Chapter 17
The sparring court had never been this quiet.
Students packed the railings two-deep, holding their breath as if a single whisper might break the tension. The afternoon light poured through the high windows in gold-striped beams, catching in the dust that hung between the two fighters.
Sage stood loose-hipped at the center of the ring, rolling her shoulders as if she were about to stretch before a jog. A smirk curled one side of her mouth.
"C'mon, let's make this quick," she called, voice bright with challenge. "I've got better things to do than babysit a slacker."
Sebastian only yawned, tilting his head as though he'd rather be anywhere else. His staff rested across his shoulders like a bar at the gym, lazy arms draped over it.
From the benches above, William leaned forward with an amused half-smile. Cassie crossed her arms, unimpressed. Zoltan watched with a patient, unreadable expression.
A ripple went through the crowd when Sage suddenly lunged.
She exploded forward, the wooden tiles thudding under her boots. Her fist shot straight for Sebastian's jaw—fast, solid, no warm-up. The crack of impact should've followed, but instead there was the dull thunk of her knuckles colliding with his forearm. He'd raised it at the last instant, blocking her strike as easily as if he'd been waiting for it.
Sage skidded back a half-step, eyes narrowing.
"He's strong," she muttered under her breath, flexing her fingers, "but it's not overwhelming. I've got him beat in raw strength."
She shot forward again, more aggressive this time—only for her punch to swish through empty air.
"What—?"
A shadow flickered at her back.
Before she could spin, Sebastian's elbow slammed into her ribs, followed by a quick series of blows—shoulder, side, stomach—each one sharp as a hammer strike. She staggered, planting her feet just in time to keep from falling.
A bruise was already blooming on her cheekbone, but her eyes lit with a reckless grin.
"So the lazy guy's fast. Cute."
Sebastian blurred again, darting from one edge of the ring to the other in a staccato of after-images. The students craned their necks trying to follow him. Sage pivoted in tight circles, trying to guess which direction he'd come from next.
With a careless twirl of his fingers, Sebastian pulled a sleek ash-wood staff out of thin air.
"Really?" Sage barked a laugh, wiping blood from her lip. "Bringing a stick to a fist fight? Fine—two can play."
She opened her palm and whispered, "Weapon-Creation Magic: sword."
A shimmer of steel formed from her skin, unfolding into a short blade that fit her grip like a glove. She lowered into a fencer's stance, feet light on the floor.
The next heartbeat saw Sebastian materialize in front of her, staff whistling in a downward arc. She met it with a clang of her blade, sparks flashing. Strike met strike, wood against conjured steel, the rhythm so quick it sounded almost like drumbeats.
Sage gritted her teeth, absorbing strike after strike. His speed forced her into defense, parrying high, twisting low, her boots scraping thin white lines on the polished floor.
I just need one clean hit, she thought, sweat trailing down her temple. One good strike and he's down. But he's not gonna hand it to me.
"Not bad, first-year," Sebastian teased between swings, his voice annoyingly calm.
On the benches, Ethan whistled low. "She's really holding her own against him."
Beside him, Luna's eyes narrowed. "I'm not so sure. He hasn't even started trying yet."
Back in the ring, Sebastian feinted another overhead slash. Sage caught the motion in her peripheral vision—but instead of parrying, she suddenly flung her sword up in the air. The blade spun end over end in a glittering arc.
Sebastian's gaze ticked up in surprise—just for a fraction of a second. It was all she needed. Sage lunged in, fist driving into his gut with a sharp thwack that echoed through the hall. As he doubled slightly forward, she snatched the falling sword out of the air and raked it in a diagonal slice that left a shallow line across his side.
The crowd roared. Even William's eyebrows lifted, and Cassie let out an unimpressed but audible "Huh."
Sebastian staggered back two paces, hand brushing the thin cut now bleeding red. His eyes narrowed, the lazy grin gone.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, first-year."
Sebastian's palm rose, fingers splayed as if plucking invisible strings.
"Sound-manipulation magic…" His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Deafening Silence."
The shout and stomp of the crowd died in an instant.
No echo. No breath of wind. Even the scrape of Sage's boot on the floor vanished.
Her eyes went wide. "What the—?"
She spun, trying to catch sight of him, but her own breath no longer reached her ears. The sudden, hollow quiet gnawed at her instincts; every fighter's sixth sense depends on the tiny cues—footsteps, swish of fabric, the whistle of a weapon—and Sebastian had just stolen all of them.
Up on the benches Ethan leaned forward. "What did he just do?"
Freddie's expression hardened. "He cut her hearing. You don't realise how much you rely on sound until it's gone. She's fighting severely handicapped now."
Down below, Sage kept her sword high, teeth bared in a wolf-like grin despite the panic in her eyes.
"Cheap trick!" she barked, though she couldn't hear her own voice. "I don't need my ears to crack you in half!"
A ripple in the air behind her shoulder—too late. Sebastian was already gone again.
His figure flashed across her vision, staff raised, and then—vanished. She spun, sword slashing through nothing. Sweat prickled her spine.
Sebastian's voice came from somewhere to her left, distorted and thin as a whisper through glass.
"Let's end this. Sound-manipulation magic: Speed of Sound."
The floorboards boomed as if thunder had struck the court.
A sonic-boom crack split the air—then another, and another, blurs of motion hammering into Sage's guard before she could so much as brace. She staggered beneath a whirlwind of strikes, her blade barely keeping up as he struck her from front, flank, then rear again in the blink of an eye.
"Sage!" Ethan shouted from the sidelines, though he doubted she could hear.
One last blow to her ribs folded her over; another swept her legs out from under her. Sebastian flickered past in a blur, staff lashing her shoulder, her side, the small of her
back, until finally a brutal strike to the mid-section hurled her across the ring. She hit the tiles hard, sliding to a stop near the edge.
The silence lifted like a curtain dropping. Gasps and murmurs rushed back into the hall.
Luna's face drained of colour. Freddie's fingers tightened on the railing. Even Cassie's usual cool expression softened with concern.
Sage coughed and tried to rise on one elbow, a flash of defiance still burning in her glare, but her legs refused to cooperate. The medics rushed in, crouching beside her as she waved them off with a weak, "Hands off, I'm fine—" before slumping as her eyes fluttered closed.
The crowd erupted in hushed chatter. The fiery girl who had traded blows with Sebastian lay beaten, bruises already darkening her cheek and arms.
Sebastian planted the butt of his staff on the floor, exhaled as if bored, and gave a shallow bow toward Sage's prone form.
"Not bad, first-year. But you still need to learn your place."
As the medics carried Sage off the floor, the tension in the court shifted. Luna's eyes followed them, worry etched across her face.
"I knew this was a bad idea… We should go check on Sage," she muttered, glancing to her side.
"Ethan?"
There was no answer.
Her eyes swept the benches again. Ethan was gone.
Luna caught sight of him only when the crowd shifted—Ethan had stepped past the front row and into the sparring ring, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he'd just wandered out there by accident.
Freddie's brows drew together. "What does he think he's doing…?"
Ethan stopped a few paces from Sebastian, jaw set tight. The usual hint of sarcasm in his eyes was gone; what replaced it was raw irritation—the kind that made the air feel heavier around him.
"Hey," Ethan called, voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs. "That's enough."
Sebastian tilted his head lazily. "Oh? The new kid speaks."
"You had your fun humiliating her," Ethan went on. "But I'm not letting you walk off like that. Me and you—one on one. Let's see who finds the fight boring."
The audience went still, a mix of disbelief and intrigue rippling through the circle of students.
Sebastian let out a slow, exaggerated sigh and turned as if to leave. "First-years never get tired, do they? I'm done for today. Go hit a training dummy or something."
Ethan's next words stopped him mid-stride.
"Shame. I was about to make things interesting"
A few students gasped. Sebastian's back stiffened.
Ethan took another step forward. "You're Top Seven, right? If I win, I get your spot."
The tension in the air spiked; even the veterans sitting on the benches leaned forward.
Sebastian finally turned back toward him, expression wiped clean of the earlier amusement. "Kid… if I put my place on the line, I won't hold back. Not even a little."
Ethan's voice didn't waver. "Wouldn't want it any other way."
For a heartbeat the two just stared at each other across the court.
A dry chuckle broke the silence from the Top Seven's section. Cassie crossed her legs and murmured to the group beside her, "Does that kid have a death wish?"
Luna's heart thudded painfully against her ribs. She gripped the rail. "Ethan… what the hell are you doing…"
Beside her, Freddie's jaw clenched but he stayed silent.
On the upper row, Maximiliano Zoltan leaned forward slightly, his usually unreadable gaze sharpening in faint interest at the scene below.
Sebastian rested his staff across his shoulders. "Alright, kid. I accept your challenge. But if you end up dead, that's on you."
Ethan's reply came low, but steady. "Then don't hold back."
Students began clearing the sparring floor again, whispering as they backed to the walls, eager not to miss a single second. The dust settled in the open space between them; the tension felt almost physical, pressing down like a held breath.
Sebastian rolled his neck with a crack, still holding the staff loosely. Ethan shifted one foot back, loosening his shoulders, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest.
For the second time that afternoon, the court was set for a fight that nobody had expected.