The end of the battle had come.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath, heavy with the remnants of smoke, frost, and the shattered echoes of powerful magic. Craters, deep and angry, scarred the earth, and the skeletal remains of the Obsidian Forest stood as charred silhouettes against a sky that burned with the soft, melancholy gold of early evening.
Only two figures remained in the arena.
Rayne.
Layla.
Their fine uniforms were ripped and stained, their armor dented and scorched, their faces streaked with sweat and blood. But neither of them bent. They stood on opposite ends of the ravaged clearing, two monarchs vying for the throne of the Academy, their auras a clashing tempest of wind and ice. This wasn't just another trial. This was the final act of the Student Council War.
