The east wing of the Academy training halls wasn't meant to hold crowds.
Deep beyond the regular classrooms, it was a half-forgotten sparring ring tucked behind folding barriers and thick columns — dimly lit, chalk-lined, and usually silent except for footfalls and practice chants. Today, it felt like a pit.
Dozens of students had crammed in anyway, clustering behind rails and sitting atop ledges, whispering behind fingers. Someone had heard shouting. Someone else had seen blood. The rumors brought the rest.
But at the center of it all — Lio Fen stood alone.
His sleeve was torn at the shoulder. A thin line of blood traced his head. Sweat soaked through the collar of his uniform. And still, he hadn't backed down.
He stood inside a marked dueling circle — or what was left of one. Vein-etchings across the floor flickered from overuse. Crushed chalk dust hazed the air like smoke.
Across from him were three silhouettes.
Renn Calter prowled the edge of the ring, lean and twitchy, his boots echoing with faint kinetic hums. Every motion hinted at a detonation waiting to happen — all speed, no restraint.
Halden Vree stood just behind him, heavier-set, veins pulsing faintly with internal heat. The air around his knuckles shimmered, sweat sizzling off his skin like kindling left too close to flame.
And in the center — arms crossed like iron gates, Vann Terel towered over them both. A fourth-year with shoulders like stacked stone and a face carved from disdain, his grin spread too wide, too slow. The kind of smile that came just before something broke.
"You really want to do this here, Fen?" Vann asked, his voice thick with contempt. "After what you pulled during the strategy tourney?"
"You're out of your mind," Renn added. "Leaking our formations to the enemy team? You think no one would figure it out?"
"I didn't—" Lio started, breath catching.
"Save it," Halden cut in. "We lost. And the only way they could've read our plan was if someone from inside handed it over."
"You mean," Lio said tightly, "you won't admit they just outplayed you."
That drew a fresh sneer. "Cute."
"Besides," Vann said, cracking his knuckles, "this isn't a duel. It's a demonstration. Consider it… academic correction."
The crowd stirred, shifting along the outer rails. No instructors were present. No barrier spells. Just students. Watching.
And Lio, hemmed in by three predators.
But he didn't step down.
He wiped the blood off with the back of his wrist. "I'm not leaving the ring."
A pause. His voice steadied.
"So if you want me gone, make me."
The hall murmured. A few smirks. A few worried glances.
Renn moved first — a low swipe with his boot across the edge of the ring, channeling Pulse Kinetic resonance. The floor trembled. Lio stumbled sideways but caught himself.
Halden followed, wrist glowing — a flick of superheated air lashing out, forcing Lio to duck low and roll.
Then Vann stepped forward.
"Should've stayed quiet."
He raised one foot — not to posture, not to scare. To stomp.
Lio flinched—
—and then the world paused.
It wasn't magic. Not really.
But something colder than spellfire swept the room.
Like ice beneath the skin.
A hush spread from the back of the crowd toward the front, rippling through students like wind through glass.
No footsteps echoed. No door creaked.
But someone had entered.
A figure emerged from between two stone columns near the back — silent, still, as though he'd always been there and the world had just noticed.
. Hair black as scorched ink, silver threads catching the lamplight. Shoulders relaxed, but posture alert. Calm in the way a drawn blade might seem calm — until it moved.
The air tensed around him.
Lio blinked through blood as the figure stepped closer.
"Who…?" someone whispered behind the railing.
"I didn't see him enter—"
"Wait. Is that—"
"Seren?"
The fourth-year turned, annoyed — until he locked eyes with the newcomer.
And froze.
Seren said nothing at first. His steel-gray eyes scanned the scene — the smudged duel ring, the boy bleeding in the dust, the crowd watching and saying nothing.
Finally, his voice broke the silence. Low. Dry.
"Three-on-one?" Seren's voice was dust and iron. "That's not brave. That's cowardice with choreography."
Vann's jaw tightened. "This isn't your business."
"It is now."
A pause.
Then Seren stepped into the circle.
"This how upper-years prove their worth now? Beating down first-years in basements?"
Vann scoffed. "What, you think dyeing your hair black makes you someone else?"
Renn grinned. "Right? It's the fire-spitter from last year. What happened, Vael? Flame run out?"
Halden laughed. "Didn't he bomb out of basic dueling last semester?"
"Didn't he take orders from Callen like a pet?"
Seren didn't blink.
The hush deepened as Seren stepped into the ring. He paused just inside the faded chalk circle, gaze drifting first to Lio.
"Still breathing?" he asked, voice low.
Lio blinked, confused. He'd expected a threat, not concern. "I—what?"
Seren turned back to the three bullies. Vann's lip curled.
"You think you get to waltz in here and check on him?" Vann spat. "We made our point already."
Renn chuckled. "Look at him—acting like your bodyguard now? What happened to your fire tricks, Vael?"
Halden leaned in close, heat rippling off his skin. "You're running on empty if you think black hair and posture change anything."
Seren's jaw tightened. His steel-gray eyes flicked between them. "I didn't come back for tricks."
He took a step forward. The bullies tightened their circle.
"Then step in," Vann snapped. "Let's see if you've got more than recycled insults."
Halden smirked. "Back up those dead eyes with something real."
Renn rolled his neck. "This'll be fun."
A stunned pause followed in small crowd there.
Then a whisper — sharp, low, and almost disbelieving.
"No way he's still standing…" someone murmured near the edge.
"Is he actually challenging them?" a second voice whispered, low and incredulous.
Near the back, a third laughed under his breath. "Someone go get an instructor—wait, don't. This is about to get good."
First Halden to the left, Renn to the right, Vann still ahead — forming a tight triangle.
Lio blinked hard, his breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
"What… just happened?"
One second, he'd been bracing for a broken rib.
The next, the entire room had frozen — not from spells, but because of him.
Seren Vael.
The name clanged in his head like dropped steel
His fingers twitched. A familiar hum stirred in his head — the subtle pull of Resonance threading through his perception.
Analyze.
He hadn't meant to activate it.
But instinct took over.
Floating letters began to shimmer around the three attackers — not digital windows, but shifting ink-like text, forming in the air with the precision of carved stone.
❖ Analyze — Partial Sync
Reading Target: Renn Calter
• Strength: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Speed: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Reflex: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Control: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Resonance Depth: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Affinity: Pulse Kinetic — "Vibration surges through footwork and surface contact."
• Affinity Potential: ★★✦☆☆☆☆ (2.3 / 7)
• Sync Status: Incomplete
Target: Halden Vree
• Strength: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Speed: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Endurance: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Control: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Resonance Depth: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Affinity: Thermal Compression — "Generates close-range heat burst through contact."
• Affinity Potential: ★★★☆☆☆☆ (3.0 / 7)
• Sync Status: Incomplete
And final scan,
Target: Vann Terel
• Strength: ⟁⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 5)
• Speed: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Reflex: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Control: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Resonance Depth: ⟁⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 5)
• Affinity: Force Amplification — "Enhances outgoing force or dampens incoming damage."
• Affinity Potential: ★★★✦☆☆☆ (3.6 / 7)
• Sync Status: Incomplete
Lio's breath caught.
"They're not weak," he muttered under his breath.
Lio's eyebrows shot up—every Sync was incomplete, every signature blurred. Before he could process more, the three closed in.
Renn struck first, sending a tremor underfoot. Seren simply shifted his stance, the quake passing beneath him, and flipped Renn over his shoulder in one fluid motion.
Halden lunged, heat flaring. Seren ducked, rolled, and came up behind him with an elbow strike that doubled Halden over—then swept his legs clean out.
Vann roared and charged, fist amplified. Seren caught the blow on his forearm, twisted, and used Vann's own power to launch him across the circle. A final heel kick to the ribs pinned Vann in a crumpled heap.
Silence fell—broken only by the ragged breathing of three fallen upper-years.
Seren stepped back, dusting off his sleeve. He gave Lio a brief nod, then turned toward the silent crowd.
"Who needs spells to win against likes of you?" he said, voice carrying.
Vann surged upright, fury twisting his face. "Enough games!"
All three lunged together—no formation, no control—just rage and brute force.
Seren didn't move at first.
Then—he stepped forward and pivoted hard.
His foot anchored to the ground, torso twisting, one hand sweeping wide.
A spiral of movement—graceful, brutal, exact.
Halden struck first, his flame-coated fist arcing in—but Seren's spin caught the momentum. He grabbed the wrist mid-swing, redirected the force, and used the motion to flip Halden sideways, slamming him into Renn's chest.
The two tangled, staggered.
Vann came next, charging low.
Seren's spin didn't stop.
He dropped his weight, turned with the force, and used Vann's own momentum to vault him overhead—a perfect circular throw, amplified by redirected Resonance.
The big fourth-year crashed down with a thunderous thud, coughing.
Three bodies. All on the ground. Again.
The silence was total.
Then: a slow intake of breath. A whisper.
"He just… used their weight—against all of them?"
Renn grunted and staggered upright, fury on his face.
"You bastard—"
He rushed again, but this time not alone. Halden flanked from the left, Vann from behind, all charging together.
Seren didn't retreat. He let them come.
As the first strike neared — Vann's brute-force swing — Seren twisted his feet across the ash-marked floor and dropped low.
A pivot. Then a spin.
His body moved like a wheel of steel — one leg sweeping in a tight arc as he used Vann's momentum against him. The punch missed by a finger's width, and Seren's rotating heel slammed into Vann's knee with a snap like splitting wood.
Vann howled — collapsing sideways.
But the spin didn't stop.
Spiral Vein Step.
The air curled with the sudden pull of kinetic force.
Seren's redirected momentum surged outward — a tight, whiplike twist of his core — and as Halden struck, his own heat-gloved arm was snared mid-motion. Seren used the flow of Halden's swing, twisted at the wrist, and flipped him overhead like he weighed nothing.
A thud. Halden slammed onto his back, coughing flame and disbelief.
Renn hesitated — too slow. Seren's second kick swept his ankle clean out, then a palm strike sent him skidding across the training mat like a ragdoll.
The crowd roared.
Except Seren wasn't smiling.
"What the hell just happened?" someone said, voice tight with disbelief.
A pause. Then a final voice, quieter.
"That wasn't fire magic. That was something else."
He stood in the middle of the wreckage — cloak trailing slightly, eyes like burnished steel. Calm. Focused.
Then he spoke.
Quiet. But sharp as a broken blade.
"You come at me together, and lose. You come again—" He paused, turning slowly toward Vann, who clutched his knee in a crouch.
"—and I promise, next time, you won't be able to walk back into class."
He looked at Halden. "You won't be able to hold a fork."
Then finally, his stare locked on Renn.
"And you?" His voice dropped further.
"You'll be lucky if anyone even recognizes your face."
Renn's blood drained. Halden stared. Vann didn't move.
Seren's eyes scanned them like dust beneath his boots. No spell. No shouting. Just control.
"There is no next time. Try me again, and I'll end more than just your pride."
The three groaned on the floor, broken and winded. Around them, the crowd stayed silent — not from fear, but something deeper.
A student at the far corner spoke softly: "I think he meant that."
The hall still echoed faintly with the sound of that last strike. Dust hung in the air. The older students groaned on the floor, too stunned to rise. No one else moved.
Seren turned away from them like they were already forgotten.
He looked down at Lio.
The boy was still half-sitting, hand clenched near his ribs, his gaze locked not on Seren's face—but on something behind his eyes. Something only he could see.
❖ Analyze — Target: Seren Vael
• Strength: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Speed: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Reflex: ⟁⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 5)
• Endurance: ⟁⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 4)
• Control: ∅ — "Current perceptive threshold cannot decode this Resonance structure."
• Resonance Depth: ⟁⟁⟁ (Tier 3)
• Affinity: [—] Signature undetectable
• Status Sync: Incomplete
• Potential Rating: ★★★✦☆☆☆ (3.7 / 7)
Letters. Stats. Incomplete readings.
Nothing in Seren's stats should've allowed what just happened—except maybe his unreadable control. But it wasn't the first time Lio's Analyze had failed to make sense of someone. So he didn't panic. Not yet.
Lio blinked hard, confused. His mouth opened, but no question came out.
Lio stared, still trying to make sense of the disparity, of the brutal efficiency, the absence of proper spells—
Seren glance back understanding what he was thinking
"You're wasting energy trying to read what's not there."
"The Headmaster sent me to train you. Lucky you."
beat
"Or unlucky. Depends how long you plan to survive."
"I'll break you down if I have to. Just so I can build something better."
Seren was already halfway out the door.
Then—he stopped.
A long pause.
He turned back, slowly, like the silence had offended him.
"Didn't hear an answer," he said flatly.
Lio blinked. His mind raced — wait, was that an offer? Was it an order? A threat?
Was he supposed to say yes?
He opened his mouth, closed it, then panicked.
"I accept!" he blurted, too fast.
Seren just raised a brow.
"…You done?"
Lio nodded, then hesitated.
"Yeah. I mean — yes. That was… an answer."
A pause. Then—was that a faint smirk?
Seren turned again, his cloak shifting behind him like a shadow uncoiling.
Lio slumped back, rubbing his face.
"What the hell just happened…" he mumbled.
He looked at his hands, then toward the spot where Seren had stood.
His chest still felt tight — not from the fight, but something else.
Not dread.
Not confusion.
Something stranger.
Hope.
Sharp and sudden and a little terrifying.
Maybe this wasn't a rescue.
Maybe it was a warning.
But still…
Maybe this was the start of something different.
"This'll be a disaster," Lio muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
And yet, behind the nerves and the doubt, something in his chest tightened.
Not fear.
Hope.
Maybe.
Maybe something was about to change.
"Maybe drama does suit me after all… Headmaster."