While Kain wrestled with time-bending microbes in a collapsing relic, back in Dark Moon City, Alaina Ashenclaw, the owner of a certain illegitimate salamander, was wrestling with something far more complicated: her feelings.

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Alaina Ashenclaw looked beautiful.

She always did—long blond hair curled to perfection, green eyes sharp enough to slice through a conversation, posture immaculate, expression sculpted into aristocratic arrogance from years of growing up as one of the elite.

But today…

Today, the arrogance cracked.

A faint crease of heartbreak sat between her brows, ruining her usual aura of superiority.

She hated that people could probably see it.

She hated even more that it was real.

Months ago, after seeing Kain and Serena finally show what looked like genuine progress in their relationship, she'd been forced to accept her loss.

The wedding catalogues stacked in her room? Gone. Torn to shreds. The bracelet charms she'd bought to "test ring metals she might like if she ever, hypothetically, for no reason whatsoever, was proposed to by a certain someone"? Thrown out.

Even the engagement ring appointment she'd scheduled—"just in case Kain someday wanted her opinion on what ring types she liked"—had been very sadly cancelled.

She sighed.

Barely audible.

But the young man walking beside her, examining her every move and change in expression, stiffened instantly.

Of course he did. It'd taken him forever to snag this date, and he wanted nothing to go wrong.

His name was Terren Valcrest, a same-aged schoolmate and a noble from a family comparable to her own—technically even slightly more affluent.

And, unfortunately for him, he was only one of the many young men who had decided that Alaina's abrasive personality was apparently "charming." One can overlook a lot when the packaging is beautiful enough…

Terren had asked her out seven times before she finally agreed.

Mostly because she'd been trying to force herself to "move on."

And now…

Now she was beginning to regret everything.

Terren beamed nervously at her, oblivious to her internal spiral. "Are you, um… enjoying yourself?"

Alaina looked around.

Dark.

Dingy.

Crowded.

Loud.

Like a warehouse had been repurposed by someone who thought the word "aesthetic" meant "needs more sweat and blood."

Several stories rose around a massive cage in the center, metal bars reinforced with glowing sigils. People packed themselves onto rickety platforms overlooking the battleground below. The smell of alcohol, hot metal, and unwashed bodies clashed aggressively in the air.

Inside the cage, two figures were fighting.

Fighting like they wanted each other dead.

Neither used spiritual techniques. Neither summoned a contract. They were exchanging blows fast enough to shatter bone, powered entirely by their Gifts.

A fist wrapped in shimmering red energy smashed into a jaw.

A knee crackled with lightning as it dug into a ribcage.

Blood spattered across the metal floor with each impact.

The crowd roared in approval, some cheering, others groaning in frustration as their bets sank or swelled.

One particularly massive bronze-skinned man, covered in intimidating tattoos, slammed his fist into the railing and bellowed:

"IF YOU LOSE ME MY MONEY I'LL BREAK YOUR OTHER LEG MYSELF, YOU HEAR ME?!"

Judging by the murderous look on his face, he wasn't bluffing.

Alaina stared.

Expression blank.

Eyes dead.

This… This was supposed to be a date?

Another blow landed onstage. Something cracked. Loudly. Wetly. One fighter collapsed, clutching a shattered leg. The other staggered but forced himself upright, panting as blood streamed from his broken nose.

The announcer rushed forward—a man in a garish vest and an even more garish smile.

"WE HAVE A WINNER! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR— THUNDERFIST!!"

The crowd screamed.

The loser was carried off unconscious.

The "winner" couldn't even stand without two medics supporting him.

Terren cleared his throat, smiling too hard. "Pretty amazing, right? Real close combat. No contracts. No fancy beasts to hide behind. Men fighting with their own power."

Alaina turned her head just enough to level him with the full force of her unimpressed stare.

"Why are beast tamers fighting like barbarians?"

He smiled awkwardly, seeing her not as enamoured by the show as he was when he first came here—but, of course, he had an explanation prepared that didn't make him seem like a 'blood thirsty barbarian.'

"Ahem. Personally, I like to come and watch as a kind of training. I learn a lot by watching. There aren't many safe opportunities for Gift-users to test their abilities. Unless someone joins the military, becomes a mercenary, or—well—goes into crime. So, places like this… they let people experience combat in a controlled way."

Alaina looked deliberately toward Thunderfist, who was coughing blood into a bucket.

"And this," she said slowly, "is what you call controlled."

Terren laughed awkwardly. "W-Well no one's died! …yet. And they only get crippled sometimes."

She blinked once.

He took it as encouragement.

A team of workers jogged onto the stage, washing away the sweat and blood staining the cage floor. The announcer strutted back out, throwing his hands up.

"ALL RIGHT, FOLKS! NEXT MATCH— GIVE IT UP FOR DRAINEN AND… THE BEAST!"

The crowd erupted.

People surged forward, nearly trampling each other to get closer to the betting stands.

Alaina stepped forward as well—only because her date immediately grabbed her wrist and began tugging her toward a crowd gathered around a betting broker.

The broker himself looked… odd.

Dark hair.

Dark eyes.

A face so pale it looked almost sickly under the neon lights.

Sharp cheekbones.

Thin frame.

And weirdly familiar.

Alaina frowned, trying to place him, but Terren was already shouting over the noise:

"Two bets on Drainen! One for me and one for the lady!"

He threw down an obscene pile of celestial dollars—clearly hoping his display of wealth would impress her.

Alaina felt nothing.

Except vague irritation.

Was the show of wealth supposed to impress her?

It was money that he didn't even earn. Money from his parents. Money he was flaunting like a rooster displaying feathers he didn't grow.

Not like Kain.

Kain was independently wealthy. Capable. Hard-working. Responsible. Mature. Handsome.

She swallowed.

A little too sharply.

The thought hit harder than she wanted it to.

'No. No. No! You are on a date right now! No thoughts about Kain Newman!'

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