The golden light from Vaen's sword shimmered, and the temperature of the arena seemed to shift in an instant.
For the first time, Vaen's calm mask cracked.
Fury—sharp, cold, and almost feral—glinted in his golden eyes.
Without warning, he lunged.
The casual grace was gone, replaced by raw, ruthless aggression. His strikes came fast and heavy, like thunderclaps exploding in rapid succession. Each swing of his sword generated a blast of force that sent cracks spidering through the stone floor.
Alice fought back valiantly.
She met each strike with elegant precision, her blade weaving barriers of light, her footwork pristine. But with each exchange, she lost ground. Her arms trembled from the impacts. Her boots slid back inch by inch across the arena.
Every blow from Vaen was like a hammer against glass.
In the stands, Eryon leaned forward, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned bloodless.
Kael muttered, "He's not fighting—he's hunting."
Ryn said nothing, his eyes cold.
Each crash of blade against blade felt heavier, harsher.
Alice tried to counter—a perfect feint, a sudden surge of condensed light—but Vaen batted it aside like a child's trick. His sword blurred, a golden whirlwind around him.
Eryon's jaw tightened painfully.
Why am I so angry? he thought.
It was more than anger. It was a deep, primal rage awakening from somewhere he couldn't name.
Below, Vaen struck again.
Alice's defenses shattered.
Her sword flew from her hand, clattering against the ground far away.
Vaen closed the distance instantly, slamming the flat of his blade into her side. The force lifted her off her feet and sent her skidding across the arena, a trail of blood staining the stone.
The crowd cried out.
Alice lay still, her chest rising and falling shallowly.
Professor Kaelen moved first, sprinting across the arena.
Behind him, several instructors followed, including Ardan Dawnmere whose expression was carved from stone but whose clenched fists betrayed his terror.
"Call for a Light Forger!" someone barked.
A woman in brilliant white robes dashed forward, kneeling beside Alice and channeling beams of soft golden energy into her broken body.
More professors hurried to erect a barrier around the treatment, blocking the crowd's view.
Eryon barely realized he was moving until he found himself in the arena.
Before Vaen.
The golden-haired prodigy stood over Alice's fallen form, his sword still humming with golden light, his face unreadable once more.
Eryon stepped between them, his breathing ragged, the rage inside him blazing hotter than the sun overhead.
He stared directly into Vaen's cold, unblinking eyes.
"Tomorrow," Eryon said, his voice low and vibrating with fury, "I will destroy you."
The arena held its breath.
Vaen said nothing.