Michael, Torren, and Blitz stood motionless, their eyes locked on the scorched earth where Adam had just been. The flames were gone, but the heat still clung to the air, and the image of what they had witnessed refused to leave their minds.
No one spoke at first. The silence pressed down on them like smoke after a wildfire.
"Did… we win?" Michael finally muttered, his voice uncertain.
Torren took a step forward, scanning the area. "He's really… gone?"
Blitz's eyes widened as he examined the scorched landscape. "Not even a finger left this time. What kind of fire was that?"
For a moment, he grinned—a familiar crooked grin that usually preceded some sarcastic comment—but this time, something was different. Behind his usual wild smirk, a flicker of hesitation showed. He was excited, sure—but also afraid. That attack had been on an entirely different level.
"Did we really defeat him? Was he truly burned away completely? Just how powerful is the Elder…?" raced through Michael's mind.
He glanced at the Elder but said nothing aloud.
The Elder, for his part, remained perfectly still. He hadn't moved an inch since releasing his overwhelming flame. His eyes stayed fixed on the spot where Adam had stood—as if analyzing the aftermath, deep in thought.
Torren glanced at the Elder and then back at the burned ground. "There's no way he survived that…"
Still, the Elder didn't respond. His expression was unreadable. He wasn't celebrating. He wasn't relaxed. He was simply observing.
Blitz crossed his arms, trying to shake the last tremors of tension from his body. "Well… if that's what the Elder can do, remind me not to piss him off."
None of them laughed.
The moment hung in the air—heavy and silent—as if the forest itself was catching its breath.
The Elder's eyes narrowed.
A subtle twitch on the scorched ground caught his attention—barely noticeable, yet unmistakably wrong.
There it was.
A finger, untouched by the inferno. And not just a finger anymore. Flesh was weaving over it—bone extending, sinew forming. In seconds, it became a full palm. Then a wrist. Then an arm.
The Elder took a quiet step forward and said, in a tone sharp enough to freeze the air:
"…It's not over."
Michael's heart skipped a beat. "No…"
Torren's voice came out as a whisper, "You've got to be kidding me…"
Even Blitz's smile, though still stretched across his face, twitched—just slightly. But he didn't stop grinning.
In a horrible, unnatural silence, they watched the body rebuild itself—tendons stretching like wires, muscle wrapping around bone like roots crawling through soil. A chest formed, a neck, then the head.
And finally, the eyes opened.
Blazing with fury.
Adam let out a ragged breath, then screamed—words venomous and raw, filled with hatred.
"You pathetic sack of bones!" he roared, his voice shaking with rage. "You wrinkled, rotting excuse for a wizard! Do you think that was enough to kill me?!"
He staggered forward, every motion brimming with murderous energy.
"That stunt of yours? That pathetic blast? I've endured worse in training, old man!"
He bared his teeth, eyes locked on the Elder like a beast ready to strike.
"You'll regret ever crossing me. You should've stayed in whatever dusty grave you crawled out of, you decrepit fossil!"
Michael and Torren stood frozen, stunned by both the impossible resurrection and the pure, burning hate in Adam's voice.
But Blitz?
Blitz kept smiling—his expression equal parts intrigued, amused, and slightly unnerved.
Adam was back.
And this time, he was angrier than ever.
The Elder remained still.
Adam's furious rant echoed through the clearing—insults sharp as blades, his voice cracking with rage. But the Elder didn't flinch, didn't reply, didn't even truly listen.
He was thinking.
There was something familiar about this boy… Something in the way he stood, the cadence of his voice, the overwhelming fire magic that should've burned him out long ago.
Then, as Adam paused for breath between his curses, the Elder calmly raised a hand—cutting through the venom like a blade of wind.
"What's your name?" the Elder asked.
Adam's face contorted in rage at being interrupted. "What?! You want my name, you bag of bones?! Fine. You're all going to die here anyway, so I'll tell you!"
He straightened slightly, as if announcing himself to the world.
"My name is Adam!"
And in that moment, something clicked.
The Elder's eyes widened, just a fraction. He took a slow breath, gaze sharpening.
Of course.
Now he remembered.
One year ago—at the Tournament's main stage. Only 128 combatants from across the world made it through the qualifiers. Among them, there had been a boy. Wild. Powerful. Undisciplined. Dangerous.
A boy who vanished halfway through the event.
The Elder had seen him only briefly then.
But the fire. The fury. The recklessness.
It was unmistakable.
"Adam…" he said under his breath. "So it's you."
He hadn't just survived since that tournament.
He had grown stronger.
And far, far more dangerous.