Chapter 20
The crowd leaned forward as if gravity itself had shifted toward the center of the court. Four figures stood under the glow of the ceiling lights—Ethan, Sage, Freddie, and Warren—each surrounded by a restless hum of magic that never quite touched the air.
Then the bell rang.
Ethan moved first, his foot cracked against the floor as he lunged straight for Sage, closing distance faster than anyone expected. She blocked his first strike with a forearm, the impact echoing up her arm. For a heartbeat, she smirked.
Then Ethan's second hit came, and the smirk broke.
He wasn't wild anymore. Every step was measured, every breath timed. When Sage swept for his legs, he pivoted—calm, balanced—and drove an elbow toward her ribs. She twisted away, grinning like she'd just found a challenge worth bleeding for.
"Not bad," she said, circling.
"Better than you expected," Ethan replied, eyes never leaving hers.
They clashed again—fists, knees, momentum. No bursts of power, just raw precision and grit. The crowd wasn't sure what they were watching anymore: a duel or a dance. Ethan's movements were lean, efficient—like he'd stripped away everything unnecessary and found something sharper underneath.
Sage blocked a jab and countered with a kick, her heel cutting the air. Ethan caught it mid-swing, spun, and let go before it turned into a grapple. Her feet hit the floor, and she laughed under her breath, sweat already trailing down her jaw.
"Since when did you start keeping up with me?" she taunted.
"Since I stopped trying to," Ethan said, steady, focused. "You're going to lose this one, Sage."
Her grin widened, ready to fire back—
But the sudden roar of the crowd cut her off.
Both turned.
Across the court, Freddie and Warren had already started. Lightning cracked against flame, the clash painting their faces in flickering gold and violet. Sparks bit into the walls, the air itself trembling from the heat.
For a second, even Sage forgot to breathe.
The air cracked.
Freddie's palm lit up with a flash of silver-white, lightning bursting outward in a storm of sparks. Warren met it head-on—no hesitation, no shield—his own magic flaring into a surge of deep crimson flame. The two elements collided with a sound like thunder trapped inside a furnace.
The explosion threw a gust across the court. Students staggered back, hands shielding their faces.
"What the hell—" Sage muttered, her grin melting into awe.
Freddie pressed forward, his movements sharper, more desperate. Each strike came faster than the last, his lightning carving trails in the air.
Then Freddie drew back his arm, lightning crawling up his veins like living wire.
"Thunder Creation Magic: Bolt!"
The word cracked through the air a split second before the blast hit— a streak of white-blue light that tore across the court like a thunderbolt given shape. Warren barely managed to cross his arms before it struck, the impact blasting him backward through a curtain of smoke and flame.
When the light faded, scorch marks spidered across the floor between them. Warren straightened slowly, eyes narrowing, a grin cutting through the soot.
"Now we're talking."
It wasn't a spar anymore. It was a warzone.
The air shimmered between them, flickering between light and flame. Ethan squinted through the haze, pulse quickening. "This is bad," he said quietly.
Beside him, Luna's eyes stayed fixed on the chaos. "They're going too far."
Sage just laughed, brushing sweat from her brow. "Too far? This is perfect!"
Freddie lunged again, slamming his palm against the floor. A column of lightning erupted beneath Warren, but the flame-user blasted upward in a burst of fire, landing hard and swinging his arm in a wide arc. A curtain of fire washed across the court, forcing Freddie back. The walls rattled, floor scorched black.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Somewhere, an upperclassman yelled for them to stop—but their voices drowned in the roar.
Then the heavy doors slammed open.
William strode in, eyes narrowing the instant he saw the field. "Are you two insane?" he barked, voice echoing through the hall. "This isn't a damn battlefield—"
Neither Freddie nor Warren looked up. They were locked on each other, breathing hard, eyes wild.
William took a step forward, fury crackling behind his words. "Stop it! Now!"
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
He clenched his jaw, then exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered, sinking onto the railing. "This better be worth it."
Back in the ring, Freddie's breathing grew ragged, his clothes scorched and torn. Warren's knuckles bled, his eyes burning like molten glass.
"Let's finish this," Warren growled.
Freddie's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You read my mind."
Then Warren's hand ignited, the flames spinning into a spiraling vortex. Heat warped the air, and even from the sidelines, Ethan felt it—an oppressive, crushing wave.
"Fire Creation Magic…" Warren's voice deepened, the words heavy with power.
He raised his hand skyward.
"Super Meteor!"
The court's ceiling seemed to darken, light bending toward the center of the spell. Energy rippled out like a heartbeat—each pulse stronger than the last.
And then—
A gust of wind blew through the hall, sudden and cold. The heat vanished in an instant.
A figure stood between them, hands in his pockets. Calm. Unmoving.
Zoltan.
The flames guttered out like candles meeting rain. Lightning fizzled away. Freddie froze mid-step. Warren's spell collapsed before it ever took shape.
For a long moment, the entire hall was silent.
Zoltan's gaze flicked from Warren to Freddie. His voice came out low, even, and sharp enough to cut through the air.
"You both know better."
Neither of them spoke. Neither dared to.
"Calm yourselves," he continued, tone still measured. "Sparring's over."
He turned slightly, looking to the rest of the court. "All of you—show's over."
The students hesitated, then began to move, whispering as they left.
William lingered on the railing, arms crossed. "Of course everyone listens to you, damn it," he muttered under his breath.
Zoltan didn't answer. He just watched as the last of the smoke drifted toward the ceiling—expression unreadable.
By evening, the fight was all anyone talked about.
Every hallway hummed with versions of the same story—how Freddie nearly split the court in half, how Warren almost burned the roof off, how Zoltan stopped both with a look. Depending on who told it, someone always added: "And William didn't do a damn thing."
Ethan and Sage walked side by side across the courtyard, both still wrapped in the faint smell of dust and sweat. The sky above was painted in streaks of orange and violet, fading into dusk.
"I could've beaten you," Sage muttered, kicking at a loose stone.
"Sure," Ethan said. "If we count the parts where you were losing."
She shot him a look. "You just got lucky."
"Lucky's fine by me." He shrugged, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "You were shocked, though."
"Was not."
"Totally were."
Sage groaned, throwing her hands up. "Ugh, you're impossible."
They reached the crossroads where the dorm paths split. Sage stopped, still half-grinning despite herself. "Next time, I'm not holding back."
"You never do," Ethan said.
She rolled her eyes, gave him a lazy salute, and turned down her path.
The quiet settled in as Ethan walked on alone. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving a strange stillness in its place. Somewhere in the distance, the training bells chimed curfew. He rubbed the back of his neck, already replaying the day in his head—Freddie's lightning, Warren's fire, Zoltan's calm… everything had happened too fast.
He rounded the corner near the old classrooms—and froze.
A sharp sound broke the silence.
A crack.
Then another.
Down the hallway, the dim light from a single bulb revealed three figures. One was slumped against the wall—a student, bruised and bloodied, his clothes torn. The other two weren't human at all. Translucent shapes hovered beside them, faces pale and hollow, eyes burning faintly blue.
And standing before them—still as glass—was Luna.
Her expression was unreadable. Calm. Cold. The ghosts drifted lazily at her sides like loyal pets awaiting command.
"L…Luna?" Ethan's voice cracked out before he could stop it.
Her head turned—slow, deliberate.
The movement alone made the hairs on his neck stand up.
When her eyes met his, they glowed faintly in the flickering light.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.