The Zerrafax King did not send a weak fighter second.
He sent a woman wreathed in living water.
She walked out onto the Field with the ocean moving around her, her blue scales running with currents that never stopped, her colorful hair drifting as if she stood underwater while standing on dry land. Pressure rolled off her, but it was wet pressure, the crushing weight of the deep sea, and the air grew heavy and cold the moment she crossed the line.
"Maelra," the King called, his confidence creeping back. "Drown the little cook."
Because it was Ainen who stepped forward to meet her.
He cracked his neck, rolled one shoulder, and smiled like a man who had been waiting all afternoon for his turn.
"A water fighter," he said. "Good. I have been collecting fire for years. Let us see what I do not have yet."
Maelra struck first, and the sea struck with her.
