The snow had stopped, but the air was far from still. It pulsed with tension, an electric anticipation that coiled between breaths, heavy enough to make even seasoned proctors lean forward on instinct.
Sid stood opposite Tarn Greyreign at the center of the sparring circle. The ground under their feet was already wounded. Craters smoldered from past matches and broken stone littered the ring like the remains of a battlefield. But the arena, built from reinforced slate and buffered by wards, still groaned under what was coming.
"Do try not to lose too quickly," Tarn called, fingers cracking as sparks arced between his knuckles and up his forearms. The lightning danced unnaturally, rippling like a predator's breath. "It'd be embarrassing for everyone involved. Especially you."
Sid's body protested with every breath. His muscles throbbed with exhaustion. His bones ached from the earlier bouts, and heat churned behind his eyes like a furnace. Still, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Just like your aura," he said. "All sound. No edge."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few soldiers coughed to hide chuckles.
Tarn's grin thinned.
"You've got some mouth, for a wizard pretending to be a swordsman."
Sid rolled his shoulder, flinching as fatigue tightened the joint. "And you've got some hair, for a lightning rod."
A chuckle from the outer circle broke into outright laughter.
"You'll regret that," Tarn snapped.
The horn blew.
Lightning exploded.
Tarn's form disintegrated into a streak of blinding silver. The sonic crack of displaced air slapped against the stands, drawing startled flinches even from hardened fighters. He reappeared in a blink, fist already mid-swing.
Sid moved.
As an image of Tarn's attack appears. The trajectory and speed should be reactable. His innate talent gave him glimpses of his enemy's attacks. The shadows of motion. A mirage of Tarn's lunge that flickered into his mind's eye seconds before it became real.
He pivoted right. The fist tore through where his spine would have been, scarring the ground in a line of molten rock. Heat exploded upward, vaporizing the snow in a ten-foot radius. Thunder cracked again, shaking the stands.
Sid barely landed on his feet. His knees buckled. Electricity danced across the arena now, forming halos of blue-white energy that scorched every step Tarn took. His aura had grown from a sheath into a storm front.
"You're twitchy," Sid rasped, keeping his voice steady. "Is it the voltage, or are your fans cheering too loud?"
Tarn answered with another blitz. Each movement warped the space around, clothes snapping and metal buckling. The runes reinforcing the sparring arena flickered as pressure surged to dangerous levels.
Sid ducked, tumbled, and caught a glimpse of Tarn's arc again. This time, a wide horizontal sweep.
He twisted, letting the current burn his back instead of cleaving him in two. Lightning licked across his coat, burning three layers into the leather.
The crowd flinched as another blast shook the walls. Arcs jumped from Tarn's sword to the observation rails, making some proctors step back.
Sid's boots scraped against loose gravel and ice as he reoriented.
He reached outward.
Mana in the air responded like water rushing into a vortex. His heart, the chamber that had long since taken the role of a mana engine, lit up as it pulled threads of external power into the rotating glyph circle embedded deep within. It was incomplete, overstrained, and searing with heat.
But it worked.
Flicker Form activated.
A blade shimmered to life in his palm. An ephemeral, translucent sword, crackling with barely-contained force. It wasn't meant to last. It wasn't meant to clash. It was meant to move.
Sid used the conjured blade to strike a jut of stone, launching it towards Tarn's next bolt, crushing the stone midair. The explosion sent out hot rock projectiles that peppered the arena. But at least he was safe, for now.
The audience gasped.
"You missed," Sid said, coughing smoke.
Tarn's roaring response was a ground slam.
Electricity burst from his palm in all directions. The force flattened several training dummies outside the ring and caused a dozen watchers to stagger backward as the shockwave pulsed out in a dome of blinding light.
Sid ducked behind a broken column. The explosion behind him made his ears ring. Heat pressed into his back like an open furnace.
Tarn roared again, launching himself through the debris.
Sid casted Flicker Form a second time. Mana scraped against his nerves as the blade formed, slower now. His two mana circles spasmed. The blade lasted long enough to strike the base of a wall and send dust into the air, buying him a sliver of concealment.
He used it to dive forward, slashing a shallow gash across Tarn's side.
Lightning burst out like a counterattack, and Sid was hurled backward, his ribs aching as he landed.
"You think you're clever?" Tarn shouted, stepping through a haze of broken stone. "All you're doing is losing slower."
"Then… you've got time to catch up," Sid wheezed as he regained his footing.
Tarn lunged again.
Sid's vision blurred. The phantom movement showed a thrust, not a feint. He rolled to the side.
Even with the dodge, the sheer pressure of aura passing close enough cracked his right shoulder. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Sid responded by channeling one more Flicker Form. He drove it into the floor mid-spin, shattering a rising column of ice that Lysette had accidentally launched during her match. The falling shard landed between them.
Dust and mist clouded the battlefield.
Sid didn't stop.
He slipped past the edge of a rising bolt, using the residual current to time his steps. His instincts flared. His blade met Tarn's at an angle, not to stop it, but to re-align it, to tilt it off course with barely any space to spare.
The strike cut into Tarn's hip. Deep.
Tarn screamed, rage overtaking control.
He sent a pulse of lightning outward, a desperation burst. The nearest arena barrier warped, the sigils flickering. Part of the viewing section collapsed. Shields flared to life as garrison mages reinforced the outer ring.
Still, Sid advanced.
Flicker Form, again. The manifestation is a beat slower now, but it's alright. He just needed to adjust his predictions to match. The mana circles within his ribs were boiling. If he casts one more time, it might lock up completely.
But he did.
And the blade flashed into life just long enough to bash aside a loose stone. He vaulted off it, soared over Tarn's retaliatory swing, and landed behind him.
The crowd held their breath.
Sid turned, hooked his blade through Tarn's wrist, disarmed the strike with a precise twist, and brought his sword up to Tarn's throat.
Steam curled from his coat. Blood stained his shoulders and thighs. His eyes were dull, but fixed.
The air fell silent.
Then came the murmurs.
Lord Commander Bastian Varron's gaze darkened with something unreadable. "That boy…"
Commander Haldren scoffed. "He's got guts. I'll give him that."
Commander Elira murmured, "It was never about speed. He dissected every flaw. A butcher."
General Varick offered no words but hummed in agreement.
Kelra merely folded her arms. "He moves like someone trained to die slowly but still refuses to give in anyway."
Back at the arena, Tarn trembled in humiliation. "T-this isn't over!"
Sid leaned in, voice ragged. "This is what happens when you underestimate the quiet ones."
He turned and limped from the ring, every joint screaming, mana circles searing inside his chest.
But behind him, thunder echoed with frustration.
And the storm, at last, had passed.