🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋✦ AetherBorne: The Archivus Legacy ✦🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋Â
Day 3 – Second Round Elimination
Team Dragon (0) – Team Horse (2)
The numbers on the scoreboard were merciless. We were already down two matches. One more loss, and Team Horse would move on to the Top 3 round.
I clenched my fist as I watched Haru still locked in battle—his massive Dire Wolf form looming on the field.
Haru Fenris (Dire Wolf) vs Felix Greenwood (Aether Wind)
Brute force against pure speed.
And right now, everything depended on Haru.
The arena echoed with the roar of the crowd as Felix danced through the air like a leaf in a storm. Aether currents followed his every motion, guiding him as if the wind itself were part of him. Haru lunged—claws slashing through the air—but Felix evaded with ease, slipping past him again and again.
I could see it—the frustration building in Haru's eyes beneath that monstrous form. Each failed strike, each missed chance, was weighing him down.
"Come on, Haru!" I shouted from the bench, rising to my feet.
Ms. Fujimori stood beside me, her quiet voice joining mine, "You've got this, Haru!"
My heart ached.
Part of me didn't care about winning the match. I just didn't want to see my friend get hurt again.
But I knew someone else wouldn't share that sentiment.
Claire Everhart.
From the moment she formed the team, she made it clear—she wanted victory. No excuses. If Haru lost here, she wouldn't just be disappointed… she'd see it as confirmation that he was the weakest link. A burden.
And Haru? He knew that too.
He wasn't just fighting Felix right now.
I glanced at Claire, still seated on the bench, her expression unreadable—but the tension in her jaw betrayed the frustration bubbling beneath.
I could still clearly remember what had just unfolded on the field.
🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋✦ AetherBorne: The Archivus Legacy ✦🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋Â
Round 1 – Aether Clash: Second Round Elimination
Representing Team Horse: Yuki Amano, the Silver Hawk.
Representing Team Dragon: Claire Everhart, the Angelic Armor.
Claire walked with measured pride, her blade sheathed at her side, shield steady in her left hand. The polished brilliance of her golden armor shimmered with every step—but she wasn't alone.
Beside her, a towering figure of radiant Aether marched—a knight born of light and resolve. Her Angelic Phantasm. It bore a greatsword and tower shield, faceless, glowing, and entirely aware. A construct of will. Not obedient—but driven. Always moving forward. Always striking.
The crowd silenced as the other gate opened.
Yuki Amano stepped out.
No flourish. No posturing. Just a slow draw—two sleek Technologia pistols materializing from holsters like silver fangs. Her coat fluttered, and she angled her stance, one foot forward, loose but loaded. Her expression? Cold.
The announcer's voice thundered:
"Begin."
Crack. Crack. Crack.
She opened fire immediately.
Three Aether rounds snapped through the air—one aimed straight at Claire's torso, two veering wide.
The first was met with a clang—Claire's shield raised in reflex. But the other two weren't missed.
They were traps.
Both bullets curved—mid-air, impossibly—and struck the Angelic Phantasm at the flank and thigh. The construct recoiled but didn't fall. It charged.
Greatsword high, it lunged at Yuki with thunderous speed.
But Yuki had already vanished.
A twist of her body—then smoke erupted from her pistols, cloaking her escape in a thick cloud of Aetheric mist.
Claire's breath caught. Visibility: zero.
"Phantasm—flank wide!" she called, instinct kicking in.
But the phantasm didn't wait. It broke into the smoke, blade carving paths through the haze, unbothered by commands. It hunted.
The fog pulsed with movement. Every few seconds, light flared—gunfire, redirected bullets, deflected strikes.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Claire's armor flinched from a glancing shot. Another bullet—ricocheted off a wall—tagged the back of her leg. A sting, followed by Aether drain. Technologia rounds. Non-lethal, but merciless.
She spun, shielding her flank. "Deploy second—now!"
Another radiant knight burst into being behind her, already in motion. The second Angelic Phantasm surged through the smoke like a vengeful saint—no hesitation, sword leveled to impale.
Still, Yuki danced.
Acrobatic, fast, untethered. One second crouching behind a veil of smoke, the next flipping mid-air, firing as she spun. Her shots weren't meant to destroy—they were meant to starve.
Claire's phantasms struck empty air.
Yuki always moved just before they hit.
She knew their pattern.
She read their aggression.
And she punished their blind pursuit.
Crack-crack-crack!
Claire's shoulder buckled. A bullet ricocheted off the second phantasm's arm and clipped her side. Her HUD flared with red—Aether consumption peaking fast.
The first phantasm swung again, blade crashing into the ground as Yuki vaulted above it—kicking off its shield, landing behind it, pistols flashing.
Two shots. One to each phantasm.
Both constructs staggered—Aether leaking, their forms starting to flicker.
Claire saw a blur in the smoke. She raised her shield—
Boom!
A direct hit from an Aether-blast round. Not lethal. But it disrupted her defense long enough for the draining effect to spike.
Humm. Humm. Humm.
The sound of synchronized piston fire filled the arena like a death drum. The second phantasm was hit before it could even get into position. Its armor cracked. Claire's shield, weakened by the earlier blast, gave way with a loud ping.
And then—
Aether Drop.
The warning flashed above the field.
She dropped to a knee, panting. Both phantasms staggered, weapons lowered, forms destabilizing.
Across the arena, Yuki holstered her pistols with a calm, final motion.
"Winner: Yuki Amano."
Claire didn't speak.
The phantasms dissolved—one fading mid-step, the other still mid-swing.
She hadn't lost due to a flaw in their power.
She'd lost because they were built to chase.
And Yuki Amano?
She couldn't be caught.
The crowd erupted, cheering wildly as Yuki coolly turned and walked toward the northern edge of the arena—barely winded. Her face showed no emotion. Calm. Collected. Professional.
Not even breaking a sweat, I muttered.
Claire stood in place, frozen, her armor dissolving around her in glimmers of golden light. Ms. Fujimori stepped in, trying to support her, but Claire brushed her off gently and walked on her own.
Her steps were heavy. Not from pain. Not from defeat.
But from the weight of realization.
That loss hadn't come from a disadvantage.
It hadn't come from poor team support.
It had come from her own choice—her ego, her insistence on always going first.
Sol watched her approach, smirking—not with triumph, but with that sharp grin he always wore when he saw someone fall from pride.
Claire didn't even glance his way.
She just sat down quietly on the bench and groaned into her palms.
Not a sound came from her, but the tension in her shoulders spoke volumes.
The angel had fallen.
Not because she wasn't strong.
But because she forgot that strength alone doesn't win a war.
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I turned my gaze to the bench.
Sol was still sitting there, head buried under a towel, his shoulders hunched—not from exhaustion, but shame. His silence was louder than a scream. Across the field, Haru was still fighting with all he had, desperately trying to buy us one last chance to stay in the tournament. My chest tightened.
And yet my thoughts wandered back—to him.
To that moment.
Round 2. Just before the fall.
The announcer's voice echoed across the gym:
"Round 2—Begin!"
I remembered the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a blade. I had leaned forward, half-curious, half-concerned.
"Who's up next?" I had asked, more out of instinct than planning.
"Back off, Taxi," Sol snapped before I could finish. "What—you think one lucky save makes you captain now?"
His words stung. But more than that—they felt misplaced.
Then, without waiting, Sol stepped out from the bench and marched into the arena.
"Team Dragon: Solomon Salamander."
"Team Horse: Camila Duarte."
The crowd erupted—louder for Sol, of course.
He was the genius. The prodigy. The walking flame they all came to see.
He didn't wait for the announcer to finish.
Flames erupted beneath his feet as he launched forward—jetting across the field like a missile. Propelled by fiery bursts from both gauntlets and heels, he blurred through the air in a streak of crimson and gold.
Camila didn't flinch.
She calmly tossed a small, glowing rock into the air.
Midflight—it twisted.
A blazing meteor ignited, spiraling with kinetic force that would've been lethal if not for the rules of Aether Clash—hurtling straight at Sol.
He banked left, narrowly avoiding the projectile. A burst of flame fired from his heel as he rocketed forward again. He closed the distance, raised his fist—
And—bam.
She vanished.
A meteor—transformed from that small glowing rock—took the hit instead, shattering from the impact.
Sol landed, skidding to a stop, eyes wide. Confused.
Camila had reappeared—at a safe distance. Calm. Steady.
Another rock. Another throw.
Another substitution.
Another meteor.
The crowd began to murmur. Whispers laced with rising awe.
Five more times it happened. He punched—meteor.
He lunged—meteor.
Bam—meteor.
Boom—meteor.
It was almost poetic. Like he was dancing with inevitability.
Camila wasn't teleporting. She was substituting—not with shadows. Not with illusions. But with rocks—enlarged by Aether and transformed by velocity. Massive. Physical. Anchored in weight and trajectory.
It mirrors Spear Cannon, I realized, watching her footwork, her timing.
But she doesn't use weapons or bookmarks. She applies two steps—first, she enlarges the rock using Aether. Then, with Walker-class ability, she compounds its speed through spatial compression. Add gravity—and you get a meteor.
And then—came the Meteor Punch.
Sol lunged again. Predictable now, even at his speed.
Camila stepped in.
One twist. One sharp pivot. Her gauntlet—amplified by space distortion—crashed into his ribs like a meteor had reversed direction midair.
BOOM.
Sol flew.
He slammed into the ground, sparks trailing behind as he skidded violently across the tiles.
No blood. No broken bones—thanks to Techlogia's Aether-infused safety system.
But his pride?
Shattered.
The crowd that once chanted his name now roared for her—
Camila Duarte.
She stood in silence. Silver hair streaked with green shimmered beneath the arena lights like falling starlight. No gloating. No theatrics.
Just her hands raised again. Calmly. Ready for the next exchange.
But Sol… wasn't.
The flames around his body surged—not with technique.
With rage.
I stood, the tension spiking in my chest.
"Sol… don't," I whispered.
The air warped. His gauntlets began to melt—burning from the inside out. His breath hissed like bellows.
Jet Mode. Full Force.
He exploded forward—no restraint. No tactics. Just fury. A roaring inferno barreled toward Camila, his fire-cloaked fist burning like an executioner's flare.
And that… was when everything broke.
CLANG!
Chains erupted in front of Camila—intertwining, snapping into a barrier of glowing silver.
Minato Kurogane.
From the stands, he had summoned them—binding the flames in mid-rush.
BANG!
Sol's punch landed—but never reached her. It was halted by a blur—Instructor Kim. He had wrapped his massive arms around Camila from behind, shielding her like a living fortress.
SNAP!
A burst of frost exploded at Sol's feet. Ice bloomed upward, locking his legs in place. The air itself froze solid.
Alexander Vos.
His frost Aether silenced the field, halting Sol's charge cold.
WOOSH!
And me—I stood behind Sol, Codex Nexus floating beside me, pages already glowing.
"Bookmark V2—Capture!"
The meteor Camila had thrown during Sol's berserker charge—gone. Absorbed into my book before it could detonate.
Chaos.
Instructor Gryf burst onto the field, wings half-spread, half-transformed. Fury in his eyes.
Claire stood.
Ms. Fujimori rushed to Camila, scanning her vitals.
Haru was already mid-run, ready to assist.
The crowd… fell silent. Like the oxygen had been ripped from the room.
Everything… stopped.
Then the announcer's voice cracked through the static, strained but still clinging to protocol:
"Winner of Round 2… Camila Duarte!"
Alexander's freezing touch was starting to melt—steam rising in hissing wisps—as Sol strained against the bindings, eyes blazing with fury. His aura pulsed, his body still glowing red-hot, defiant even in restraint. But the pressure was building—dangerously close to erupting again.
Then, a voice like thunder split the tension in half.
"Enough."
That voice.
Everyone knew it.
Principal Edward Voltaire.
Commanding. Cold. Absolute.
The kind of voice that could silence a warzone.
Sol froze—not from ice this time, but the weight of authority. The fiery tempest around him flickered… then died out in an instant. Alexander's freezing Aether faded into a thin mist. Minato's chains unraveled and evaporated into the air, their ethereal form dissolving as if never there.
And me? I stood still, Codex Nexus pulsing in my hand. The massive meteor Camila had summoned still hovered above—its destructive force lingering. One more second, and it would've rained hell.
"Codex Nexus—Capture."
I whispered. The meteor vanished, absorbed into the glowing pages of my book. A silent flash marked its disappearance.
Sol didn't say a word.
He turned.
Each step toward the bench was heavy. Not with fatigue—but shame. Embarrassment. Rage. Regret. He avoided everyone's eyes—even Claire's. His pride was bruised more than anybody could be.
A quiet, almost respectful silence settled across the arena.
Everyone understood why Camila had won.
Using dangerous Aether was strictly forbidden—especially attacks that could harm beyond the regulation limit. No matter how powerful, no matter how desperate—rules were rules.
Sol had crossed the line.
And the line had snapped back.
Principal Voltaire took a step forward into the center of the field, his dark coat trailing like shadows behind him. He didn't need a mic—his voice was a decree.
"Let's proceed to the next match."
Short. Cold. Final.
No lectures. No reprimands.
Just a verdict.
The announcer, eyes wide and voice shaky, raised the mic and cleared his throat. He nodded, pointing toward the benches.
"Understood, sir. Moving on to the next round."
Minato stepped away without a word, hands tucked in his pockets.
Alexander gave me a silent glance—maybe approval, maybe curiosity.
Instructor Kim, ever the rock, scooped up the unconscious Camila with his massive arms and carried her gently toward the infirmary. Her silver-green hair trailed behind her like a comet's tail.
The scoreboard glowed.
Team Dragon – 0
Team Horse – 2
We were at the brink.
The pressure now sat on Haru's shoulders.
One more loss… and we're out.
And right now…
I wasn't sure if any of us could handle another fall.
"Round 3!" the announcer's voice echoed through the arena.
"Haru Fenris vs. Felix Greenwood!"
I stood up and made my way toward the bench. As I passed by Haru, he lightly tapped my shoulder—his usual sleepy gaze replaced with calm focus.
"Leave it to me," he muttered with a small grin.
I didn't say much.
Just placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Just be safe."
🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋✦ AetherBorne: The Archivus Legacy ✦🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋Â
Back on the field, the clash continued.
Felix was still dancing—swift, untouchable. Arrows fired in precise arcs, guided by the sharp winds of his Aether. Haru, towering in his full Dire Wolf transformation, was struggling.
Brute strength wasn't enough.
Felix was too fast. Too slippery. Haru's monstrous swings never connected, his maul just slicing the air as Felix zipped out of reach again and again.
Even if Haru wasn't losing Aether from damage—he was burning it through sheer effort. Each charge. Each miss. Each dodge. He was running on borrowed time.
Then—
Snap.
The form faded.
From 8 feet of beast to a slim, hunched figure.
Ripped shirt. Bruised shoulders. That massive wooden maul still in hand—too big for his human form.
Gasps echoed across the arena.
"Is he… giving up?" someone whispered from the stands.
But I knew Haru. He wasn't done.
Not even close.
An arrow flew at him. Straight for his chest.
Swat!
In a blink, his hand transformed. Just his hand.
A massive, fur-covered Dire Wolf paw swiped sideways—deflecting the arrow with ease.
Another came.
Swat.
Then another. Two. Four. Ten.
His limbs morphed—not all at once, but precisely. Efficiently.
Wolf hands for striking. Wolf feet for dashing. Human form for endurance.
His speed increased drastically.
Zoom!
A blur.
And in the next second, he was already in front of Felix.
BLAM.
His maul crashed down.
Felix's reflex saved him, barely raising his bow to block—but it shattered on impact.
The sound thundered across the field. The audience roared.
Felix was flung backward.
Before he could recover, Haru was on him again.
A barrage of wild, crushing strikes followed—ferocious and relentless.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Felix tried to escape—using wind to dash, to glide—but it wasn't working anymore.
His movement was slower. His footing unsteady.
Too much evasion. Too much strain.
He fired off one more gust, stumbled—and that's when the system triggered.
⚠️ Aether Critical Low
"WINNER: HARU FENRIS!" the announcer shouted.
The gym exploded with cheers.
I stood up and cheered so hard my throat tightened.
Even Ms. Fujimori clapped beside me, relief flashing across her usually calm face.
I glanced at Claire—she was sitting up straighter, her eyes fixed on the arena with a hint of pride.
But Sol…
Still had his head buried in that towel.
Still hiding his face.
Whatever he was feeling—he wasn't ready to show it.
But me? I was damn proud.
This was our first win.
And Haru—my friend, the one everyone underestimated—just brought us back from the brink.
Then it hit me—I was next.
🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋✦ AetherBorne: The Archivus Legacy ✦🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋🜋Â