The air in the arena went still the moment the announcer's voice faded. Two figures stood in the center — Rhea, Equinox, every line of her body taut but deliberate, and Lady Aurelian, gleaming like some divine champion carved from light itself.
The forcefield dome shimmered faintly overhead, a translucent veil meant to keep the audience alive if things got messy. From the hum in the air, I knew it was already bracing for impact.
A bell chimed.
Rhea moved first. No theatrics — just a subtle gesture, and the floor beneath Lady Aurelian seemed to tilt. The golden-haired prodigy shifted her stance instantly, compensating, but Rhea didn't let up. The gravity under her opponent compressed in sudden, precise pulses — enough to buckle knees, not enough to cripple.
Aurelian smirked. She raised one arm, and the air around her flared with crackling light. Then came the first answer — a spear of condensed lightning that tore through the arena's center, forcing Rhea to sidestep in a blink. The bolt struck the ground where she'd stood, stone sizzling.
But the spear hadn't been meant to hit. It was a probe.
Rhea snapped her fingers. Gravity shifted again, hard, forcing Aurelian's feet into the stone as though the ground wanted to swallow her. The audience gasped as Rhea followed with a vertical gravity well — a sudden upward force that tore Aurelian free from her footing and launched her several feet into the air.
Aurelian twisted midair, her palm slicing down. A whip of razor-thin metal chains materialized out of nothing, gleaming silver. They lashed out toward Rhea like striking vipers, bending unnaturally under her control.
Rhea's eyes narrowed. She collapsed the gravity field in front of her, forcing the chains to fall short — but the moment they clanged against the ground, lightning surged through them, crawling toward her feet.
She jumped back just in time.
The crowd roared.
They circled, pride flickering between them like the sparks Aurelian kept coiling in her palm. Rhea dropped her hand to the floor again, and I felt it through the soles of my boots — the arena sank. Stone groaned as a localized gravity field pressed down, crushing anything unlucky enough to be inside.
Aurelian answered with wind. A cyclone burst from her, shredding Rhea's field, scattering debris. Then lightning threaded through the gale, chasing Rhea's outline.
It was a back-and-forth dance — gravity spikes against elemental barrages. Rhea's control was surgical: every adjustment of weight, every precise pull of momentum calculated to a fraction of a second. Aurelian's power was the opposite — overwhelming, multi-layered, every attack setting up three more.
The audience was holding its breath now. This wasn't just a duel. It was two empires colliding.
The final exchange came without warning.
Aurelian unleashed everything at once — a lightning storm laced with flying metal shards, the wind forming a spiralling corridor to funnel it directly at Rhea. In the same breath, Rhea yanked gravity into a singularity, condensing the entire attack into one blinding point — and hurled it back.
The barrier flared red under the strain. A shockwave ripped through the arena. My hair whipped across my face, and for a split second I couldn't tell who had landed the killing blow.
When the light faded, Rhea was on one knee, panting, her cape torn. Aurelian stood — swaying, singed, but upright.
The announcer's voice cracked the silence:
"Victory… Lady Aurelian of Crimson Spire!"
The crowd erupted, some cheering for the victor, others for the fight itself. My pulse was still thundering in my ears.
I leaned back, exhaling. The control they had… Every strike, every counter had been on the knife's edge of mastery. And still, pride meant there could only be one left standing.
Rhea had pushed her harder than anyone expected, but in the end… the tri-element storm won out.
I leaned back in my seat, the wooden bench hard beneath me, letting the noise blur into static. My eyes weren't on Aurelia's triumphant bow or Rhea's forced composure, but on the cluster of older heroes and faculty to the right of the stands. They weren't clapping. They were watching.
Their lips moved like shadows in the torchlight, whispers too low to carry over the crowd. But I caught fragments when the cheers dipped.
"…Aurelian bloodline…"
"…three affinities at her age…"
"…not just talent—heritage…"
So it wasn't just her victory that impressed them. It was the weight of her name. The implications wrapped around her like another aura, one even more suffocating than her magic.
And in that moment, the festival shifted for me. It wasn't just about who fought best or entertained the crowd. Every clash was a ledger entry, a bargaining chip, a message to the world. Duskfall wasn't being tested for fun—it was being measured. Our heroes were on display like warhorses at an auction, paraded before rival academies, government officials, and—yes—even the villains watching in the shadows.
I folded my arms, fingers tapping against my sleeve as if sketching lines on an invisible board. Strategy, always strategy.
Rhea's gravity magic was terrifying in its precision, a scalpel that could dissect a battlefield. But it was predictable, tethered to mass and pull. Aurelia's tri-element barrage had the opposite problem—too much variety, too much volatility, yet overwhelming in sheer force.
If I were facing Rhea, I'd exploit the time it takes for her to adjust her vectors—she can only twist space so fast. Get inside her rhythm, and she'd collapse. Against Aurelia? That was trickier. Her strength lay in versatility; her weakness had to be in overextension. Force her to juggle too many elements at once, and one would slip.
I smiled faintly, though no one was watching me. Everyone else was swept up in the spectacle of Aurelia raising her hand high, basking in the roars of the crowd.
But I wasn't watching the victory. I was watching the fault lines.
Because one day, it wouldn't just be Rhea or Aurelia out there. It would be me.
And when that day came, I wouldn't just fight for a win. I'd fight to reshape the entire board they were so busy whispering over.
* * *
I had just risen to go check on Rhea—her loss had been brutal, and even though she masked it well, I knew it stung her pride. But before I could leave the stands, the announcer's voice cut through the fading cheers.
"Next duel: the Duskfall Academy Student Council President— Solenne!"
The crowd erupted instantly. The name carried weight, authority. Elowen Marchand—our number one. Third year, undefeated, and everything an academy hero was supposed to embody.
"And her opponent—Azure Bastion's number one! Ryujin!"
The ground shook with the audience's response. Across the arena, the tall, scaled figure of a boy with dragon-like features stepped forward—horns curling back, faint smoke rising from his lips as though his lungs themselves smoldered. Azure Bastion had been parading him since the delegation's arrival. Their monster, their ace.
I didn't move. My legs wouldn't let me. This was the fight I'd been waiting for.
Because this wasn't just a duel. This was Gift against Gift.
Most of the crowd cheered blindly, dazzled by the spectacle. But I knew better. I understood what was at play here.
All power in this world stems from Mana, the unseen lifeblood that flows through creation. It exists in every breath of wind, in every stone, in every soul. But how mortals wield it divides them in two.
Magic—the bending of natural elements through affinity and birthright. If you're born without mana, you'll never know the weight of fire, the sting of lightning, the quiet crush of gravity. Affinities reveal themselves young, shaping a child's entire life. Some are blessed with two—rarely three or four—and those few burn so brightly they're nearly untouchable.
But mages are still bound by law. Fire consumes, water drowns, wind cuts, lightning burns, ice freezes, earth buries. Even Light and Darkness, the strange twins that don't always follow the rules, are still tethered to the elements.
Gifts, though— they are something else. They aren't natural. They're intrusions, distortions. Blessings of gods, curses of beasts, whispers of something older than the stars. A Gift doesn't play by the laws—it bends the laws themselves. Time, Space, Mind, Body, Soul even fate.
And often, a Gift comes with a mark: scales, claws, wings, eyes that shine too bright. Their bodies enhanced, their existence sharpened into weapons.
That was Ryujin in flesh and bone—horns crowning his head, draconic skin tough as steel, fire leaking from his veins. He didn't need an affinity when his body itself was the battlefield.
And then there was Solenne—Elowen Marchand. She bore no scars, no horns, no wings. Her body was deceptively plain, her face calm, her posture elegant. But her Gift… oh, I'd seen it. I'd felt the weight of her when she looked at someone.
Where Ryujin roared and crackled with power, Solenne simply was. The kind of presence that didn't need to announce itself because everyone already felt it in their bones.
Ari leaned close to me, whispering under the roar of the crowd, "Now this is worth watching."
She was right. This was the duel that would define the festival. The strongest of Duskfall against the apex predator of Azure Bastion.
And while the crowd screamed for spectacle, I watched with colder eyes. Because this was more than entertainment. It was proof. It was leverage. It was politics dressed as sport.
Whoever won here wouldn't just walk away with pride. They'd reshape reputations. They'd tilt power between nations.
And deep down, I wondered: when my turn came—because I knew it would, eventually—would I fight like Solenne, bending the world with calm precision? Or would I tear it apart like Ryujin, with fire and claw and unrelenting force?
The announcer raised his hand. "Begin!"
The two apex predators stepped forward.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
* * *
The arena quivered as soon as Solenne and Ryujin took their places.
The silence of the crowd wasn't silence at all—it was expectation, sharp enough to cut the air. Every eye was on them. Every breath seemed to be waiting for permission.
And then the barrier rose.
I'd seen plenty of duels in my life, but the moment their auras unfurled, I knew this wasn't a fight. It was an exhibition of what it meant to stand above the rest.
Ryujin's gift shimmered like liquid steel, every movement a ripple of destructive intent. His body radiated control, as though his very heartbeat dictated the battlefield. Opposite him, Solenne looked untouchable—her aura flowing like silk stitched with lightning, elegance married to violence.
When they moved, the world broke.
Ryujin struck first, palm sweeping sideways. The earth itself bent with him, stone and steel twisting into a tidal wave of shrapnel. Solenne didn't flinch—her foot traced a deliberate arc, and the wave shattered into harmless glitter, frozen midair as if time itself had paused at her command.
I gasped. No incantations. No wasted movement. Just raw gift against gift.
"Precision," I whispered under my breath, "versus destruction."
The arena exploded again.
Ryujin surged forward, body wreathed in crushing pressure, the ground sinking beneath his steps. Solenne met him with terrifying grace, her palm slicing through the air, weaving light into spears that darted like falling stars. He smashed them apart with sheer force, each impact rocking the barrier.
Their duel was a dance—one step forward, one step back, like storms colliding.
A blade of condensed energy grazed Ryujin's cheek; he countered with a fist that detonated like a cannon, forcing Solenne into a skidding retreat. She spun, her cloak flaring, and redirected the shockwave into a stream of cutting wind that nearly cleaved him in two.
My heart hammered in my chest.
This was no classroom duel, no festival exhibition for applause. This was apex combat. The kind of fight that carved history, the kind where names became etched into the bones of nations.
The barrier warped, groaning like glass under pressure.
They didn't stop.
Solenne's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, as she summoned a cascade of crystalline shards that turned into a storm around her. Ryujin roared, his own aura condensing into the shape of a dragon, metallic scales rippling across his body as he plunged headfirst into her storm.
The collision wasn't just sound—it was sensation. The world went white, the arena trembling so violently I thought the city itself would collapse.
And then silence.
A moment of stillness before both of them appeared in the center, locked in final strikes. Solenne's blade of light pressed against Ryujin's chest; his claw of steel hovered at her throat. Neither yielded. Neither broke.
The barrier gave way with a deafening crack.
Energy howled outward, forcing the faculty to intervene, layers of reinforcement magic slamming into place just to stop the duel from spilling into the stands. The crowd erupted—not in polite applause, but in something raw, primal, as if they'd just glimpsed gods pretending to be human.
No victor. No loser. Just two beings who had reached so far beyond the realm of gifts that ordinary students like me could barely comprehend it.
And yet—I smiled.
Because this was what I'd been waiting for.
This was the level I needed to witness.
The level I was going to destroy.
* * *
I'd just witnessed Solenne and Ryujin tear reality in half.From backstage, while healers patched my ribs and flushed the lingering burn of Aurelia's magic from my veins, I couldn't look away from the monitors.
It was awe-inspiring—no, more than that. Terrifying. Beautiful. The kind of clash that carved itself into your bones whether you wanted it to or not.
And it hurt.
I wasn't at their level. Not even close. Watching Aurelia overwhelm me had already cut at my pride. Watching Solenne and Ryujin eclipse everything else made that cut deeper.But it also reminded me of something else—room. Room to grow. Space above me I hadn't yet touched. A height worth chasing.
I clenched my fists. I wouldn't stay where I was.
The door creaked open.
"Rhea!" Calla's small voice came first, careful and hesitant. Behind her, Juno and Ari pushed in like they owned the place. Their faces told me what I already knew—they were worried. Concern clung to them. Except for Ari, of course.
"Damn, Equinox, I thought gravity was supposed to keep people grounded, not flattened." Ari smirked, leaning against the doorframe with that infuriating grin.
Heat rose in my chest. "You want me to show you just how 'flattened' feels?"
"Please do," she shot back without missing a beat, "but maybe not when you're still bleeding. I'd like my duels to be fair."
I groaned, the temptation to throw something at her almost unbearable.
Calla—sweet, awkward Calla—tried to step in, her hands wringing at her side. "A–Ari, maybe you should s-stop… she's just… she's—"
But her voice broke into a stutter, and—damn it—it almost sounded like she was laughing at me. My pride stung.
"Oh, so you're laughing too now?" I muttered, half glaring at Calla.
That was when Juno's hand came down—smack. She clipped both Ari and Calla across the back of the head in one strike.
"Enough," Juno snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut steel. "This isn't a joke. Rhea fought her heart out today, and she deserves your respect."
Ari actually flinched. Calla too. Both of them rubbed their heads, blinking up with watery eyes, mumbling half-hearted apologies. And then, as if they'd rehearsed it, they clung to each other like scolded children.
I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, bubbling past my pride, past the sting of defeat. For a second, the heaviness in my chest lightened.
Friends.
The word felt strange. Heavy, but in a way I didn't hate.
A memory surfaced—unbidden and sharp.
My first week at the academy. Alone in the training yard, gravity thrumming around me like an invisible shroud. I'd crushed every dummy into splinters, every rock into dust. Other students had whispered as they passed. "Cold," they said. "Unapproachable." Someone had called me a black hole—something that only pulled people in to tear them apart.
I told myself I didn't care. I was power. I didn't need anyone.
But some nights I had stared out at the empty dorm windows and wondered if that was true. If I was destined to spend every year here as gravity incarnate—immovable, distant and feared.
And now here I was, watching two idiots rubbing their heads and a stuttering girl trying her best, while my so-called rival Juno played the stern older sister.
I exhaled, almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
"Thank you," I said, quietly, honestly. "For coming."
The three of them looked at me, Calla still flushed, Ari still grinning through her watery eyes, and Juno shaking her head like she'd been burdened with babysitting toddlers.
And for the first time, defeat didn't taste bitter.
Together, we went back to watch the rest of the festival.