The top five prodigies from the Oradonian Order mage school stood proudly on the platform, each one representing a unique mastery over their respective elements. Their names had already begun to echo across the region — whispered with admiration, curiosity, and a hint of fear.
Khan Michaelson. Balt Joe. Gilda Ali. Siwa Lola. Ace Axer.
Each of them had proven their worth through fire and fury, but none had captured the hearts of the people quite like Khan Michaelson.
Born to impoverished parents in the small town in region 4, Nameless valley, Khan's life had been one of quiet struggle. His parents, humble day to day workers, could barely afford a meal for the day, much less a proper magical education for their only son. They had scrimped and saved for years, finally managing to purchase a modest water grimoire—the weakest and cheapest of its kind. Still, Khan never complained. To him, even a flicker of magic was a world of possibility.
During the qualifiers, however, the boy's fate changed forever. Pitted against Emu Tim, the pampered son of the court magistrate, Khan was ridiculed before the duel even began. The nobles laughed at his tattered robe and cracked wand, but Khan remained silent, his eyes cold as the moon. When Emu mocked him one last time, something inside the boy snapped.
What followed became the talk of the entire gathering. In a burst of rage and perfect concentration, Khan unleashed a wordless fusion spell—one that merged water and fire, an impossible combination even for seasoned mages. Steam hissed across the arena as molten water blades slashed through Emu's defences, knocking the magistrate's son unconscious in one decisive strike, with he himself also falling unconscious from the high intensity of the magic.
The crowd went silent for a full minute. Then, thunderous applause erupted.
His Majesty, Emperor Josh Aratat, who had been watching from his exalted sitting position, rose to his feet. Moved by both the boy's spirit and talent, with a conclusion, drawn from what he had witnessed, he made a call for the scarlet Raven and gave him certain instructions:
"Let the Scarlet Raven himself present this child with a Fire Grimoire and a new wand, forged by the royal artisans. From this day forward, Khan Michaelson shall be under the personal tutelage of the Scarlet Raven."
The audience gasped. Such honour was unheard of for a peasant child.
Later, when Khan told his parents what the emperor had done, the old couple wept uncontrollably, bowing to the Scarlet Raven and begging him to convey their gratitude. The Scarlet Raven—a tall, huge silent man in a crimson cloak—merely grunted in response, his sharp eyes glinting. "If the boy is worth the emperor's faith," he muttered, "he'd better prove it."
And prove it, Khan did. Even within a few hours of training, fire seemed to flow naturally through him, as though he had always been born for it.
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The other four were no less remarkable.
Balt Joe, the calm and calculating one, wielded an ice grimoire that could summon jagged spears of frozen death and all forms of ice attacking spells. His magic was precise, surgical, and his defensive barriers were nearly impenetrable. Where Khan's power burned with emotion, Balt's was a sculpture of control—cold, elegant, deadly.
Gilda Ali, broad-shouldered and unflinching, commanded an earth grimoire. His very footsteps could shake the ground, and his armour of living stone made him a walking fortress. His attacks struck like avalanches—slow, unstoppable, and merciless.
Siwa Lola, mysterious and unpredictable, possessed a transmutation grimoire. She could alter her body at will—stretching, shrinking, or even detaching parts of herself and reattaching them with effortless grace. Once, she detached her hand mid-duel to strike her opponent from behind. Her creativity made her one of the most feared duelists in the Order.
Finally, there was Ace Axer, the enigma of the group. Her invisibility grimoire allowed her to create unseen weapons—swords, chains, or arrows—that could strike from any direction. Her attacks were silent and swift, and even the keenest eyes failed to trace her movements. Some said she could walk through a battlefield without ever being noticed. If she had not joined the mage order, an assassin's guild would have eagerly claimed her.
Together, these five stood as the pride of the kids of the mages of the Oradonian Order—each one a reflection of the empire's magical diversity, each one ready to fight for glory, honour, and destiny.
On the other side of the grand arena, the five champions of the Imperial Martial Arts Academy stood shoulder to shoulder, their heads held high, each one radiating confidence, grit, and raw potential. Unlike the robed elegance of the mages, they were clad in simple combat garb—sleeveless tunics and reinforced trousers—each marked by bruises, scars, and the hardened discipline of endless training.
Their names were already being shouted across the crowded terraces:
Albert Ziloman. Adebi Monta. Gabriel Ealt. Camille Ajun. Blaise Dean.
They were the pride of the martial order—five young warriors who had clawed their way to the top through sweat and bruises, each one carrying their own story of struggle and fire.
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Albert Ziloman was first among them—a boy of both strength and tragedy.
Once, his family name had commanded respect in the noble circles of the empire. His father, Withlo Ziloman, was a renowned nobleman, known for his influence and cunning. But that prestige shattered last night when the Imperial Inspector, Granero, exposed a web of corruption—money laundering, forgery, and embezzlement—all traced back to Withlo. His public execution became a scandal that rocked the entire region, and the Ziloman name was forever tainted.
For Albert, it was more than just disgrace—it was a curse he carried on his shoulders. But rather than hide, he faced the world head-on, determined to prove that his worth would not be defined by his father's sins.
In the early rounds of the competition, fate seemed cruel. He was nearly pushed off the stage, seconds away from elimination, but Reece Cantoe—the first lion of the academy—had saved him from falling. That small mercy became the spark that reignited Albert's spirit. In his next match, against Bamise Feran, he fought with the desperation of a cornered wolf. Even when his strength waned and his vision blurred, he refused to yield. His iron rod—an unrefined weapon by noble standards—became an extension of his will. Every swing carried defiance, every strike echoed rage, and in the end, he stood victorious, breath ragged and body trembling, but undefeated.
Now, with his father's crimes still haunting his name, Albert Ziloman had only one goal: redemption through victory.
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Next was Blaise Dean, the quiet storm among them.
An orphan of unknown parentage, he was raised under the emperor's scholarship for underprivileged children—a programme that had saved hundreds of forgotten souls from the streets. Unlike most, Blaise didn't speak much about his past. What mattered to him was the present—the fight, the discipline, the dream of becoming someone no one could ignore.
Among the bronze-ranked weapons of other trainees, his silver-ranked rod had finally being discovered, and had drawn whispers of jealousy and awe. He got it by accident when the queen, Lola Aratat had asked it to be quietly mixed with other weapons offered to the orphaned kids.
Nobody knew how he got it, but rumours said a wandering general had gifted it to him after witnessing him fight barehanded against three older boys.
Blaise's style was raw and instinctive, his strikes filled with a fearless rhythm. In every battle, he fought as if he had nothing to lose—and perhaps, that was his greatest weapon.
There was always a fire in his eyes and a defiance against everything that stood against him. The audience adored him.
A nameless boy with nothing but willpower, facing the empire's best.
They called him the Red Flag,, perhaps because he stood out like a dazzling light, the symbol of defiance among the commoners.
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