The coliseum awakened at dawn.
Students by the hundreds poured in, filling every rock-hard seat of the arena until the walls hummed with the sound. The rumor had spread like wildfire, the sort no instructor could dampen to be believed: Lucian Vale, the "E-rank nobody," was being prodded by the Council.
"Do you think it's true?" one girl whispered, grasping her friend's arm. "That he used forbidden magic?"
Her friend denied it but still kept gazing at the sand below. "I don't know. But the professors wouldn't call everyone unless it was serious."
Whispers circulated everywhere. Every face turned to the gates where the challenger would appear.
And then, the gate creaked open.
Lucian appeared alone.
No trumpets, no aura flames, no smug grin. Only resolute steps, his black cloak brushing against the sand, his face unreadable. His shadows falling weakly at his feet, striding like caged beasts on their rope.
The crowd gasped, then the stinging mutterings.
"Is that him?"
"He looks so. ordinary."
"Don't be fooled. They say he nearly killed Rylan at the Festival."
Lucian dismissed them all. He had been judged by larger crowds before—nobles' courts, monarchs' councils, armies impatient for him to lead them. Their gazes had been ravenous, uglier. In comparison, this was no more than noise.
But. the weight of it thumped against him, not for him, but for her.
His eyes flared once, examining the front rows. And there she was.
Seraphine.
She sat tense, knuckles clenched on the railing. Her amber eyes burned him, a storm of fear, anger, and something softer she wouldn't share. For her sake, he let the mask slip for half a second—a brief flicker of reassurance at his lip.
Her breath hitched. He caught it even from here.
The Headmaster's voice bellowed, as smooth as a tolling bell. "Lucian Vale. Rylan Cross. You now are not rivals, but examples of what the academy produces. You will compete until victory is assured. Do you accept?"
Rylan Cross came out the second gate, hair silvered in the morning light. Brilliant in front of him, aura already afire with confidence. He unsheathed his sword and dramatically bowed, and a cheer erupted among the students.
"I accept," Rylan said smoothly. Then, again louder, for the crowd: "It's only fair the academy sees the difference between a prodigy… and an imposter."
A wave of laughter rolled through the stands.
Lucian's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Fraud?" he murmured, almost amused. Then, louder: "I'll accept as well." His voice carried, calm and precise, like steel sliding free of a sheath.
The Headmaster raised a hand. "Begin."
Rylan moved first—fast, blindingly so. Silver aura surged from him like a storm breaking its banks. The sand at his feet scattered as he lunged, blade glowing, arcs of energy crackling from its edge.
The crowd applauded. "Yes! That's Rylan Cross!"
Lucian did not respond. Not until the sword angled towards his chest.
Then—darkness burst forth.
They welled up from beneath him in a tide of black, spears of night snapping up. Steel met shadow in a thunderous crack, sparks leaping across the arena. The impact rocked the stands.
Gasps replaced applause.
"What—what was that?!"
"Shadows… moving on their own?"
"Impossible!
Rylan staggered back, eyes wide, before snarling. "So it's true. You've been hiding behind tricks!"
Lucian stepped forward, shadows curling lazily at his heels like hunting hounds. His voice was quiet, but it carried. "If they were tricks, you'd already be on the ground."
The jibe scored. Rylan's expression twisted, and he charged again, his sword flashing in a whirl, every blow infused with aura. The crowd applauded admiration for his greatness, the unbridled artistry of his swordsmanship.
But Lucian barely moved. A sidestep. A parry of shadows. An arm that surged up to deflect steel as if it were nothing.
Inside, his head was cold and rough. If I give them too much, they will fear me more than they already do. If I give them too little, they will think me weak. Balance. always balance.
A blow managed to slip through, scraping his sleeve. Rylan grinned. "Not invincible after all."
Lucian's eyes twinkled. "You're mingling mercy and weakness."
Then he struck.
For the first time, he hit.
The shadows crept out, a tide that shoved Rylan back step by step. A spear lashed out, stripping him of his weapon. The next wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sand.
The audience wailed. Some with horror. Some with wonder.
"Enough!" Rylan spat, struggling, aura bursting wildly to escape. "I won't be dishonored by a shadow-ruined imposter!
Lucian loomed over him, shadows biding their time. His words were whispered, lethal. "Then pretend no more you ever were my equal."
The tip of the spear hovered an inch from Rylan's throat. The room was silent. Even the air held its breath.
Lucian let it shatter, shadows retreating into the shadows. He turned to Rylan and spoke to the council's dais.
"It's done."
The Headmaster's expression was unreadable. Professor Aldren's was not—he was both angry and. disturbed. Mistress Elara leaned forward, face alight with fascination.
In the stands, Seraphine rose, trembling, her heart stuck between fear and pride. He had done it. But at what cost? Every time those shadows moved, he moved further away from the boy she remembered.
At her back, whispers broke out once more, louder than before.
"Monster."
"No—genius."
Did you notice how close he came to killing Rylan?
Lucian ignored them. He stepped out of the sand, every step firm, shadows crawling thinly around his boots.
Above in the spire where the hooded spectators watched, the scarred man smiled. "Yes. Let the world see. The Monarch cannot hide forever."
And deep inside Lucian's chest, the shadows twisted closer, hungrier. The trial was complete. But the true test had barely begun.