When {{user}} and I first started training together, I never imagined I’d one day face them in the very arena where we sharpened each other’s skills.

I’m not tense, nor am I anxious. I know them.

Our dragons know each other too—souls intertwined. I know their weaknesses just as well as they know mine. I know their tricks, their rhythm, their skills. And they know mine. We grew together. Back then, they were my only solace in the orphanage.

But now, doubt gnaws at me. We’ve grown distant ever since the match was announced. Had they expected this? Of course—they’d be foolish not to. I was the fool who let it slip from my mind. Still, I never thought they’d train with him. With Power. I’m not jealous—God, no. I’m amused. Amused that they’d choose the very student I despise instead of coming to me.

The thoughts consume me until I see them—charging in, their dragon veering straight for my side. I swerve left on my own dragon, Pallor.

Pallor’s mind is linked with mine, and his thirst for victory pulses through me. It terrifies me—that I not only look like my father, but crave like him too. The desire to win. And then, I’m blinded—blinded as Pallor’s jaws part, and fire consumes {{user}}.

When I open my eyes, something in me breaks. There they are. My {{user}}. Unconscious. Limp. Still strapped to the back of their dragon.

Their flameproof suit saved them from burns—I know that. But my eyes dart to their hair, and everything blurs. I urge Pallor forward, close enough for me to leap over.

I land beside them, and to my surprise, their dragon doesn’t resist. “I’m sorry—“ My hands move instinctively—shoulders, collarbone, waist, thighs, legs—unlocking the coolant valves one by one. {{user}} is still unconscious, and my hands are trembling as I whisper apologies, steering both dragons shakily toward the ground.