The following morning, tension coiled through the Academy like a drawn bowstring. Every hallway echoed with rumors about the upcoming trial—A-2 versus A-1. First-years versus the most elite third-years. It wasn't just a test of strength; it was a battle for reputation, pride, and respect.
Kaen sat atop the arena's roof, sipping from a cup of bitter tea he brewed himself. The rising sun painted the horizon in hues of violet and flame, and a cold breeze drifted over the massive coliseum that served as the Academy's primary battle arena. Below him, thousands of students gathered, whispering, cheering, and placing private bets.
Zian approached, footsteps soft, and sat beside him. Her white hair shimmered in the morning light. "Aren't you nervous?" she asked, her golden eyes locked on the arena floor.
Kaen gave a small, amused smile. "I don't get nervous. Fear is a luxury for those who can afford to lose."
She shook her head. "Overconfidence can be a weakness."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not overconfident," he said, sipping his tea again. "I'm just certain."
In the locker rooms, Mira adjusted her gloves, checking the seals on her gauntlets. Leon sharpened his spear with a whetstone enchanted for balance. Kyel went through silent sword forms, his expression calm but his eyes burning with focus. Rayden, standing tall with arms crossed, gave a quick pep talk to their side of the team. "We're not just fighting for glory," he said. "We're showing the upper ranks that we're not to be underestimated."
The battle rules were announced: Five team skirmishes. Victory decided by tactical control, combat execution, and teamwork.
In the first match, Zian led a three-person unit against a skilled third-year team. Their leader wielded dual daggers and illusion magic. The battle was intense—flashes of light, deceptive clones, and perfectly timed strikes—but Zian's radiant magic cut through the illusions. She anticipated each strike, guiding her team to a narrow but undeniable victory.
The second match featured Kyel and Mira's squad. Mira launched a sequence of magical mines that disrupted the terrain, while Kyel danced through the chaos with flawless bladework. The third-years couldn't keep up with their precision, and Kyel's final strike shattered their defensive formation.
Then came the final match—Kaen versus three.
The third-year team captain stepped forward with confidence, flanked by two skilled warriors. Kaen entered alone, hands in his pockets, his demeanor completely relaxed.
When the match began, he didn't draw a weapon. One opponent rushed in; Kaen dodged with a simple side-step, touched the attacker's chest with a single finger—and the fighter collapsed, unconscious. The next swung a broadsword with a roar, only for Kaen to catch the blade mid-swing. With a twist, the weapon snapped in half. The third opponent hesitated, then tried to flee.
Kaen raised a single hand, and shadows stretched across the ground, grabbing the fighter's ankles and pulling them to the arena floor.
Thirty seconds.
Drayven's voice echoed from the broadcast crystal. "Battle halted. A-2 wins the round."
Silence fell over the crowd.
Zian stared, her heart pounding. She knew he was strong, but that display had been effortless.
"He's not human," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Kaen turned back toward the group, a smirk on his lips and shadows curling playfully around his heels.
Zian didn't realize that deep inside, something in her was beginning to stir as well.
And neither of them knew what they once were... was on the verge of returning.