✦ AETHER'S TRIUMPH ✦
The air hung heavy in the arena, thick with charged mana and the taut breaths of thousands of students. The dust from Lucas's failed strike still floated in the sunbeams that pierced the high glass roof. All eyes were on Aether—still standing there so calmly, hand half-lifted, that faint mocking grin on his lips.
But then—
A voice sliced through the tension like a polished blade.
"STOP."
Clear. Resonant. It rang across the entire stadium with effortless authority, not a shout, but something infinitely weightier. It was the kind of voice that did not demand silence; it simply was silence. And so silence came.
Every head snapped toward the stands, searching for the owner of that calm, commanding word. Even the birds perched along the rafters seemed to pause mid-chirp.
The headmaster's eyes went wide. Panic shot across his face as though someone had stabbed him. He practically jumped to his feet, hands trembling.
"Dean!" he shouted, his voice cracking. Then, with more force: "It's the Dean! Everyone, give your greetings to the Dean at once!"
A shocked wave passed through the entire arena. Gasps rose like startled flocks of birds. The mages and non-mages alike stumbled to their feet and bowed in near-perfect unison, some of them fumbling over each other, driven by a sudden, bone-deep instinct to show reverence. Even the upper-year chosen ones lowered their proud heads.
Everyone—except Aether and Lucas.
Lucas stood there frozen, blinking, still trying to process how his fire spell had been neutralized so effortlessly. Aether, on the other hand, merely tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with mild annoyance at the interruption. His arms stayed folded.
The Dean's appearance was the sort of event the students of Himwarry Magic Academy would write home about for weeks. After all, the Dean was a near-mythic figure—higher than the headmaster, higher than any of the esteemed senseis, the very peak of the academy's authority. She was not simply the strongest; she was one of the founders of the Academy, a pillar of magical society itself.
So to see her appear here, personally intervening in a mere first-year tournament… it was a once-in-a-generation spectacle.
✦ The Gentle Terror
Slowly, the Dean made her way to the arena floor, her steps unhurried, yet each one sent a quiet shiver through those nearby. She was a tall woman, easily five foot seven, her long gray hair braided elegantly down her back, her eyes a soft, kind brown. To anyone who didn't know better, she might have seemed like a gentle grandmother come to offer sweets and warm tea.
But the way even the most arrogant chosen ones flinched under her passing gaze betrayed the truth. That kindly expression was only a part of the whole. Beneath it lay centuries of mastery, an ocean of power that could drown armies if ever unleashed.
When she reached the center, she raised a hand—thin, wrinkled, adorned with a single gold band. At once the entire arena settled into breathless stillness.
"Everyone, please, take your seats," she said. Her voice was soft, almost grandmotherly, but somehow carried effortlessly to the farthest row. "Thank you. Now… I will come straight to the point."
Her warm eyes turned cold as they landed on the headmaster. The poor man stiffened as though a lightning bolt had struck him.
"Headmaster," the Dean began, her tone still gentle but threaded now with icy disappointment, "I am very disappointed in you."
The headmaster's face went pale. He bowed so deeply his hat nearly fell off. "M-my deepest apologies, Dean, I—I didn't foresee—"
"If this match had gone even a few moments further, one of these boys would have been badly wounded." Her calm words dropped into the arena like stones into a pond, sending ripples of stunned whispers through the stands. Then she added, eyes flicking sharply between Lucas and Aether: "And I already know precisely who that would have been."
The arena drew a collective breath.
✦ A Shattered Assumption
Lucas barked a short, cruel laugh. "Ha! That's right. The one who would've been badly wounded is him." He jabbed a finger at Aether, his smirk wide, self-satisfied, the laugh of someone sure they were still in control. "He's weaker than me after all—just some non-mage trash—"
Up in the stands, Claire's hands curled into tight fists. Rage boiled in her chest, ready to burst out. "That little—"
But she was cut off by a sudden, sharp snap of the Dean's voice. For the first time, true anger glinted in those brown eyes.
"It's you, boy."
Lucas's sneer faltered. His hand dropped. His eyes darted left and right, as if hoping she might be pointing to someone else.
"Y-you… what?" he stammered, taking a step back.
"You are the one who would have been badly wounded had this gone on. Not him." The Dean's words left no room for doubt. They fell with a weight that crushed every lingering protest.
A hush swept the arena like a sudden winter wind.
"What… what does she mean?" someone in the stands whispered hoarsely.
Ryan's voice cut through the stunned silence. "What are you saying, Dean?! How could a mage lose to a non-mage? That's impossible!" His voice cracked, high with nervous disbelief.
The Dean turned her head toward him, and the smirk that touched her lips was chilling. "Not everyone who lacks magic is weak. And not everyone who wields magic is strong. Remember this, all of you."
She slowly swept her gaze across the entire assembly, her eyes sharp yet somehow sad. "Those who say 'I have magic and you do not' are always the first to fall. Those who boast of their gifts to belittle others are scum. But those who would use their power to hurt the weak… they are worse than scum."
Ryan sank back into his seat, swallowing hard, face flushing a deep, embarrassed red. He didn't dare utter another word.
✦ The Unveiling
Then, the Dean smiled—but it was the sort of smile that made Lucas flinch outright.
"Most of you will not understand until you see it with your own eyes. So allow me to enlighten you."
With a graceful lift of her hand, a soft gold aura pulsed outward. It snaked through the air, wrapping around Aether's mechanisms. Tiny magical glyphs spun around it, and then—like a conjured illusion—a luminous panel appeared above the arena. It was a detailed readout, almost like a hunter's dossier, glowing bright for all to see.
________________________
Creator: Aether Ryens
Age: 15
Capabilities: Defense against magic, striking power.
Attack: 73%
Defense: 75%
Health: 90%
________________________
Mouths dropped open. Eyes bulged.
"As you can all see," the Dean continued smoothly, "this creation alone rivals the capabilities of an average second-year mage in our academy. Not the chosen ones, certainly—but more than enough to defeat a typical year one. And do you still think you could have bested that, Lucas?"
Her words slammed into Lucas like a physical blow. His mouth opened, closed. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. But he had nothing—no clever retort, no withering glare. Just a hot, swallowing silence.
Aether, meanwhile, only lifted a brow, his thoughts a cold, calculating ripple. "So she's a hunt mage, huh… using hunt magic to pull up the true stats of my creations. Tch. That magic is nothing but trouble for me. I'll have to watch myself around her. If she can read mechanisms this easily, what else can she see?"
The Dean was said to be the strongest in the academy for a reason. If she decided to probe deeper—into things Aether wanted hidden—then all of his careful secrets might unravel. Aether couldn't let that happen.
✦ Echoes of Triumph
The Dean's warm smile returned as she clasped her hands before her. "I believe the results here are quite clear. There is no need to continue this match."
Confusion rippled through the crowd, students exchanging wide-eyed looks. Then Claire jumped up from her seat, voice bright with breathless joy.
"That's my brother! I knew he could do it!"
Her friends Lena, Zheny, and Hinata laughed beside her, relief sparkling in their eyes.
"We're happy too, you know! But to think he built a mechanism that could rival a second-year mage—seriously, what else can he do?" Hinata murmured.
Without realizing it, the entire arena began to clap. It started as a hesitant smatter of applause from one side, then rolled across the stands until thousands of hands thundered together. The sound swelled, echoing up to the rafters. Even many of the upper-year chosen ones found themselves clapping, half in awe, half in grudging respect.
Aether exhaled, a long breath that let a ghost of tension slip from his shoulders. "Huff… looks like I kept my promise after all. I showed them whether I was worthy or not. Not quite how I planned it, but… well, the end result's the same."
His eyes found Claire in the stands. When she met his gaze, he grinned—truly grinned, not his usual smirk. The sight made her eyes shine with happy tears.
✦ The Dean's Watchful Eye
As the applause slowly died, the Dean turned to Aether and inclined her head. "You've done very well. Continue to polish that brilliance of yours, Aether Ryens. Himwarry Academy expects much of you."
Then, she pivoted on her heel, the folds of her robe swirling like drifting petals. The crowd parted before her without a word. No one dared block her path.
Aether only watched her go, unease twisting faintly in his gut. "I can't afford to draw her attention again. Hunt magic's too dangerous. If she ever decided to read deeper… who knows what she'd uncover."
The Dean, Minsky Reyes—age somewhere near seventy, though she carried herself with the vitality of someone half that—was more than just the academy's figurehead. She was a legend, a living library of magical history, a woman who could level entire forests if provoked. Her gentle smile belied it all.
"Tch… another reason to stay low. For now," Aether thought, eyes darkening for a fleeting second before he schooled his expression.
✦ A New Chapter Begins
Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, still buzzing with excited chatter. Students rushed to compare notes, to marvel at the mysterious non-mage boy who had flipped their entire worldview upside down.
Claire pushed through the aisle, nearly tripping over Lena's foot in her haste. "That's my little brother down there! I can't wait to see his smug face up close. He deserves every bit of it!"
Meanwhile, Lucas stood off to the side, shoulders tense, fists trembling. Shame burned through him hotter than his magic ever could. He refused to meet anyone's eyes.
Aether lingered for just a moment longer at the center of the arena, letting the last ripples of awe fade. Then he turned away, hands in his pockets, whistling softly as if none of this had ever mattered.
"Heh… they'll remember this day. But soon enough, I'll give them something even bigger to talk about."
✦ [ To Be Continued… ]
(Cue Jojo'z Theme, camera panning dramatically from Aether's retreating back to the empty, echoing arena floor, as distant whispers of his name ripple like shadows in his wake.)