The arena of the Space Exploring Officer Academy was a vast dome of reinforced alloy and shimmering energy barriers, suspended in the heart of the academy complex. Inside, thousands of students, instructors, and spectators filled the stands. The air was electric with tension, and the faint hum of plasma shields layered over the sound of cheers and the occasional nervous murmur.
At the center of the arena, two figures stood locked in a storm of flame and fury—Ignis and Flamme.
The collision of their attacks had transformed the battleground into a sea of fire. The ground had cracked, molten lines spreading like veins through the alloy surface, glowing with liquid heat. Above them, sparks rained down in showers of ember fragments, each glowing bright before fading into ash. The roar of flame drowned out everything else for several heartbeats, a sound that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Then came the aftershock.
A tremendous wave of heat blasted outward from the center, swirling in a spiral that distorted the air itself. The spectators gasped, shielding their faces from the wave of hot wind that threatened to scorch even through the reinforced barriers. The instructors, alarmed, acted in unison. A flicker of blue and silver energy spread across the outer walls of the dome as multiple emergency containment walls activated simultaneously, rising like transparent mountains to cage the inferno.
For a brief moment, it felt as if the entire arena would melt under the sheer power of the clash. But slowly—painfully slowly—the light began to fade. The firestorm dimmed, the swirling heat calmed, and the walls of flame dissolved into rising waves of smoke.
When the haze finally cleared, the figures of Ignis and Flamme emerged once more.
They stood exactly where they had been, surrounded by scorched ground and molten glass. Ignis's form was wreathed in faint red aura, flames flickering lightly around the blade of his weapon—the Inferslasher, a curved knife forged from compressed Flame and ignited by his own elemental energy. Across from him, Flamme stood poised, her body taut with tension, her fiery whip coiled at her side like a living serpent made of flame. Her eyes gleamed with determination and exhaustion, equal parts admiration and challenge directed at her opponent.
For a few seconds, neither spoke. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the faint hiss of cooling metal beneath their boots. The air between them pulsed with the lingering remnants of their power.
And then both moved—almost simultaneously. Ignis shifted his footing, preparing to dash forward with another slash, while Flamme raised her whip, its tip glowing like a comet's tail, ready to counterstrike.
But before either could attack, a powerful voice cut through the tension.
"Stop!"
The command was not shouted—it didn't need to be. It carried authority like thunder, resonating through the arena and stilling every movement. Even the flames seemed to flicker and bow before it.
From the main entrance of the arena, a tall, broad-shouldered man strode forward. His hair was silver-white, cropped short, and his uniform—dark blue with gold accents—marked him unmistakably as someone of the highest authority. The spectators murmured his name in awe.
It was Alfred—the principal of the Space Exploring Officer Academy, and one of the most respected former explorers in the history of the Galactic Frontier. But to Flamme, he was far more than that.
He was her adoptive father.
The moment his presence filled the arena, the atmosphere changed. The students straightened instinctively. The instructors who had been monitoring the duel fell silent.
Alfred's gaze swept across the battlefield, first resting on Flamme—his expression unreadable—and then shifting toward Ignis. There was no anger there, only a cold, assessing sharpness.
He approached with steady, deliberate steps, his boots echoing faintly on the scorched floor.
When he finally reached them, his voice rang out, firm and absolute: "No need to fight anymore! You have proven enough."
Flamme blinked in surprise, her mouth opening as if to protest, but Alfred's next words silenced her.
He turned toward Ignis, his deep voice filling every corner of the arena. "You are qualified to be an instructor at the academy. Come tomorrow to complete the paperwork. Now, step back so the other contestants can take the test."
There was no hesitation, no debate. His tone was final, and not even the most senior instructors present dared to question it.
Ignis looked at him for a moment, the flickering aura around his body slowly fading as he sheathed the Inferslasher across his back. His expression was neutral—calm, even respectful—but behind his crimson eyes was something deeper. A quiet acknowledgment, perhaps, of a power hierarchy he understood all too well.
He nodded once. "Understood, sir."
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit, the remnants of flame dissipating behind his steps. The crowd whispered as he passed, the name "Ignis" already spreading through the ranks of instructors like wildfire.
Flamme watched him go, her whip slowly lowering to her side. There was something unreadable in her gaze—something halfway between frustration and curiosity.
Alfred said nothing to her. He simply placed a hand on her shoulder as he walked by. For an instant, their eyes met—a silent father's message of restraint—and then he was gone, leaving Flamme standing alone in the ring, her heart pounding with unanswered questions.
The night air outside the academy was cooler, calmer. The arena's artificial heat was replaced by the soft hum of neon lights and the faint glow of floating transport pods gliding across the upper levels of the city.
Ignis walked aimlessly down one of the wide avenues, his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. His eyes reflected the cityscape—the blend of steel, light, and color that defined this world. Skyscrapers towered like glowing mountains, their glass facades alive with advertisements and holographic billboards. Between them, bridges of energy arched across the sky, connecting the layers of civilization that floated above the planet's surface.
It was strange, Ignis thought, how much this world had achieved in terms of science and technology—and yet, deep within, it felt familiar. The rhythm of power, the echoes of combat, the fire that never truly died. He could still feel it pulsing somewhere inside, buried beneath layers of time and reincarnation.
As he walked, he caught the reflection of himself in a window—a young man, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the night, his hair streaked with ember-like strands. The same eyes that once belonged to… him. The one they used to call Blaze.
He looked away.
A voice broke through his thoughts. "Hey! Ignis!"
He turned toward the sound.
Under the soft glow of a streetlamp stood Flamme. Her red hair shimmered in the artificial light, each strand catching fire-like highlights that seemed to dance as the wind passed. She was no longer wearing her combat uniform—just a simple coat draped over a dark dress—but the fiery aura around her was unmistakable.
"Flamme," Ignis said, his tone neutral but not unkind.
She approached, her hands tucked casually in her coat pockets, though her eyes betrayed a nervous determination. "I was looking for you," she said. "There's something I want to ask."
Before he could reply, she added quickly, "And if you don't mind… dinner's on me. Consider it an apology for, you know—trying to burn you alive earlier."
Her attempt at humor drew a small smirk from Ignis. "Free food, huh? I'd be a fool to refuse."
They walked together through the neon-lit streets, their footsteps echoing softly against the smooth metal pavement. Despite the crowds around them—students, merchants, travelers from other systems—it felt strangely quiet between them. Neither spoke much, and yet there was a subtle tension in the air.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a small restaurant tucked between two larger establishments. The sign above the door flickered weakly, and the smell of sizzling food drifted out through the doorway. It was clearly not a place frequented by nobles or academy officers, but it had a warmth that the high-end places lacked.
"This'll do," Flamme said.
Ignis nodded. "Cheap and quiet. Perfect."
Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit, its walls covered in old posters of space exploration ships and academy graduates. They chose a corner booth by the window. The waiter—a robotic attendant with a cheerful synthesized voice—took their orders and left.
For a moment, silence lingered. Flamme's fingers drummed lightly on the table, her gaze shifting between the window and Ignis. She looked like someone trying to find the right words but not knowing where to begin.
Ignis, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the seat.
Finally, she drew a breath, ready to speak. "Ignis, about earlier, when—"
But before she could finish, he cut her off with a quiet, steady voice.
"I know what you're going to ask," he said, his tone unreadable. "And I have the same question."
Flamme blinked, startled. "What?"
Ignis's crimson eyes met hers across the table. There was no hostility, no accusation—only an almost haunting calm.
"Why does the Nova power exist inside you?" he asked.
The words hung in the air like a spark in oxygen.
Flamme froze. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Her hands, resting on the table, twitched once, as if reacting instinctively to the surge of emotion that flooded through her. Her bright red eyes widened, reflecting the small flickering flame from the candle between them.
Ignis waited in silence, watching her reaction, his face unreadable.
Flamme's lips parted again, but the words that wanted to form were caught somewhere between shock and confusion. She could only stare at him, the unspoken realization blazing in her mind like a fire that refused to be contained.
And she wasn't the only one.