---
The rising sun cast a pale light over the ancient coliseum known as the Trial Ring, nestled within the Academy's eastern wing. Today, it buzzed not with official duels or advanced training, but something far more personal.
A duel between two first-years.
Kael Varian versus Garron Drest, a proud noble heir from one of the border houses. Both from the same class. Both with growing reputations.
The tension wasn't born of history, but of something older—pride, power, and the rising whispers that Kael might not be what he seemed.
---
The crowd was modest but electric. Dozens of first-year students lined the spectator steps, murmuring predictions and gossip. Teachers stood at the periphery—some curious, some merely ensuring order.
Among the students were the academy's rising stars.
Reon Valtir, his arms crossed, stood beside Aeris Vynth, who wore his usual boyish grin, bouncing slightly on his toes. Nearby sat Sylara Ashveil, her silver-white hair catching the morning light like polished snow. She leaned back against a column, expression unreadable as always.
---
In the ring, Garron Drest stretched, flashing cocky grins at the crowd. His gear was tight-fitted—black leather reinforced with mana-threaded plates. Gold trim ran along the seams, noble flair with practical use.
"Guess he got cold feet," Garron muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Kael Varian, the ghost of our class. Comes and goes like a stray dog."
Laughter rippled through his group of noble lackeys.
One sneered, "Think he's still sleeping?"
"Maybe he's praying to the sun he loves so much," another added.
Garron turned to Instructor Sarneth, the battle referee. "Can we call this already? If he doesn't show in a minute, that's a forfeit, right?"
Sarneth sighed, looking at the half-drained hourglass beside him. "One more minute. Then you win by default."
Garron raised his arms to the crowd. "Look at that. Victory without lifting a finger. You're welcome."
A ripple of chuckles echoed across the seats.
Then—footsteps.
Calm. Unhurried.
Kael Varian entered the ring from the northern gate, his black training robes billowing lightly in the wind. His face was unreadable, his walk composed, eyes focused not on Garron, but the arena itself.
The laughter stopped.
Whispers bloomed in its place.
"He actually came…"
"What the hell is he wearing? No weapons?"
"He looks like he's going for a walk, not a duel…"
Garron turned, sneering. "Nice of you to show up. Needed time to write a will?"
Kael didn't respond.
He walked right past him, scanning the crowd. His gaze locked briefly with Sylara—just long enough to register something in her eyes.
Not expectation.
Not concern.
Just… interest.
And then it passed.
Kael stepped into the ring's center and turned to face Garron.
"I was hoping you'd give up by now," Kael said, voice quiet but clear.
Garron barked a laugh. "You got jokes? Great. I'll laugh when you're face-down in the dirt."
"You already sound nervous."
More laughs from the crowd. Some nervous. Some excited.
Sarneth stepped forward between them, conjuring a glowing white disc that pulsed with mana.
"This is a formal, instructor-witnessed duel," he began. "No killing. No permanent injuries. If either participant loses consciousness, yields, or breaks formation for more than thirty seconds, the match ends."
He looked between the two. "Use of external artifacts, poison, and summoned beasts is prohibited."
Both nodded.
Sarneth added, "This match will be conducted under standard reinforcement enchantments for safety."
Garron smirked. "Guess I'll hold back then."
Kael's gaze was neutral. "You should."
That drew another round of whispers.
Sarneth was about to signal the start—when Kael raised a hand.
"I won't be using weapons."
A pause.
"Nor my hands."
Even Garron blinked. "What?"
"I won't use my hands in this fight," Kael repeated, louder now. "Not even to block."
Gasps.
"Is he serious?!"
"He's going to fight Garron with… what? His feet?"
"Has he lost his mind?"
Aeris leaned forward. "Is this guy trolling us or—?"
Reon interrupted, "He's not bluffing."
"How do you know?"
"Look at him."
Indeed, Kael stood still as stone. Relaxed. Not arrogant. Not worried.
Just certain.
Even Sylara, for the first time, shifted slightly. Her eyes flicked from Kael's posture to Garron's stance. A single breath escaped her lips.
Interesting.
---
Back in the ring, Garron barked, "You don't even respect this match enough to try?"
Kael finally looked him in the eyes. "You're not worth trying."
A cold silence fell.
Even Sarneth didn't hide his bemused smile.
He raised his hand, voice echoing through a light-speaker rune. "Final condition: the match ends if either side yields or is rendered unable to continue. Prepare your stances."
Garron dropped into a heavy-footed forward stance, fists pulsing with mana. His knuckles crackled faintly with static—a thunder attribute, Kael noted. Unstable, crude, but dangerous.
Kael?
Kael didn't raise his hands.
He simply stepped forward, his feet sliding into the opening stance of Verumkai—shoulders relaxed, spine aligned, arms loose at his sides.
No guard.
No posture.
No fear.
Murmurs filled the crowd.
"Is he seriously not raising his hands?!"
"He's going to get demolished…"
"Even if he's strong, that's suicide!"
Sylara said nothing. But her gaze never left Kael.
Reon muttered, "If he wins like that…"
Sarneth looked between them.
A pulse of light descended.
The duel veil formed—a shimmering dome around the combatants. Outside noise dulled. Mana resonance shifted.
Inside the veil, Kael and Garron were alone.
Garron cracked his neck. "Last chance to act tough, sunshine boy."
Kael looked away from him—for just a heartbeat—and let his eyes meet Sylara's across the veil.
Their gazes met.
No smile. No nod.
Just acknowledgment.
Then the moment passed.
Kael turned back.
And both took their stances.
The duel had begun.
---