Rey looked calm, sitting still as if at peace—but inside, anxiety churned through him like a storm. Across from him, Jasmine finally set the bottle down, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes never left his.
"…Alright. I believe you," she said, voice low. "But listen carefully, Rey. If I sense anything off, if I feel—even for a second—that you're not my son but someone pretending to be him… you'll be dead before you can blink."
She leaned forward, pressing a knife to his throat, miming a slice.
"…Could you not do that, Mom?" Rey leaned back cautiously, keeping a small smile to soften the tension. "The knife's a bit close. I'd prefer to keep my head on my shoulders, if you don't mind."
"…And also," he added, placing a hand on his stomach as it growled loudly, "I haven't eaten in hours. Maybe… someone could feed the innocent man here?"
Jasmine blinked, then chuckled, the tension finally loosening in her shoulders.
"Oh no… Dinner. I forgot."
She quickly rose and brought out a hot plate, pushing aside the one she and Emmy had been picking at earlier. No one wanted cold food before bed, after all. Rey wasted no time—he devoured enough for two, prompting another glance from Jasmine. He hadn't just grown stronger; he ate like he was making up for years of starvation.
Afterward, Jasmine stood up to wash the dishes, but Rey caught her arm.
"Let me handle this. You two relax. Maybe… watch something together?" he offered, giving her a warm smile.
That simple gesture—an echo of the old Rey—made her pause. Her lips trembled slightly as she gave herself a small, embarrassed slap on the cheek.
"Why did I even doubt him?"
Despite everything that had changed, deep inside… he was still her Rey.
As the sink began to fill with warm water and soap suds, Rey heard the distant chatter of the television. He could tell Emmy had the remote—channels flipped from the news to movies, back to news again, and finally settled on something else.
"—And now, the final match of the High School Martial Artist Tournament begins!"
Rey perked up.
He washed faster, drying his hands and hurrying into the living room to join them. Emmy had her arms wrapped around a cushion, eyes wide with excitement, while Jasmine leaned back with a faint smirk, clearly enjoying the moment.
On-screen, two teens stepped into the spotlighted stage, roaring cheers vibrating through the air.
"On the left, David Bennett, young master of the Bennett Clan. And on the right—Aria Frostheart, the star of the Frostheart family!"
The crowd's enthusiasm was overwhelming—especially for Aria. The cheering grew so loud for her that David chuckled and raised his voice to speak over it.
"Seems like you've become quite the celebrity, Aria."
"You should worry about your limbs, David," Aria replied icily. "You won't be walking off this stage tonight."
Their banter made the crowd roar even louder.
Aria, seventeen years old, stood like a goddess sculpted in frost. Long white hair tumbled to her waist, and her icy blue eyes reflected calm resolve. With an hourglass figure and delicate features, she could've ruled the modeling world had she accepted any of the countless contracts rumored to come her way.
David, eighteen, was her contrast—muscular, tall, with dark brown hair and intense orange eyes that practically glowed. With his chiseled face and fiery presence, he looked straight out of a fantasy novel.
He walked to the stage's edge and retrieved a heavy suitcase from three attendants. From it, he drew a massive broadsword. The hilt was forged from a dark, unknown metal, while the blade gleamed like silver, radiating sharpness and strength.
Aria approached the other side of the platform, where a young blonde girl held out a sword to her.
"Are you sure you can win this, Sis?" Elara asked nervously. Sixteen, with blonde hair and dark eyes, Elara couldn't stop staring at David's terrifying sword. "That thing looks like it could cleave a mountain."
"No need to worry," Aria replied softly, brushing a hand along her sword's surface. "By the end of this match, it'll be him needing a hospital."
The arena buzzed with excitement as both fighters returned to the center.
Auras erupted.
Aria's body shimmered with frigid energy, and frost spread rapidly beneath her feet, curling across the stage. Opposite her, flames burst from behind David, forming the blazing silhouette of a demon wreathed in molten fire.
Spectators gasped. Even the referee instinctively took a step back.
"Elara," someone whispered beside her, "he's using the Bennett Clan's forbidden technique… Infernal Pyroclasm!"
Elara didn't flinch. "And Aria isn't just any fighter either. She has royal frost blood. She's mastered the Glacial Abyss Technique—something even our family's founder couldn't do."
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Clang!
The clash of swords rang out like thunder. David's raw strength sent Aria skidding backward. Her blade cracked from the sheer force.
But she didn't falter.
Her cold aura surged. Ice coated her sword, mending the cracks and reshaping the weapon into a long, elegant frost blade that shimmered like a winter moon.
David launched forward, conjuring fireballs and hurling them like comets. Aria deflected them with precise slashes, frost trailing in her wake.
"Try this!" David roared, raising his sword high and channeling a massive flame above his head.
Aria raised her blade. "Let's end this."
David hurled the burning orb, but Aria met it with three sharp arcs of icy energy. The resulting explosion sent smoke billowing into the air.
When it cleared, both fighters were still standing—but breathing heavier.
Their battle continued in a flurry of movement, each sustaining cuts and bruises, testing limits neither had faced before. Blood splashed the floor, and yet their eyes burned brighter with every strike.
Finally, they backed away.
"Last chance, Aria," David called out with a grin. "If I win, you owe me a date. Don't forget our bet!"
Rey's fists clenched on the couch.
"Let me in that ring," he muttered under his breath, jealousy flaring.
"Keep dreaming," Aria said coldly, her gaze never leaving her opponent. "You'll be the one crawling home."
They began their final techniques.
David's blade ignited, molten heat warping the stage beneath him. The sword glowed like a dying star.
Aria spun into position, wind swirling around her like a blizzard. Her frost energy concentrated into a blade of pure ice, almost transparent.
The crowd held its breath.
"Wrath of the Flame Demon!" David shouted, cleaving through the air.
"Glacial Storm!" Aria countered, slashing downward.
Boom!
The attacks collided with a deafening explosion. Fog engulfed the arena, and windows shattered from the shockwave.
Minutes passed. Then silence.
Someone in the crowd cried out, "Who won?!"
But the answer waited within the fog.
--> To be Continued...
Who will emerge victorious from this clash of fire and frost?
Stay tuned for the next chapter and find out who walks—and who falls.