The air was damp and heavy in the tunnel. Droplets clung to the ceiling like trembling pearls before falling with faint plinks into shallow puddles. Two figures moved in the darkness, their outlines distorted by the flickering lantern they carried. The tunnel smelled of mold, dust, and something sharper—like iron, or the bitter aftertaste of burned herbs.
One of them let out a rasping chuckle, a pouch in his hand shifting with the sound of tiny glass vials clinking against each other.
"Tested well," he said, his tone slick, triumphant. He lifted a vial to the lantern, and inside it swirled a dark, shimmering liquid that seemed to breathe on its own.
The other leaned in, his voice low. "But temporary. Their strength bursts, their minds fray. They lose themselves."
"Isn't that the beauty of it?" the first replied. "Chaos sells. Power sells. They'll tear each other apart, and we'll stand to profit."
For a while they were silent, their boots crunching against gravel, the sound echoing endlessly.
Then came the question, like venom slipping from the shadows.
"Shall we try it on the candidates at that prestige academy?"
The lantern light wavered as their laughter twisted in the dark.
---
The sun hung low in the southern sky, warm but not cruel, its golden haze spilling over the stone walls of the Academy's south wing. The training yard stretched wide, its grounds partitioned into smaller squares with wooden fences and marked circles, ready for the duels to come. Already, practice had turned the air electric—steel clashing on steel, chants of spellcraft rising like the hum of an orchestra tuning its strings.
Students of every year clustered at the edges. Some whispered, some pointed, and some laughed, thrilled at the thought of the upcoming event. Everyone knew the final duel would be a spectacle unlike any other: the top ten first years against selected sophomores, a match designed to test—and expose—the strongest of their generation.
On one of the benches that lined the yard, Wads sat with his arms draped lazily, his gaze half-hooded against the afternoon light. The wood beneath him was warm, the air buzzing faintly with the scent of sweat and singed grass from stray sparks of magic.
A loud, familiar laugh broke his daze.
Wads blinked and tilted his head just enough to see where it came from. There, in one of the sparring rings, Klyden and Liora were locked in a dance of flashing blades. Liora's hair whipped in the wind, her sword moving with precise fury, but her grin betrayed her enjoyment. Klyden matched her pace with raw, unrefined energy, his grin wider, his stance heavier, their steel meeting again and again with ringing clangs that sparked like fireflies.
Wads frowned.
"Why are they so energetic," he muttered, his tone dry, almost a sigh.
He let his gaze wander upwards. The sun glared down, not scorching but too bright for his liking. His lids lowered until he dropped his eyes to the ground, tracing cracks in the dirt, before lifting them again to watch the sparring match.
To his left, not far away, Lady Keiya stood. Her wand glowed faintly as she whispered incantations under her breath, each word laced with the pulse of her deity's fire. She practiced alone, her flame coiling into controlled arcs, then vanishing with a snap.
Wads studied her. Fire was in her blood. Sheir of the West—power, prestige, and a lineage steeped in heat and fury. If he challenged her in magic… could he stand a chance? Could shadow or time, whatever lay dormant in his veins, compete with a flame that seemed unquenchable?
"Unfair," he muttered again, fingers brushing against the chain hidden beneath his tunic. The locket pressed cool against his palm, grounding him. For reasons he couldn't explain, it gave him comfort, even familiarity.
It struck him then: the nightmares had stopped since he entered the Academy. The blurred visions, the half-formed dreams of voices and faces he could never name—they had simply ceased. What was it he had been dreaming of? Someone? Something?
And the question always followed: who had he been before this life? He knew only the hollow truth—that this was not his first life. But the rest was fog. Why had he been reborn? What fate had ended the true owner of this body?
He sank so deep into thought he didn't hear his name the first time.
"Wads?"
He jolted when he heard it again, clearer this time. Klyden stood in front of him, sweat gleaming on his brow, his grin intact, his sword resting lazily against his shoulder.
For a moment, Wads simply looked at him. This was his friend—his constant since they were children. Nine years. Almost ten. He forced his lips not to twitch into a smile, and instead replied flatly:
"What?"
Klyden tilted his head. "What are you even thinking about, spacing out that hard?" He wiped his brow with his wrist, stepping aside as Liora sauntered past them, water flask in hand.
Wads shrugged, but before he could reply, Klyden continued, ever restless.
"You know, for a guy who sits still so much, you probably know the exact number of pebbles on this bench."
"That's not—"
"Wait, don't tell me. Is it eighty-four?" Klyden grinned. "Eighty-four and a half?"
Wads squinted. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you. That's what friends are for." Klyden flashed his corny grin, earning a muffled laugh from Liora who pretended not to listen.
Then his eyes caught Keiya, and he instantly lit up.
"Keiyaaa!"
The girl paused mid-chant, her wand glowing faintly. She turned her head sharply, eyes narrowing.
"What?" she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.
Unbothered, Klyden jogged towards her, sword still in hand. "Want to spar?"
Keiya sighed, exasperated. "I don't have time for your idiocy."
"Perfect! Then I'll only take half of it," Klyden replied cheerfully, ignoring her glare.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but after a pause, she lowered her wand slightly. "…Fine. I need to practice anyway. Don't cry when you get burned."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Klyden grinned.
As they faced off, Liora leaned closer to Wads, her tone lighter.
"When's the last event happening again?"
"Tomorrow, I think," Wads replied, eyes following the two as they prepared. "Grandmaster will announce it and give us time to train before the duels."
Liora nodded, gaze fixed forward. "Oh, right. Have you heard?"
"About?"
"The matchups. Top ten first years are going against sophomores. Apparently, we're 'too much' for the Council's liking." She chuckled. "Not sure if that's a compliment or a death sentence."
Wads huffed lightly, almost a scoff. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
Before their talk could go further, sparks erupted in the ring. Keiya had launched a fierce flame spell, crimson fire roaring against the golden shield Klyden had conjured. His grin widened despite the heat threatening to sear him alive.
Instead of drawing his sword, Klyden lunged bare-handed, shield flickering, as though he wanted to snatch fire itself from Keiya's grasp.
Keiya's eyes twitched. Irritation flashed. With a sharp twist of her wand, the flames thickened into a fireball, swelling dangerously.
Sensing her move, Klyden burst forward. For a heartbeat, he nearly reached her—only for her Blast Flame Shield to explode outward, hurling him across the ring. He crashed to the ground in a heap of dust.
Liora burst out laughing, nearly spilling her water.
"Oh gods—"
Keiya, ever stoic, looked down at her work with a blank face. "Oh."
From the ground, Klyden groaned, sprawled in a starfish position.
"THAT'S CHEATING!" he bellowed without moving.
The training yard filled with laughter, students shouting, cheering, and clapping at the spectacle.
From the bench, Wads watched them all—their energy, their warmth, their brightness. The sound of their voices wrapped around him, sharp yet familiar. His chest ached with something he couldn't name.
He tightened his fingers around the locket under his tunic, gaze lingering on his friends.
Why did this scene feel like he had lived it before?