Chapter 273 Final Run

Chapter 273 Final Run


Cassian’s POV

The days settled into a steady rhythm after that. The first round had been brutal, humbling even, with more failures than finishes and more frustration than celebration. That changed the moment the second round began.
Every competitor who stood at that starting line carried the weight of expectation on their shoulders.
I leaned against the edge of the platform, watching as another pair cleared the climb with far more control than we’d seen earlier in the week.
“About time,” I muttered under my breath.
Atlas, standing just off to my right, folded his arms as he tracked their movement. “They’re learning.”
“They had to,” I replied. “First round embarrassed half of them.”
“More than half.” He mumbled under his breath. 
“Exactly my point.”
The difference showed in the numbers.
Where the first run had barely scraped together a handful of completions, the second round told a different story entirely. Nearly seventy percent of the runners were making it through now, some barely, some cleanly, but all of them proving they could adapt.
And still no one had touched the top times.
Not even close.
“Well,” I said, shifting my weight slightly as I glanced down at the latest results, “we’ve got a new leader for the non-royal category.”
Atlas raised a brow. “Let me guess.”
“Blade,” I confirmed. “White Claw Pack. Three minutes and forty-five seconds.
“That sounded about …” He stopped himself, catching my look, then smirked. “Makes sense.”
I snorted quietly. “Careful. You almost said something you weren’t supposed to.”
“I corrected it,” he replied.
I glanced over toward Calvin, who stood a few steps away, his attention fixed on the arena but his expression giving him away completely.
Pride.
“Really?” I called out to him, tilting my head slightly. “You still want to step down after that? Because it looks like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Calvin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looked back at me. “I do know what I’m doing,” he said. “But that doesn’t stop time from doing what it does.”
“Oh, here we go,” Atlas muttered.
Calvin placed a hand on his lower back dramatically, arching slightly like he was proving a point. “My bones creak,” he continued. “My brain rattles. I wake up and something new hurts every day.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” I said dryly.
The booth filled with laughter.
Margaret didn’t even let him finish before stepping in. “You are not old, Cal,” she said firmly, shaking her head.
He straightened immediately, nodding once. “You’re right.”
A beat passed. Then he looked right back at us. “I’m ancient.”
That earned another round of laughter.
I rubbed a hand over my face, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
Atlas smirked. “He’s committing to it.”
“Too much,” I replied.
I pushed off the railing slightly, shifting the conversation back where it needed to be.
“So,” I said, glancing between them, “who’s taking over the pack?”
No one answered right away. That was answer enough.
I raised a brow. “What about Blade?”
Calvin’s expression changed, the humor fading just enough to let something more serious come through.
“He can’t,” he said.
I studied him for a second. “Why not?”
“It’ll repeat the past,” he replied with a quiet sigh. “His family will use him. Same pattern, different face.”
That shut down any argument before it could even start. I nodded once, slow, understanding the weight behind that. 
“Fair enough,” I said.
Below us, movement drew my attention back to the course. The final pair of runners for the day stepped up to the line.
I lifted the microphone, my voice carrying clean across the arena. “Next up,” I announced, “Sylas and Ronan of the White Claw Pack.”
The crowd responded immediately, energy building again as both men took their positions.
“This is the final run of this year’s tournament,” I added, letting that settle.
The whistle blew. They launched forward.
Both started strong, clearing the first section with confidence and speed that suggested they had learned from every mistake made before them. The second section followed quickly, neither of them faltering as they moved through it with steady control.
“They’ve got good pacing,” Atlas noted.
“Let’s see if they can hold it,” I replied.
They reached the climb. Both powered through it, though not without effort. Muscles strained, grips tightened, but they made it without losing momentum.
The fire slowed them. Not dramatically, but enough.
“They hesitated,” I said.
“Just a second,” Atlas added.
They pushed through anyway, both clearing the final bursts before reaching the ice.
This time was no pause. They moved carefully as they worked their way across. And then they crossed. The times came in moments later.
“Sylas finishes at three minutes and forty-six seconds,” I announced, “with Ronan just behind him at three minutes and forty-eight.”
Strong runs. But not enough.
I lowered the mic slightly, preparing to close out the tournament and then I looked up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Atlas followed my gaze. Then he laughed. “Of course.”
Ryder.
Evander.
Standing at the starting line like they had been there the entire time, both of them completely unfazed by the fact that they were about to run the final course of the tournament in front of a fully charged crowd.
I lifted the microphone again, not even bothering to hide the shift in energy. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said quickly, “to close out this year’s tournament, we have one final special run.”
The arena erupted.
“Please welcome Prince Ryder… and our beta, Evander.”
The whistle blew. They were gone.
Ryder didn’t hesitate. He tore through the first section like it wasn’t even there, his movements precise, almost effortless in the way he went through.
Evander stayed close behind, only a step or two off his pace.
“They’re moving fast,” Atlas said.
“They’re not here to play,” I replied.
They hit the second and third sections.
Ryder dominated them.
Evander pushed harder, trying to match him, but overcompensated slightly on one reach, his hand slipping just enough to make my chest tighten.
“He’s about to…”
Evander recovered.
“Lucky,” Atlas muttered.
They reached the fire. Ryder didn’t slow. He dropped low and slid under the final burst exactly the way Elara had shown earlier, smooth and controlled without breaking stride.
Evander followed, slightly less clean but still effective.
Then came the ice.
Ryder didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate.
He ran it. Straight through.
Every step placed perfectly, his balance locked in as he crossed the final stretch without losing even a fraction of his speed.
He reached the end and leaned casually against the railing, turning back to watch.
Evander crossed seconds later, breathing heavier but still standing strong.
They clasped hands, lifting them together as the crowd lost control once again.
I checked the times. And just like that I was blown away. I lifted the microphone slowly, letting the anticipation build. “The official times are in,” I said.
The arena quieted just enough.
“Evander finishes with three minutes and twenty-five seconds.”
Cheers followed immediately.
“And Ryder…”
I paused.
“…three minutes flat.”
The reaction hit like thunder.
“Tying the former kings for the fastest time on the course.”