One and a half months had passed.
Forty-five days of blood, training, and silence. Days where Ken had pushed his body until his bones ached and his vision blurred. Nights where he sat in dark places, sweating through fever dreams, his hands glowing with unstable magic. The System didn't let him rest. It didn't allow him to grieve, to breathe, or even to remember the person he used to be.
That person had been broken. Weak. Afraid.
That person was gone.
Ken had changed — more than just physically. He stood taller now, his back straighter, shoulders firmer. His arms had grown lean muscle from repetition and combat. His hair had grown messier but looked more like a deliberate storm than a mess. His aura — once faint and stuttering — now pulsed steadily around him, like an echo of something greater.
He had defeated twenty-three Rift Ant colonies, all crawling under Altherian soil like veins of corruption. They came in swarms. He crushed them with fire, light, and speed-enhancing spells. Some of the nests were so deep they felt like graves. He fought through poison, exhaustion, and once — a collapsed tunnel that nearly became his tomb.
But he emerged. He always did.
The System had taught him more than spells. It gave him theory. It taught him when to burn, when to freeze, when to hold back. His reflexes sharpened. He no longer needed to chant entire incantations aloud. He began feeling magic.
He remembered the day he faced the Vambat — a sickly creature that hid in underground towers, waiting for warmth and blood. Its wings had stretched wider than his own height, its eyes glowing an unnatural red. It shrieked when it spotted him, the sound like metal grating on wet bones. He almost fled — the old fear clawed at his spine — but the System's voice had echoed in his mind:
"Observe. Analyze. Counter."
So he did. He ran, baited it into a trap, and unleashed a flareburst spell. The cavern had lit like a newborn sun, and the Vambat dropped — a black, crumbling mess.
Now, standing at the training fields of the lower court, he looked at the people gathering around him and realized something strange.
He wasn't afraid of monsters anymore.
Only people.
A crowd had formed. Maybe fifty, maybe more. They circled the cracked stone of the old dueling platform. There was laughter, muttering, excitement.
But none of it came from Ken.
Because standing across from him was Jack Spencer — Crimson Court prodigy, fists like boulders, tongue like a dagger.
And worst of all… Ken's childhood tormentor.
Jack stood relaxed, cracking his knuckles, his expression somewhere between smug and irritated.
"Well, well," Jack said, stepping forward. "Look what the sewer dragged back up. Ken freakin' Hawke."
Ken said nothing.
He didn't need to. His presence alone — the way his cloak hung over light armor, the silver lines of runes glowing faintly near his wrists — was enough to unsettle even a few in the crowd.
But not Jack.
"You look different," Jack said, circling him slowly. "Taller. Moodier. Did puberty hit you late or something?"
The crowd chuckled. A few of the recruits laughed the loudest.
Ken's jaw tensed.
"You walk like someone important now," Jack added. "Did someone tell you you're special? Or was it just the mirror?"
Still, Ken didn't speak.
He couldn't afford to speak.
Because the moment he opened his mouth, he might say too much. Reveal the anger coiling in his stomach. Reveal that even after all this time, one look from Jack still made his legs twitch like they wanted to run.
But he didn't run.
Not this time.
He stood still.
"I remember," Jack continued, voice rising, "when you used to flinch just by hearing my footsteps. Remember that? The training ring? You could barely hold a sword."
Ken clenched his fists behind his back.
The whispers in the crowd grew louder now.
"Why's Jack picking on him again?"
"Is this another humiliation round?"
"No way he challenges him to a real fight—"
But Jack did.
He raised his voice.
"I challenge you, Ken Valtor," he said with a grin, "to a public sparring match. Right here, right now."
The crowd buzzed. Some gasped. One of the Crimson tutors nearby raised an eyebrow but didn't step in.
They were allowed to spar.
Just not allowed to kill.
Ken took a step forward. His boots scraped the stone, dust kicking up underfoot. His heart pounded against his ribs like a caged beast. He nodded once.
Jack grinned wider. "He accepts!"
He charged.
Like thunder.
His right fist came forward like a cannon, aimed straight for Ken's face.
But Ken whispered: "Shella-tor."
A shimmering shield of glowing hexagons burst into existence between them. Jack's punch hit it with a resounding thud, the shield cracking slightly but holding strong.
He stumbled back, blinking.
The crowd gasped.
"Did he just—?"
"Was that a defense spell?"
"That wasn't beginner tier."
Jack growled. His pride cracked. He activated his aura — a reddish shimmer coating his arms.
"You think you're clever now?" he spat. "Using cheap spells like you're something special?"
Ken finally looked him in the eyes. Still silent. Still unreadable.
Jack charged again, both fists burning now.
But Ken moved first.
He whispered: "Lux'velle."
Wind gathered at his feet. His body blurred.
One blink later, and Ken stood behind Jack, the spell fading with a soft hum.
Jack spun, stunned.
The crowd leaned forward, silent now.
This wasn't the Ken they remembered.
This wasn't the loser from training days.
This was someone else.
Someone dangerous.
Someone... becoming.
Ken slowly raised a hand, conjuring a flicker of white fire across his palm. Not an attack — just a warning.
He didn't move. Didn't strike.
Just looked at Jack.
And the message was clear.
"Try me. I'm not scared anymore."
Jack didn't charge.
The crowd murmured again, louder this time.
"Jack's hesitating."
"Ken didn't even hit him."
"What's going on here?"
Jack's face twisted in frustration.
"You think this makes you strong? Hiding behind magic?"
Ken whispered something under his breath again — a spell Jack didn't recognize — and his body lit faintly with defensive runes. He stood firm.
Jack stared at him.
But what he saw wasn't a boy anymore.
It was a problem.
A rival.
And that scared him more than any spell.