The courtyard was alive with anticipation. Professors and students numbered in the hundreds lined the balconies, their voices hushed, their eyes fixed on the arena below. The twilight sky painted the stones with gold, yet there was a strange feeling of weightlessness in the air—as though even the sun was waiting with bated breath.
In the middle, two forms stood facing each other.
Rylan Crestborne, son of a noble family, radiated light. His armor shone with spells, his sword already burning with a soft flame. He was the very academy's golden prodigy, a hero who was meant for adoration.
At the other end of him stood Lucian Vale. No aura, no shine, no fanfare. A black coat, a hand lazily placed on the hilt of his sword, and a silence so deep it was suffocating.
The contrast was so striking it made some of the students uneasy.
"Why does he look so calm?" someone muttered.
"He does not even have his aura flared."
"Maybe the Council's just being paranoid. He's nothing special.".
The skeptics laughed nervously. But Seraphine, at the edge of the courtyard, knew better. Her heart racing in her chest, she looked at Lucian's stillness. She had seen what lay beneath that calm once before, and the vision still visited her dreams.
A bell tolled. The duel began.
Rylan struck first. His aura burst to its full strength, blinding white light filling the courtyard. Heatwaves rippled, and students shielded their eyes.
He darted forward. One instant he stood on the opposite end of the field; the next, his sword fell toward Lucian's head with the force of a falling star.
Steel met steel.
Lucian had drawn his sword in the barest instant, one smooth motion. Sparks flew as the swords clashed, and the ground trembled beneath the impact.
Gasps ripped through the courtyard.
Rylan snarled and pressed in closer, his strokes descending in furious quickness. "Fight me decently!" he bellowed, each blow brighter, louder, faster. His sword cut the air like lightning, slashes of light marring the dusk.
But Lucian avoided with unnerving ease. A sidestep here. A parry there. His sword wasn't wild, wasn't showy—it was precise, economical, terrifying in its control. Where Rylan was fire, Lucian was stone. Unmoved. Unshakeable.
The crowd began to take note.
"Wait… is he blocking everything?"
"No, he's not even sweating."
"This doesn't make sense. Rylan's supposed to be the best of Class A."
Seraphine's fists clenched tighter. Her nails bit into her palms as she whispered under her breath, "He's holding back…"
Rylan's aura blazed brighter, anger twisting his face. Pride screamed at him: You cannot lose here. Not to him.
"You mock me!" Rylan roared, leaping into the air. His sword shone like the sun itself as he brought it down in a stroke to split stone.
Lucian lifted his sword in a languid effort. The blades met in a roar that broke the courtyard air like thunder. Dust burst forth in a vortex, blinding the onlookers for a heartbeat.
When the dust cleared, Rylan was on one knee, his teeth clenched, his sword trembling. Lucian stood over him, immaculate, as though the blow had been nothing more than a whisper.
You wouldn't survive if I fight seriously," Lucian muttered, his voice slicing through the silence.
The words pierced sharper than steel.
The students who were around felt a tingle down their flesh. A whispering breeze crossed the courtyard, fear entwining with awe.
Rylan screamed and threw himself back into the fight, his aura burning like wildfire, his sword flashing faster than the eye could track. He cut and cut until his arms shook with fatigue, until his lungs burned with each labored breath.
Lucian deflected them all. Every strike. His sword wove with otherworldly grace, confronting Rylan's fury and sending it back without effort, like nothing. And with every pass, the shadows around his feet stirred a bit more.
They skittered across the ground, curling up the walls, capering in torchlight. Things that could not be. Shapes that spoke of something far older, far darker, than any student could begin to know.
The professors on the balcony shifted uncomfortably. Mistress Elara leaned forward, her piercing green eyes glinting with interest. Professor Aldren's knuckles whitened on the railing.
The Headmaster did not so much as twitch, his expression unreadable.
Finally, Rylan's strength started to wane. His aura faltered, his strikes slowed. Sweat streamed down his face.
Lucian moved.
Only once.
A counter that ripped through Rylan's defenses and sent him stumbling back, lip bleeding. His sword nearly dropped from his hand.
The courtyard went silent as death.
Lucian did not step forward. He simply stood, shadows curling higher around him, and bowed his head. Behind him, briefly, the darkness took form—undefined, towering, like wings unfolding wide.
The sight arrested the breath in every throat.
Seraphine's heart stopped. She knew that Silhouette. She'd glimpsed it in the dark when no one else had.
There were gasps. Students fell back instinctively, as if distance could save them.
"What… What is he?"
"That's not aura. That's—something else."
Rylan's knees failed him. Pride propelled him forward one last time, screaming, aura blazing in a wild, frantic burst.
Lucian's sword met him mid-charge. The clash rang out like a death knell. With a twist, Lucian disarmed him, Rylan's sword clattering across the stones.
In the same motion, Lucian pressed his sword to his throat.
The duel was over.
The silence was agonizing.
Lucian leaned in close enough that only Rylan could hear, his voice a low whisper that pained more than any wound.
"Next time you bare your pride against me… you won't walk away."
He stepped back, sheathing his sword. The shadows dispersed, vanishing as if they never existed.
The courtyard was abruptly noisy—shouts, gasps, frantic murmurs.
But one thing descended upon all of them, unquestionable and firm as stone:
Lucian Vale had just rearranged the balance of power in the academy.
And the world beyond its walls would not be blind much longer.