The grand arena of the Zaqor Manor was a spectacle of light and sound. Circular stone stands, draped in the family's crimson and gold banners, were filled to capacity with the region's elite. At the highest point of the pavilion sat Marquis Vance, his massive dragon-hide cloak draped over his throne, his slate-grey eyes scanning the dusty ground below with a look of polite boredom. Beside him, Rrejy and Tere sat like triumphant monarchs, their faces alight with the anticipation of Ralph's upcoming triumph.
Nard stood in the shadowed underbelly of the stands, holding a tray of ice-cold refreshments. His servant's garb made him invisible to the glittering crowd, which was exactly what he wanted. His eyes were fixed on the center of the arena, where the Coming-of-Age Ceremony had just begun.
One by one, the scions of the neighboring noble houses took the stage. They conjured blades of wind, bursts of fire, and shields of earth, each demonstration met with polite applause and nodding approval. But to Nard, whose dual-core Tier 2 magic had been forged in the agonizing pressure of Beru's training, their spells looked sluggish and terribly inefficient. They wasted massive amounts of mana on flashy, superficial visual effects, leaving their actual structures weak and unstable.
"And now," the herald's voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls, "representing the illustrious House of Zaqor—Ralph Zaqor!"
The crowd erupted in cheers as Ralph stepped onto the sands. His white and gold robes caught the midday sun, and he carried a silver-tipped wand that caught the light. He looked up at the high pavilion, offering a deep, sweeping bow to Marquis Vance, then to his father and mother. Tere smiled warmly, her violet eyes gleaming with pride, while Rrejy leaned forward, his fierce gaze locked on his golden child.
With a smug grin, Ralph began his demonstration. He raised his wand, and a blinding circle of yellow-white light erupted around his feet. The ambient mana in the arena hummed as he channeled his consolidated Tier 2 light magic.
"Behold, the Spear of the Sun!" Ralph cried, thrusting his wand forward.
A massive, brilliant spear of solid light materialized in the air, crackling with energy. With a dramatic shout, Ralph hurled it toward a target block of solid obsidian at the far end of the arena. The spear struck the block with a deafening explosion, shattering the dense stone into a shower of black shards. The crowd gasped and broke into thunderous applause. Tere clapped gracefully, her shoulders relaxing, while Rrejy let out a rare, booming laugh of approval.
Ralph stood in the center of the sands, chest heaving, soaking in the adulation. He cast a smug glance toward the shadows where Nard stood, as if to say, Look at what you can never be.
But Nard wasn't looking at Ralph. He was looking at Marquis Vance.
The Tier 7 battle mage had not joined the applause. His large hands were folded over his chest, his slate-grey eyes staring at the smoking remains of the obsidian block. In those eyes, Nard saw no admiration—only the cold, analytical dismissal of a master. Vance had seen right through Ralph's spell. The spear had been flashy and loud, yes, but its mana density was incredibly thin. It was a shallow puddle of light, lacking any real core or penetrative power. If it had struck a prepared Tier 2 battle mage, it would have shattered harmlessly.
Suddenly, Marquis Vance stood up, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the pavilion. The applause in the arena died down instantly, replaced by a tense, breathless silence.
"A flashy display, Rrejy," Vance's dry, rumbling voice carried effortlessly across the silent arena. He looked down at Ralph, his eyes completely devoid of warmth. "Your son has indeed consolidated a Tier 2 light magic. But it is brittle. It lacks the steel of true battle magic. Tell me, is this the absolute limit of the Zaqor bloodline's current generation?"
Rrejy's face went pale, his fierce eyes wide with sudden panic. Beside him, Tere's serene smile faltered, her fingers tightening around her silk handkerchief until her knuckles turned white.
"Marquis," Rrejy stammered, quickly standing. "Ralph has only just consolidated his core. With the academy's training—"
"I do not sponsor potential that requires others to build its foundation," Vance interrupted coldly. He began to step down from the pavilion, his heavy boots clicking on the marble stairs. His slate-grey eyes drifted slowly away from Ralph, scanning the arena.
As the Marquis descended, his passive mana perception rolled across the stands like a sweeping tide, searching for anything of substance. And once again, that sweeping tide headed straight toward the dark, shadowed corner where the 'hollow shell' of the family stood.
Nard felt the icy wave of Vance's gaze lock onto him. Inside his chest, his dual-nature core began to thrum, but Nard held the lock tight, refusing to let a single spark escape. The storm was waiting, but the curtain had not yet fallen.