The Grand Arcane Academy's training arena was alive with noise. Sunlight poured through the glass dome above, glittering against the runic barriers that sealed the grounds. Students pressed against the rails, their cheers blending with the hum of mana in the air.
Today wasn't a lesson. It was a proving ground.
Arin adjusted the grip on his staff, his palms slick. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from a strange anticipation. For weeks, something inside him had been stirring. The moment he began channeling mana, it was as if a second mind had opened—silent, patient, waiting.
"Arin Vale," the instructor's voice boomed. "Versus Kian Drax."
The crowd erupted.
Kian stepped into the ring like he owned it. His golden aura ignited at once, swirling around him like a storm barely contained. A smirk curved across his lips as his gaze cut toward Arin.
"You think you can stand next to her?" His words were low, venomous, but the arena carried them. "I'll crush you until you never dare look her way again."
Arin said nothing. He only raised his staff.
"Begin!"
Kian blurred forward, aura-coated sword cleaving down like a bolt of lightning. The impact cracked the barrier, the ground trembling. Arin caught the strike by instinct, his staff groaning under the pressure. The force should have broken his arms—yet his body moved differently, faster, smarter.
Adapting… movement recalculated.
The voice echoed in his mind, cold and mechanical.
Arin twisted his stance, redirecting Kian's blade with surgical precision. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Kian's eyes narrowed. "Lucky."
He attacked again—faster, sharper, his aura roaring hotter. Strike after strike rained down, each enough to overwhelm an ordinary student. But Arin was no ordinary student. His body shifted with uncanny precision, blocking at angles he didn't consciously plan, countering blows as though his instincts were sharpened steel.
Whispers spread through the stands.
"He's keeping up with Kian…"
"…But Arin doesn't even use aura!"
At the edge of the platform, Lira watched in silence. Her violet eyes tracked every clash, unblinking. She had seen prodigies before. She had seen arrogance and raw strength. But Arin—Arin was something else. Each motion carried an evolving rhythm, as if he wasn't fighting Kian—he was becoming something new with every breath.
Steel ground against staff. Sparks flew. Arin's muscles screamed, but he refused to falter. Then, for the briefest moment, his gaze lifted—drawn unbidden to her.
Their eyes met.
Time fractured. The roar of the arena fell away. His chest tightened; her lips parted in the faintest breath. For five endless seconds, the world narrowed to nothing but violet and blue, an unspoken recognition burning between them.
Arin's focus slipped. Kian roared, aura exploding outward in a shockwave that sent Arin skidding across the arena floor. Dust billowed. The instructor lifted a hand to stop the match—
But Arin stood.
Slowly.
Mana crawled across his arm like living veins of light, deep purple threaded with flickering blue. The air thickened, charged with something raw and untamed. The crowd hushed in collective awe.
Kian hesitated, his smirk fading.
And high above, shrouded in mist, a presence stirred—something ancient, watching, waiting.
The match was no longer about rankings.
It had become the first ripple of a storm.