The sun pierced through the crystalline skylight of Xyprus Academy, casting fractured beams across the marble training arena. Students gathered like moths to a flame, whispering, circling, watching — because when Vaelric Thorne moved, the world paused to observe.
He stood alone at the center mat, shirtless, fists wrapped in black silk. His physique was carved from years of discipline, his gaze sharp enough to slice stone. Around him, five opponents encircled him — handpicked top-rankers from other divisions.
This wasn't part of the curriculum. It was a message.
A girl in the crowd whispered, "Why do they even try?"
Beside her, someone replied, "Because he dares them to."
The bell rang. Five moved at once.
It took nine seconds.
The crowd exploded in awe and disbelief as the last challenger crumpled. Vaelric stood unmoved, exhaling slow and calm, as if he'd just finished a warm-up. Not a bruise on him. His strikes were surgical, his footwork lethal. He didn't fight like a student — he fought like a legacy.
The instructors didn't cheer. They took notes. Watched. Worried.
In the locker room after the match, Vaelric stared at his reflection. The mirror showed a champion. The eyes staring back showed a prisoner.
"They still see him when they look at me."
He punched the mirror once. Cracks spiderwebbed across his reflection, fragments fracturing the perfect image.
A knock on the door.
"Vaelric," a voice said. It was Instructor Rhys, the only one who dared speak to him like an equal. "Headmaster wants to see you."
Vaelric rolled his shoulders and grabbed his jacket. "Of course he does."
Office of the Headmaster – 3rd Floor, East Wing
Headmaster Kaien Suro, former champion of the hybrid wars, leaned on his cane beside a window overlooking the Academy's battle dome. His eyes were tired — too many years, too many ghosts.
"You're making waves again, Thorne," he said without turning.
"I make oceans," Vaelric replied, smirking.
Kaien turned, frowning. "You make enemies."
"So did my father."
"Yes, but Damien earned loyalty before fear. You're doing the opposite."
Vaelric's smile faded. "I am not him."
"No," Kaien said slowly, "and yet you're chasing the same path… just in darker boots."
Silence.
Then Kaien stepped closer, holding out a data slate. "This came in today. Invitation to the Preliminary God of Fists Trials. Not public yet — elite academy invites only. Your name's on the top."
Vaelric took the slate without blinking. "Of course it is."
"But before you walk that road…" Kaien's voice lowered, "you should ask yourself one thing: Are you trying to surpass him… or escape him?"
Vaelric didn't answer. He turned and walked out, fingers tightening on the slate.
Outside, clouds began to gather over Xyprus Academy. Rain was coming.
But Vaelric didn't look up.
He was already walking toward his next conquest — eyes fixed ahead, fire roaring within.
This wasn't Damien's story anymore.
This was Vaelric Thorne's beginning.