The voice that called out from the shaded corridor was crisp, laced with a familiar arrogance that set Kael's teeth on edge.
"Valerius."
He turned to find Finnian Ellorian leaning against a pillar, looking impeccably bored. But before Kael could form a reply, Finnian's hand twitched. There was no incantation, no dramatic build-up—only a sudden, viciously efficient "Web of Humiliation," a spell designed to entangle and publicly shame its victim, shooting from his fingertips towards Kael.
It was so fast, so unexpected, that Kael's reflexes, not his intellect, took over. His perception flared, seeing the spell not as a threat, but as a structure. He found the flawed, overly complex knot at its center and pushed with his will. The web unraveled into harmless motes of light just inches from his face, but it was a close call. He'd almost been too slow.
Finnian's eyes, previously dull with boredom, sharpened with a flicker of surprise, quickly smothered by renewed contempt. "You passed my first test," he conceded, his voice a low sneer. "But that doesn't mean you belong here. Why does a defect who can't even channel mana bother studying at a magic academy? You're a waste of space."
"What is your problem?" Kael shot back, his heart still hammering from the sudden attack.
Finnian didn't answer directly. Instead, a storm brewed behind his cold blue eyes. In that moment, Kael didn't just see an arrogant bully; he saw a reflection of a deeper pain. He saw the ghost of a young boy, practicing spells until he collapsed, only to have his father, a Duke with impossibly high standards, look right through him. He saw the bitter irony of a genius whose older brother, lazy and entitled, was blessed with a perfect magical constitution. And he saw the final, galling injustice: a power that could unravel the very fabric of magic itself, gifted to a frail boy who kept fainting from the effort. The world wasn't just unfair; it was a cruel joke, and Finnian was the punchline. His arrogance wasn't just pride; it was a fortress wall built to contain a bottomless well of insecurity.
This pattern of lashing out became impossible to ignore in the days that followed. Kael wasn't the primary target; Finnian's cruelty was democratically distributed. In the library, he'd verbally eviscerate a commoner student for a mispronounced rune. In the dormitory commons, he'd "accidentally" disrupt a study group with a subtle spell, leaving them flustered while he offered fake, condescending apologies. He was a predator, constantly proving his strength by preying on those he deemed weaker, screaming to the world—and to himself—that he was the strongest.
Kael watched, and a cold, solid ball of disgust formed in his gut. He'd had enough. The urge to step in, to challenge Finnian, to put a stop to it, was a physical pressure in his chest.
But then he heard it: Professor Torian's voice, grave and clear from their very first meeting. "Promise me, Kael. No duels. No public displays. Not until we understand the origin of your power and who might be watching. Your safety, and the success of our mission, depend on your anonymity."
He had promised.
The conflict tore at him. On one side stood his word, his mentor's trust, and the weight of a mission to prevent an apocalypse. On the other stood a simple, moral imperative: to stop a bully from tormenting the helpless. Was the greater good served by standing idly by while injustice happened right in front of him?
The breaking point came in the grand library. Finnian had cornered a first-year girl from a minor noble family, publicly dismantling her shaky understanding of a basic levitation charm. Her face was flushed with humiliation, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as the students around them watched, some snickering, others looking away in discomfort.
Kael's promise to Torian screamed in his mind. But the sight of that girl' shame screamed louder. Some lines couldn't be crossed. Some things were more important than caution.
The internal battle ended. Resolve, cold and clear, washed over him.
He walked forward, his footsteps silent on the marble floor, and placed himself between Finnian and the trembling first-year.
"Ellorian," Kael said, his voice quiet but carrying in the sudden hush. "That's enough."
Finnian turned his icy gaze from the girl to Kael, a slow, contemptuous smile spreading across his lips. "The defect has found his voice. And his courage? How… pathetic."
"It's not about courage," Kael replied, his gaze unwavering. He was breaking his promise. He knew the consequences would come. But in this moment, it felt utterly, undeniably right. "It's about you being a small, pathetic man who can only feel big by stepping on others."
He took a deep breath, the words a point of no return.
"I challenge you. A formal duel. Tomorrow, in the Aetherium Dueling Hall. Let's see how strong you really are when your opponent isn't a frightened first-year."