water source, she was resigned to siphoning moisture from the plants and air. She worked meticulously, drawing in the ambient humidity and shaping it in complex patterns. Slowly, the air thinned, the ground cracked, and the barometric shift grew noticeable.

  To her mild surprise, in the atmospheric change, the clay muzzle sealing Scoria's mouth crumbled apart. He sputtered and spat, gagging out the dirt, but for once, he didn't launch straight into shouting. Névé cast him a brief glance but said nothing, returning to her exercises.

  Minutes passed in near silence before he finally spoke. "How'd you get those injuries?"

  Névé remained focused on her practice, concentrating intently on her controlled water. She replied without sparing him a glance. "Punishment."

  Scoria scoffed, shifting slightly in his muddy prison. "Well, that's what you get for trying to murder someone in the middle of the festival." His voice carried a forced restraint—he knew if he got too heated, she'd silence him again.

  "I didn't kill him," Névé corrected flatly as she tried to branch her controlled water in two separate directions at once. The water wobbled as she struggled to multitask, and she frowned at the failure before trying again. "I was just securing a decisive victory. I wasn't expecting him to be so incapable."

  Scoria let out a sharp breath, part scoff, part bitter laugh. Even if he hated to admit it, she wasn't wrong. "Sinecure is a spoiled brat. His parents practically bought his way into the tournament." He hesitated, then muttered, "Doesn't change the fact that you're a water bug, but… maybe I attacked you too hastily. Even I sometimes hurt people more than I mean to when I forget how weak kids my age are."

  Silence stretched between them.

  Scoria waited, expecting some kind of response—a returned apology or an offer of a truce, some kind of extended hand, anything.

  None came.

  Névé continued her practice as if he weren't even there.

  Scoria's brows furrowed, and he had to restrain himself from yelling against this insult. "Here I am, trying to do the noble thing and make amends, and you just give me the cold shoulder. I don't know if all you water bugs are like this or if it's just because you're a commoner, but you should fix that rotten attitude."

  Once again, Névé ignored him.

  To Scoria, her silence was a deliberate insult—an arrogant display of superiority, a mockery of his royal lineage.

  Truthfully, she just didn't have anything to say.

  Scoria exhaled sharply, straightening as much as his buried body would allow, his voice shifting from frustration to certainty. "I heard they're moving you up to the youth bracket next year. That means you won't be fighting weaklings anymore—you'll be fighting me. And I don't plan on giving up my trophy, especially not to a water bug and definitely not to a snot-nosed kid." His lips curled into a sneer. "I'll make sure to beat you senseless and wipe that annoying, haughty attitude off your face while I'm at it."

  At last, Névé turned to look at him.

  She made a purposeful gesture of looking him up and down at his body buried to the shoulders and raised a single questioning eyebrow.