Lennox cut a menacing figure even among this wild crowd. He stood tall and broad, like an insurmountable wall before his opponent. Unlike Silas who was coiled like a rope, Lennox stood relaxed, his arms hanging by his side.

The bell rang and the fight started.

Lennox’s opponent - Darrum - made the first move. He charged at Lennox, swinging his right fist at him. Lennox moved quickly on his feet and easily ducked under the man’s arm, rather catching him in his left side. 

Silas watched as Lennox landed a clean, powerful punch—one that would’ve sent most men reeling. But this man didn’t even flinch.

It was like hitting stone.

Not just his arms, but his entire frame seemed carved from something tougher than flesh. A monster in human skin.

Before Lennox could pull back, Darrum lashed out with his left arm, catching him square in the chest with such ease it felt mocking—effortless, brutal, and fast. Lennox staggered, the air knocked clean out of him, and Silas felt his pulse spike.

This wasn’t just brute strength. This was something else. 

No one could be naturally strong enough to toss around a man of Lennox’s size, with just a swing of his hand.

A trickle of blood dripped down his chin and Lennox wiped it away. A faint glimmer of blue flames dancing on his fist, reaching out toward Darrum. 

Hurt and Agitated.

But then, like a breath pulled back before it became a scream, Lennox clenched his fist and drew the fire inward.

Silas watched, heart thudding. He remembered what Ruhan had told him—that Zenos protected Lennox, but in that moment he saw how Lennox, in turn, guarded the dragon with every fiber of his being.

And now, in that one restrained moment, Silas saw it for himself. Not weakness. Not mercy. Control. For someone else’s sake.

A man standing on a raised stool near the arena snarled at Lennox. 

‘No spells this round.’ He hollered.

Darrum strolled around the arena as if he had already scored the victory. He watched Lennox as he inched slowly toward him. Then impatient, he ran toward Lennox, grabbing him around the waist, hoping to slam him down the floor. But as if spurred by a burning rage, Lennox held the man in turn, planting his feet firmly on the floor, he pulled him toward himself and then threw him over his head.

Silas could feel the vibration under his feet as the giant struck the floor, his head slamming hard against it. The entire arena stilled in silence, only the thump echoed loud.

The man should have been stars in the day but he jumped to his feet as he never was on the floor. Circling Lennox as if he had found an interesting prey.

The feeling of suspicion now stirred something within Silas. Years in Nimah had trained his eyes to see their magic, their spells but he never saw anything in Raia or Dales now. He wished he could see it now. Do something, anything to help him in this unfair fight.

He touched the glass, feeling the hum of the magic that imbued it. His eyes closed but the fight raged on. He whispered a prayer, just simple words and then a whole world came alive in the darkness behind his lids.

This was not a metaphor. He was in some other world. Again.

But there were no meadows this time. Behind a pale of dark green vine, sat a man with an ethereal grace. He was tall and broad, built just like Lennox and he tended to a beautiful horse, grazing by a flowing stream. Silas was in the woods this time.

‘You called on me, little one.’ The man said.

Silas opened and closed his mouth, like a dying fish. Did he?

‘I..I..’

He started but he didn’t know how to finish. He fumbled, looking around wide-eyed. One moment, he was in the arena and now he was here.

Where was he anyway? 

He had developed this strange habit of waking up in impossible places every time he closed his eyes. 

‘Where am I?’

The man looked up at him, momentarily from his horse and smiled.

‘Do not worry about that. You are not in any place where you could be harmed. You prayered to me and I answered. I am the source of all magical powers in Dales. It has been contracted to me. So what did you want?’ 

Silas did not understand this concept of ‘Contract’ but he didn’t even know the history of himself, let alone any Kingdom. Given his situation, he should hurry.

‘I just saw someone I thought was using spells or powers but claimed not to do so. He is fighting with my ....friend...right now. I can usually see spells and I was trying to see that.. here..too.’ 

Gods, he sounded stupid. What was he gonna do even if he saw something? Cry foul to the referee. Lend him his eyes?

Nervously he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

The man hummed, smiling adoringly at his horse.

‘I wonder if you can do more than just see them. You just communicated to me through my spell. See, you should not twist them as you wish.’

‘I was not trying to.’ Silas defended.

‘You could, ’ The man said, getting on his horse as a woman’s voice beckoned to him from somewhere in distance. He started moving away and then turning over his shoulder, he added, ‘and one day…you would know why.’

Silas opened his eyes and Darrum was still circling Lennox as if not a moment had passed. Instinctively, Silas’s hand flew to his nape and a veil of warmth seemed to drape over him.

Silas eyes lifted again to Darrum and as he blinked, the entire scene before him shifted. The arena was reduced to moving shadows and shifting green luminescence. The spot that marked Lennox was colored a blue hue but the rest were either a shade of green or a deep dark nothing. 

At this point, he couldn’t decipher one Mage from another, like he could with distinct spells but Silas could see the power flowing in the mages. Unlike other shapes where the glow seemed like dots, Darrum was flowing with it.

Silas had no way to tell with his new found sight how a mage looked while using the power vis a vis when he wasn’t but he had to be quick about finding out.

The entire fight had become a blur of punches and blows and kicks, both the fighter completely immersed into it. Despite the Mage’s tough hide, Lennox had changed the shape of his face. His own had also borne the brunt though.

Grimacing, Silas leaned on the ledge next to the glass when his own image appeared beside him shimmering but pellucid.  

Ruhan.

‘Try dimming the light you see on the Mage.’ Ruhan suggested.

‘It’s not like there’s a switch I can flip.’ Silas replied, helpless.

‘Try is the keyword Silas.’

‘Hmm..’ 

Silas blinked into the vision, his entire focus honed on the Maze. He tried imagining him in a muted shade or reducing the power flow to a ball, like the others. But it continued to stream.

Lennox had knocked Darrum to his knees but the next moment, another blow landed on his temple.

Silas blinked harder, not willing to see Lennox’s beautiful face ruined. That was one of the few redeeming qualities of the brute.

If the power was flowing from that realm, he would rather pinch off that vein.

Lennox swiftly responded to the punch as he pressed his wrists together and finding the opening, slammed it across Darrum’s chest. Darrum flew off the floor like a ragged doll and slammed in the glass with a force that brought the whole thing down, raining down glittering shards upon the crowd. 

Silas sucked in a breath and turned to Ruhan.

Wide-eyed.

‘I didn’t do it.’ He said quickly, holding his hands up.

 A beat passed.

‘ - Only thought about it.’ He added under his breath.

The silence that followed was unnatural. A stillness crept through the air like something sacred had just cracked. All around, Mages shifted uncomfortably. Several had begun casting spells in defense or panic—yet nothing came. No light, no surge of energy, no glow.

Nothing.

A ripple spread through the crowd as people realized the truth. Magic—all of it—was gone.

The Referee, blinking in disbelief, looked toward Lennox and then Darrum’s crumpled form on the ground.

“…Victory,” he announced shakily, raising Lennox’s arm. “To Fuyan!”

Lennox didn’t linger. He snatched the sack of coins with one hand, eyes already scanning for Silas. The crowd erupted—not in cheers, but in chaos. Panic, confusion, rage. Mages clutching at runes, sigils that refused to respond. Warders shouting for control.

Silas sprinted toward Lennox, ducking a flying mug and sidestepping a dazed Cleric.

“We need to go—now!”

Silas didn’t argue. Together, they bolted toward the far exit.

They had nearly reached the archway when a hush fell over the room—not natural, not deliberate. 

From one of the box balconies above, a man stepped forward.

Broad-shouldered, built like a war machine carved from ancient stone, he looked down on them like a god among insects. He wasn’t glowing, yet the pressure in the air twisted around him, bending to his will. And though magic still slept elsewhere, power bled from him freely, as if the rules didn’t apply.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Order began to restore itself with terrifying speed. Guards snapped back to formation. The panicked crowd was stilled by his presence alone.

Silas staggered under the pressure, sweat beading at his temple. His stomach twisted.

Lennox inhaled sharply beside him, knuckles white as he wrestled to keep Zenos buried, the dragon’s fury pulsing just beneath his skin. “He’s—”

Then Silas felt it—a surge. Thick. Focused. Heading straight for them. His nape burned like something branded.

And then he heard it.

A voice. Urgent. Echoing only in his mind.

‘Vadi.’

‘Who?’ Silas asked.

‘No one you should ever know. Run!’

He didn’t question it. Two fingers found the engraving at the back of his neck. His strength surged, just enough.

Light enveloped them—
and they were gone.