Soulform: Shattered Worlds

The cheers thundered across the stadium like a crashing tide—relentless, joyous, filled with awe.

Helion stood in the middle of it all, breathing hard, barely upright.

But the fight was over.

Not just the battle with Draven—but the battle inside himself.

His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees.

Tears rolled down his face—not from pain, not from loss.

But from the overwhelming wave of emotion rising in his chest.

He had been named a Royal Guard Knight.

Not because he won.

But because he chose not to.

Above him, the projection crystal still shimmered with his name. Brave Heart Recipient: Helion.

The light from the beam above faded, returning the mountain to its natural glow. Dust swirled gently in the air.

Helion looked out at the sea of faces.

Smiles. Tears. Bows.

He tried to smile back—but his lips trembled, his shoulders shaking as another tear slid down.

A single breath escaped him.

"…I did it."

"I became a Royal Guard Knight"

He turned—and met Draven's eyes.

The crowd's roar was still rising, but in that instant, time felt still.

Draven stared at him—stunned, unsure. His armor was fractured, his body bruised, but his pride… shaken most of all.

Helion gave him a small, tired nod.

Draven looked away quickly—but only for a second.

Then he looked back.

And this time, they locked eyes.

No words.

Just an understanding.

Respect.

The moment passed like lightning—but it struck deep.

Then—

"HEEELION!!"

A scream from the stands.

Liena.

She burst from the sidelines, followed by Zezzy and Yuri—dodging the officials, pushing past stunned spectators, running full-speed toward the arena floor.

"Wait—Liena!" Zezzy called, laughing breathlessly. "Let him catch his breath at least!"

"Too late!" Yuri grinned.

Helion blinked—then barely had time to brace as Liena threw her arms around him.

"You idiot!" she sobbed, clutching him tightly. "I thought you were going to die—what were you thinking?! You can't just throw yourself into danger like that!"

Her voice cracked.

Helion's breath hitched, and for a moment… he let himself collapse into the hug. Let himself feel the warmth, the worry, the relief.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I just… I had to."

Zezzy dropped beside them, throwing an arm around both.

"Man, You blew up a mountain. That was insane."

Yuri chuckled as he knelt on Helion's other side, glasses slipping down his nose. "I think my heart stopped three times."

Helion laughed weakly. "Mine too."

Liena pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes.

"You don't have to be reckless to prove you're strong," she said, softer now. "You're already enough."

Helion looked at her—then at all three of them. Zezzy. Yuri. Liena.

His team.

His family.

"…Thanks," he murmured. "All of you."

They smiled at him—tears, bruises, laughter and all.

Helion smiled back—then slowly rose to his feet again.

"I… I have to do something," he said.

He turned, and the group stepped aside, watching as he walked across the stage—limping slightly, but with steady resolve.

He approached Draven.

The crowd quieted again, sensing something.

Draven stood still as Helion neared, arms crossed, his expression hard to read.

Then Helion stopped, just a few feet away.

He extended his hand.

"You won this fight, Draven," he said simply. "And you earned it."

The crowd held its breath.

Draven stared down at the offered hand, tension in his jaw. His fingers twitched.

At first, he looked ready to bat it away.

But instead—

He stepped forward.

And clasped it.

Their palms struck together in a strong, resounding grip.

The gesture echoed louder than any attack that had come before.

Draven leaned in slightly. "Next time, don't hold back."

Helion returned the look. "Next time, I won't."

As the final wave of applause echoed through the mountaintop stadium, Helion slowly turned back toward the center of the field.

His steps were slow, deliberate—each one echoing the weight of everything he'd just endured.

As the cheers continued to thunder through the stadium, Helion turned slightly—his steps slow, unsteady—and made his way to where Syrus stood, just behind the edge of the stage.

He stopped in front of him, battered and exhausted, yet still carrying the weight of quiet dignity.

Helion bowed his head, voice soft but full of sincerity.

"Captain Syrus… thank you. For everything."

Syrus looked at him—steady, unwavering.

Then he shook his head.

"This was nothing of my doing, Helion."

His voice was calm, but there was a power behind the words.

"You earned this. Every bit of it."

He stepped forward, placing a hand on Helion's shoulder.

"Through your sacrifice… your restraint… your heart—you've touched more lives today than any victory ever could."

"That's why you're becoming a Royal Guard."

"Not because of power… but because of who you are."

Helion's breath hitched again—not from exhaustion this time, but from the emotion swelling in his chest.

He nodded, voice trembling.

"Then I'll carry it. All of it."

"For everyone who couldn't."

Syrus gave a rare, quiet smile.

"And we'll stand with you."

Yuri stepped beside them, pushing his glasses up and nodding with that same reserved but heartfelt approval. "You've set the bar high. Now it's our turn."

They stood like that for a moment—reunited. Whole.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the platform, Draven walked in the opposite direction—his armor cracked. His footsteps were firm, but his gaze was distant.

At the edge of the arena wall, a figure waited.

Renza.

He leaned casually against the stone, arms folded, head turned slightly—but not enough to meet Draven's eyes. Only when Draven approached did Renza speak.

"You made it further than I thought," he said quietly, not looking back.

Draven stopped a few feet away, breathing hard.

"I could've beaten him sooner," Draven muttered. "But I hesitated."

Renza raised an eyebrow.

"Did you?"

Draven didn't answer.

The silence between them lingered—heavy with tension, maybe even respect.

Then, Renza finally pushed off the wall, turning fully to face his teammate.

"Rest up. You did great"

"Your a Royal Guard now"

Draven nodded once, then walked past him, disappearing down one of the inner corridors.

Syrus stepped forward once more.

The crowd quieted as the captain raised his hand, voice once again cutting clear through the air.

"The first half of the final round… is complete."

A wave of anticipation swept over the audience.

"The next wave of battles begins in 5 minutes."

With a hum of mana, the massive projection crystal above the arena flickered to life—then blazed with new names and matchups.

The screen split into four sections:

"Zezzy vs. Opal"

"Liena vs. Noah"

"Yuri vs. Geno"

"Cynthia vs. Sento"

Below them, a glowing countdown ticked down from 5:00 in bright golden numerals.

The crowd murmured, then slowly rose into cheers again—anticipation brewing like a storm.

Helion turned to his teammates—Zezzy, Liena, and Yuri—his voice low but steady.

"You guys got this," he said. "I know you'll win your battles… and I'll see you back here when it's done."

They didn't need a speech.

Just reassurance.

The four of them came together, forming a tight circle—knuckles tapping at the center.

As they broke apart, Helion gave them one last nod, then turned away—his body still aching, but his spirit light.

He limped toward the stadium stairs, weaving past the healing medics and murmuring guards. The crowd parted slightly as he passed, heads turning to catch one more glimpse of the boy who refused to fall.

Syrus's voice rang out once more, commanding and clear:

"Remaining participants—report to the stage. You will be transferred shortly to your respective terrains."

The crowd's murmur rose again as the final contenders stepped forward.

Opal, her cloak flicking behind her, walked with calm purpose.

Noah, walked with immense confidence, waving at the stand smiling.

Cynthia, ever-poised, kept her gaze locked ahead.

Geno, shoulders squared, cracked his neck and stepped out with quiet confidence.

And Sento, eyes narrowed, already flexing the energy in his palms.

They made their way toward the platform—where Zezzy, Liena, and Yuri were already waiting, lined up and focused beneath the glowing crystal.

Above them, the final seconds ticked down.

04:59… 04:58…

And the second half of the Royal Draft's finale… was about to begin.

Tension coiled in the air.

On the central platform, eight figures stood under the weight of expectation. The projection crystals above cast brilliant light across the arena as the final seconds of the countdown faded away.

Opal stood across from Zezzy.

Neither spoke.

Eyes locked. Breath steady.

They studied each other in complete silence—movements, stances, intent.

The storm between them was quiet… but building.

Liena turned toward Noah.

He stood relaxed, hands at his sides, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"How lucky am I…" he said smoothly, "to fight two members of the Virell family in the same tournament."

He gave a small bow, mock-formal.

"I promise—I won't disappoint you."

Liena's expression didn't budge.

Her sword hummed faintly at her side.

Yuri's boots tapped lightly as he stepped forward.

Geno mirrored him.

Their gazes locked instantly—familiar, charged.

Geno cracked a grin.

"Well… finally. I get my rematch."

Yuri adjusted his coat. Calm, unreadable.

"Lucky you," he said. "Looks like I only have to go through one of you this time."

Cynthia said nothing.

Her staff glowed faintly at her side, light catching in the mana that curled around her boots.

Across from her, Sento cracked his knuckles slowly.

His gloves tightened.

Still no words.

But in the silence—acknowledgment.

This fight would speak for itself.

Four beams of radiant energy descended from above, each locking onto a pair.

One by one, the duelists were lifted from the stage and whisked away—drawn into shimmering portals that scattered across the sky.

Zezzy and Opal—

Vanished into the jungle terrain, where vines coiled through towering trees and fog thickened the air.

Liena and Noah—

Appeared atop a jagged mountain cliff, where winds howled and the drop beneath was endless.

Yuri and Geno—

Dropped into a wide-open field, golden grass swaying beneath a pale blue sky.

Cynthia and Sento—

Materialized on the edge of a riverbank, water rushing behind them, the terrain slick and narrow.

Above it all, the crowd held its breath.

The second wave of the Royal Draft… had begun.

As soon as they materialized into their respective terrains—each pair burst into motion.

Yuri dropped low, palm pressed to the ground.

"Spirit Skill: Transmute."

The field around him rippled as a wide patch of dry grass warped into thick, dragging mud, aiming to disrupt Geno's footing.

But Geno was quick.

With a sharp inhale and burst of momentum, he sprung into the air, narrowly avoiding the spreading trap. He twisted mid-flight and landed firmly on a dry stretch just beyond its edge.

He smirked. "Gonna have to be faster than that, Yuri."

High on the mountain cliff, Liena clapped her hands as raw wind coiled around her.

"First Form: Temporal Air!"

A chaotic burst of wind spiraled beneath her feet, lifting her from the ground in a spiraling vortex. She rose, levitating, cloak whipping violently behind her, eyes locked forward with clarity.

Far below, Noah watched from his perch with amused awe.

"So this is the power of Virell wind…" he mused, voice light. "Beautiful."

Deep in the tangled jungle, Zezzy darted forward, blade shimmering.

"Mana Enforcement—First Form: Pressure Resin!"

Water swirled tightly around her sword, deep blue and dense. Five small orbs hovered near her shoulders, and with a flick of her wrist—they fired. Five thin beams of pressurized water shot forward in staggered bursts, tearing through the humid air.

Opal didn't hesitate.

She twisted her body, flipping clean through the first blast, tumbled low beneath the second, and lunged sideways. Her boots barely touched the dirt before she vaulted upward, using a nearby vine that draped from a high branch.

She gripped it mid-motion, using it like a swing to flip and maneuver through the final bursts

Zezzy's eyes tracked Opal's every shift. "She's fast… but I won't let this end like my brother's draft did."

By the riverbank, Cynthia and Sento had already collided mid-air—staff against blade.

Mana flared around them in tight pulses.

With raw force, Cynthia twisted her staff and pushed Sento back, sending him flying.

He crashed into the river with a heavy splash, the current sweeping around him as he righted himself underwater.

And just like that—

All four battles had begun.

Swift and merciless.