The air around the arena buzzed with anticipation, tinged with the faint scent of ozone and fresh-cut grass. Flags bearing the sigils of noble Houses and Tower divisions fluttered overhead, catching the sunlight like stained glass. Rows of velvet-draped seats curved around the combat platform at the center of the field, now surrounded by wards and illusion-projectors designed to safely display the full force of magical combat.
Delphia sat near the front, her posture poised but her gaze scanning the crowd with interest. Beside her, Tower officials murmured in low voices, and nobles leaned forward in their seats, drawn by more than the usual intrigue. This demonstration had been heavily advertised, and not simply because of the mana it promised to unleash—but because of who would be commanding it.
The master of ceremonies stepped forward to the edge of the platform, voice magically amplified.
"As part of this year's Royal Tournament, the Magic Tower has graciously agreed to oversee and adjudicate the Academy's duels and spell competitions. In return, today's exhibition features a rare demonstration from one of the Tower's own—Archmage Zypher Thorne, Eighth Circle."
The applause that followed was swift and electric, a wave of claps and murmurs rushing through the audience. Zypher stepped onto the field, dressed in dark grey battle robes lined with silver thread, his long coat fluttering behind him. There was no pomp to him—only clarity, and a quiet kind of power that made the space around him seem to respond.
Delphia watched him with a slight, knowing smile.
Another figure stood opposite Zypher on the field—a young 6th Circle Mage-in-training from the Tower, likely no older than twenty. He looked confident, but his eyes kept flicking toward Zypher with a mixture of awe and sheer panic.
Delphia could almost hear Zypher's voice in her mind: It's not about winning. It's about showing what's possible.
The young Mage bowed low. Zypher returned it with a respectful nod.
The demonstration began with elemental casting drills—first by the younger Mage, who summoned bursts of fire, sculpted water into blades, and launched a small barrage of air currents with admirable focus. It was clean, controlled, and well-rehearsed. The audience applauded politely.
Then Zypher raised a hand.
He made no grand gestures, spoke no incantations. He simply willed the elements forward.
From his fingertips, a spiral of flame unwound itself mid-air, flickering into geometric patterns before vanishing into mist. A cluster of water droplets rose from the air and condensed into a perfectly smooth sphere—then divided, forming a rotating diagram of the elemental circles themselves, each droplet marked with glowing runes. Wind lifted his coat gently, spiraling outward in a current that ruffled the audience's hair without displacing a single paper.
He stepped forward, and the ground beneath him responded. Grasses grew taller in a perfect circle around his boots before receding. A few guests gasped audibly.
Then, the finale—Zypher brought his hands together slowly. Sparks of multiple elements flared, twisted, and braided into one another. A rotating helix formed in the air above him, casting faint shadows that shimmered in unnatural hues. Fire, water, air, earth, light, and shadow—each one flared in perfect, interlocking harmony.
It wasn't just spellcasting. It was art.
When he finally let the construct fade, the silence in the stands was absolute.
The applause that followed came in waves—starting hesitantly, then rising into an enthusiastic crescendo.
Delphia glanced around the crowd. The Magic Tower officials wore expressions of pride. Nobles leaned toward one another, whispering excitedly. The younger students sat with wide eyes and open mouths.
Zypher turned toward the crowd and gave a slight bow, then toward the young Mage across from him and extended a hand. The student hesitated, then grinned and shook it with both hands, earning another round of applause.
The master of ceremonies stepped forward again, voice almost reverent: "Let this be a reminder. Magic is a lifelong discipline—and those who continue to learn, to challenge themselves, will find no limit to what they can achieve. Thank you, Archmage Thorne… and to all students of the Tower and Academy alike."
Delphia clapped along with the crowd, her expression thoughtful.
Not just a performance. A statement.
Zypher wasn't just showing the height of his power. He was showing the door to everyone else.
As the last of the applause faded into murmurs and movement, Zypher stepped down from the platform, his expression calm, but his eyes sweeping the stands. He didn't have to search long.
Delphia was already rising from her seat, her sapphire skirts catching the sunlight that poured through the high arches of the arena. The crowd parted around her without resistance, glancing curiously at the poised woman making her way to the field's edge.
She waited just beyond the boundary wards, her hands folded lightly before her, but the smile tugging at her lips was unmistakable.
Zypher reached her in a few easy strides, and the moment he stepped past the barrier, the shift in atmosphere was palpable—like two opposing energies sliding into alignment.
"I trust that was educational," he said, voice low and just for her, his usual wryness softened by the heat still fading from his skin.
Delphia's smile deepened. "You mean the part where you summoned every element like it was a casual parlor trick? Or the part where half the Tower is going to have recruitment forms ready before sundown?"
Zypher chuckled under his breath. "Hopefully both."
Without needing to ask, she slipped her hand into his, and he folded his fingers over hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I think you may have just started a new magical renaissance," she teased as they began to walk together, slowly moving out of the arena's center.
"I was aiming for mild inspiration," he said dryly. "The rest is a happy accident."
They passed by a cluster of noble youths who bowed quickly—part out of respect, part out of sheer awe. Delphia could feel their eyes follow them. But for once, the scrutiny didn't weigh on her.
Zypher glanced sideways at her, thumb brushing lightly along her knuckles. "How were the discussions?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Tense. Political. The usual. I only just slipped away before they descended into another territorial spat over grain tariffs."
"Mm." He glanced back at the lingering crowd. "You made the better escape."
Their pace slowed as they approached the shade of a carved marble arcade. The sound of the crowd dimmed behind them, softened by distance and the climbing hush of afternoon.
Delphia let out a breath, feeling the last of the formality drain from her spine. "You've made quite the impression today."
"I was only doing what the Tower asked," Zypher replied, though there was a faint gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "But if I happened to impress one particular lady along the way, I won't complain."
Delphia laughed softly, tipping her head toward his shoulder. "You did."
They paused beneath the arcade. A breeze caught the edge of her hair, lifting it slightly before it settled again. She looked up at him, a question lingering in her gaze.
"You're not tired?" She asked gently.
"I'll feel it later," Zypher admitted. "But right now, I feel—"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. She could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed only now, in the way he watched her with quiet, grounded warmth.
"Good," she said softly. "Then come with me. I want to see Sybil's match."
His brows lifted in mild surprise. "Since when do you root for Sybil?"
Delphia gave a rueful smirk. "I don't. But I do like watching Calista work. And… I want to be ready."
Zypher's gaze sharpened slightly at that—but only for a moment. He nodded, and let her tug him forward once more.
By mid afternoon, Delphia and Zypher stood at the edge of the tournament grounds, the golden light of sunset casting long shadows across the field.
The match between Calista and Sybil had drawn a large, eager crowd. The air buzzed with anticipation, the audience murmuring with a mix of excitement and tension. This was more than just a match—it was a battle between two heirs of powerful Houses with everything to prove.
Sybil stepped onto the field, her navy and silver robes shimmering under the fading sunlight. Her posture was rigid, her movements sharp, as if she carried the weight of her House's reputation on her shoulders.
Across from her, Calista radiated an effortless grace. Her flowing gown of pale green and gold was an elegant contrast to Sybil's armor-like attire, but it was the quiet confidence in her gaze that drew the crowd's attention. She stood poised, her sky-blue hair catching the light, an image of composed power.
The gong sounded, and Sybil wasted no time.
She thrust her hands forward, summoning a torrent of water that swirled into jagged, crystalline shards. They shot toward Calista with blinding speed, their sharp edges glinting dangerously. The crowd gasped at the sheer force of the attack.
But Calista didn't flinch. With a fluid motion, she raised her hands, and the ground responded to her will. A wall of earth erupted from the field, absorbing the impact of the water shards with a resounding crack. The fragments splintered harmlessly against her defense, and she stepped forward, her expression calm and calculating.
Sybil clenched her fists, summoning another wave of water, this time forming a whirling vortex that she hurled toward Calista. Her movements were frantic, her attacks growing more forceful and desperate with each passing second.
"She's losing control," Zypher muttered, his maroon eyes fixed on the battlefield. "Her attacks are too aggressive—she's expending too much mana too quickly." Delphia nodded, her gaze never leaving the match. "She's not adapting. She's trying to overpower Calista, but it's not working."
Calista sidestepped the vortex with an almost lazy grace, her feet gliding across the ground as if she were dancing. She didn't counter immediately, instead watching Sybil with a faint smile that bordered on condescension. It was clear she was waiting, biding her time. Sybil, realizing her attacks weren't landing, changed tactics. She spread her arms wide, and the water around her expanded into a mist that began to fill the field. Visibility dropped as the fog thickened, obscuring the combatants from the crowd's view.
"She's trying to disorient her," Delphia whispered. "But Calista's too focused for that to work."
Within the mist, Calista's voice rang out, clear and steady. "Is that all you've got, Lady Mooresbane? Surely the heir of a ducal house can do better." The taunt struck a nerve. Sybil's voice came from somewhere within the fog, her tone laced with frustration. "You think you're better than me? You think you've earned this place?" Her mana surged, and the mist began to condense, forming razor-sharp ice blades that hovered menacingly in the air.
The audience leaned forward, the tension in the arena palpable. Delphia could feel the unease rippling through the crowd, the whispers growing louder: "Sybil's losing it."
"She's throwing everything at Calista, but it's not enough."
"Look at Calista—she hasn't even broken a sweat."
The fog began to lift as Calista manipulated the ground beneath her, sending a pulse of mana through the earth. The vibration disrupted Sybil's concentration, causing the ice blades to shatter mid-air.
Calista's voice was calm, almost mocking. "Power is nothing without control, Sybil. Let me show you." With a graceful motion, she summoned a wave of earth that surged toward Sybil, forcing her to leap back. But the movement had been a trap.
Calista shifted the terrain beneath Sybil's feet, causing her to stumble. A vine shot out from the ground, wrapping around Sybil's ankle and pulling her off balance. Sybil hit the ground hard, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp. The crowd erupted into murmurs, their attention split between Sybil's obvious defeat and Calista's poised dominance.
Delphia's voice was low as she leaned toward Zypher. "She's playing Sybil like a fiddle. Every move she makes is designed to frustrate her, to break her confidence." Zypher's lips curved into a faint smirk. "She's not just fighting to win. She's fighting to destroy Sybil's reputation. And it's working."
Calista approached Sybil, her hand outstretched in a gesture of mockery disguised as kindness. "Here, let me help you up. No hard feelings, right?" Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with triumph. Sybil hesitated, her face red with a mix of exertion and humiliation. Slowly, she took Calista's hand, the forced smile on her face doing little to hide her bitterness. The crowd broke into applause, but the whispers told a different story:
"Sybil's done for."
"She can't come back from this. Not socially, at least."
"Calista's unstoppable."
As the match concluded, Delphia and Zypher remained silent, observing the fallout. Sybil retreated to the edge of the field, her head bowed and her shoulders tense. Calista basked in the attention, her every move calculated to maintain her image as the gracious victor.
As they left the arena, Delphia's thoughts were heavy. "Sybil's unraveling," she said softly, more to herself than to Zypher.
"And Calista's solidifying her position," Zypher replied. "But she's overplaying her hand. If we're careful, we can use this against her."
Delphia nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. Calista might have won this round, but the game was far from over.