"Before we assign teachers," Thorne said, pacing across the platform, "you need to understand something fundamental."
He tapped the screen behind him, and an image appeared—a vast web of light, pulsing and shifting, threads connecting to form something impossibly complex.
"The universe," Thorne said, "is a song."
Students leaned forward.
"Not *one* song. Many. Layered. Interwoven. Every being, every planet, every god, every atom—part of that song. Some are far from the source. Disconnected. Random noise that makes the whole sound beautiful through contrast."
The image shifted, zooming in on brighter threads.
"Others are close. *Connected*. That's where Tuned individuals come from."
He gestured, and a hierarchy appeared on the screen.
**THE HIERARCHY OF CONNECTION:**
**CHORDED TUNED** – Lowest connection. Basic harmony.
**HARMONIC TUNED** – Moderate connection. Clear resonance.
**SYMPHONIC TUNED** – High connection. Complex harmony.
**DIVINE-LEVEL TUNED** – Touched directly by gods. (Example: Ogun's Gauntlets on a mortal.)
**BLESSED** – Connected to THE SOURCE itself. Drawing power from the origin of all music.
"Tuned individuals," Thorne continued, "are limited by their connection. The emotion they carry, the element they resonate with—that defines their abilities. A Tuned fighter connected to *fire* cannot suddenly wield *ice*. They are bound."
He smiled.
"But Blessed? You are not bound. You draw from the source itself. Fire, ice, stone, wind, lightning—*all of it* is available to you. Your only limit is your understanding and control."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Ilias felt his chest tighten.
*That's why I can do so much. That's why I'm dangerous.*
"Now," Thorne said, clapping his hands, "let's talk about your teachers."
---
The screen shifted, displaying names and assignments.
"During your placement tests, teachers observed. Some of them chose students to mentor personally. These are your specialized instructors."
One by one, names were called.
"Zael Orin—Professor Kaelen Voss."
Zael stood, nodded, sat back down.
"Kira Vex—Professor Mira Tessik."
Kira bounced in her seat, grinning. HYMN hovered beside her, silent.
"Caspian Thel'Voran—Professor Aldric Seren."
Caspian stood smoothly, pride radiating from him like heat. His three lackeys remained silent, flanking him.
"Vyra Thane—Professor Thane Korr."
Vyra didn't move. Just nodded once.
Names kept coming. Students stood, accepted their assignments, sat.
And then—
Silence.
Thorne looked at his list, frowned.
"Ilias Venn..."
Ilias tensed.
Thorne's frown deepened. "Your teacher request hasn't come in yet."
Ilias blinked. "What?"
Thorne muttered under his breath—not quiet enough. *"Strange... why hasn't that teacher responded yet?"*
Ilias stood there, confused, while every other student had someone.
And from the back of the room, Caspian's voice cut through the silence.
"Of course no teacher wants him."
Heads turned.
Caspian leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, smirking. "Who would take trash like that?"
Zael's jaw tightened. "Dude, shut up."
But Caspian didn't stop. "I mean, look at this room. Exceptional talent everywhere. Royal bloodlines. Geniuses. Warriors. And then... *him*."
Ilias turned slowly, met Caspian's eyes.
"Do you have a problem with me," Ilias said calmly, "or what is this all about?"
Caspian stood, gesturing around the room.
"Yes. I have a problem. This room is full of people who *earned* their place." He pointed at himself. "I'm royal blood. Trained since birth." He pointed at Vyra. "She's royal blood *and* the strongest fighter on her planet." At Kira. "She's an AI genius who stopped an *uprising*." At the bandaged student. "That one's a walking disaster we can't even fully understand."
He turned back to Ilias, lip curling.
"Everyone here is *special*. And then there's you. Some nobody from a backwater planet who got *lucky*."
Someone muttered from the back: "He killed an Entity..."
Caspian waved dismissively. "A fluke. A weakened Entity. Maybe the report was faked—school needed to inflate their reputation, make some quick cash."
Ilias's voice cut through, sharp and calm.
"So you're saying Aeon's Cradle—the most prestigious Academy in the universe, where people pay *billions* to get their children in—made a mistake?"
Caspian faltered.
"Or," Ilias continued, "are you saying they're corrupt? That they'd tarnish their own name for money?"
Caspian's face flushed. "You're always *twisting my words*!"
Ilias shrugged. "If you have a problem with me, there are many ways to settle it."
Caspian's eyes lit up.
*Got him.*
"Fine," Caspian said, stepping forward. "A duel. You and me. Right now. If you lose, you give up your points."
Ilias raised an eyebrow. "If I'm the one being challenged, and I have something to lose... shouldn't *you* bet something too? Or are you just that desperate for points?"
Thorne's voice cut in, firm but not angry.
"Calm down. Both of you." He sighed. "Duels are allowed in Aeon's Cradle, but you cannot bet newly earned points. Consider it a sparring match. Test your strength. Learn from each other."
Caspian's smirk widened. "Fine by me."
Ilias met his gaze. "Then I accept."
---
The arena filled fast.
Word spread like wildfire—*first-year duel, Blessed vs Blessed, Caspian the prince vs Ilias the unknown*.
Students poured into the stands. Vyra's fanclub claimed their section, whispering and glaring at Ilias. Another group sat in the shadows—rough-looking, dangerous, the kind of students other students avoided. The ones with a *reputation*.
And high above the arena floor, in a separate observation room walled with one-way glass, the teachers gathered.
Thorne stood with arms crossed, watching the students file in below.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Tall. Broad-shouldered but lean. He looked human—sharp features, dark hair pulled back, eyes that gleamed with something old and dangerous. And around him, faint but unmistakable, a *red aura* pulsed.
Thorne glanced over, raised an eyebrow.
"You know *you're* the reason this fight is happening, right?"
The man smiled, leaning against the railing. "Every mistake is another chance for something good to happen."
"You're late."
"I wanted to see what the new one can actually do." The man's eyes locked onto Ilias, standing alone in the prep area below. "I've been getting some interesting vibes about him since he stepped on this planet."
He grinned.
"I hope he doesn't disappoint."
---
On the arena floor, Caspian stood surrounded by his three lackeys.
They adjusted his posture, gave him water, whispered encouragement.
"You've got this."
"You're trained since birth."
"He's just some nobody."
Caspian rolled his shoulders, confidence radiating from him.
Across the arena, Ilias stood alone.
No prep. No encouragement. Just... waiting.
Adi materialized on his shoulder, invisible to everyone but him.
*"That guy,"* Adi said quietly. *"He looks arrogant. Acts arrogant. But there's a reason."*
Ilias didn't respond.
*"I can feel it. Someone strong is behind him. Really strong. Royal bloodline means generational power. And even from here... he's not weak."*
Ilias's jaw tightened. "I know."
*"Don't underestimate him."*
"I won't."
The referee—a stern woman with silver markings—stepped into the center of the arena.
"This is a sanctioned sparring match. No killing. No permanent damage. First to yield or be rendered unconscious loses."
She looked at both of them.
"Begin."
---
Caspian moved first.
Raised his hand, and a shield *burst* into existence—flames roaring across its surface, heat washing over the arena. But beneath the fire, something else sang.
Harp strings.
Layered. Resonant. Elegant even in their violence.
The sound was *regal*. Untouchable. A symphony wrapped in destruction.
Ilias heard it and *felt* it—classical music, precise and overwhelming, crashing against him like a tidal wave.
He moved.
Dodged left.
Another shield appeared—ice this time, sharp and crystalline, the sound of breaking glass mixed with plucked harp notes. It flew at him like a spinning blade.
Ilias ducked, rolled, came up running.
Caspian didn't stop.
Stone. Fire. Ice. Rock.
Shields erupted everywhere—on the ground, in the air, spinning and hurtling toward Ilias in a relentless barrage.
And every single one *sang*.
Fire crackled with harp strings.
Ice chimed with elegant notes.
Stone rumbled with deep, resonant chords.
It was *classical music made weapon*.
Ilias punched through a fire shield, the flames scattering, harp strings screaming as they broke.
Ran forward.
Another shield—rock this time, massive—slammed into his path.
He punched it.
*Crack.*
It shattered, and he kept moving.
Caspian's eyes widened. *He's not stopping.*
More shields. Faster. Harder.
Ilias dodged, weaved, *punched* his way through.
His movements weren't elegant.
Weren't precise.
But they were *fast*.
Street-fighting. Brawling. Techniques learned from Seraph's agility, Kojo's raw power, Revub's dirty tactics.
Low-ranking. Unrefined.
But *effective*.
Caspian sneered. "Low-ranking techniques from a backwater planet. As expected."
But his breath was coming faster.
Ilias was *relentless*.
Then—
Both threw punches at the same time.
Fists collided mid-air.
**CRACK.**
The impact sent them both flying backward.
Caspian twisted mid-air, a shield materializing beneath him—harp strings singing as it absorbed his momentum, letting him land gracefully.
Ilias crashed into the wall.
Slid down.
Stood slowly.
---
In the observation room, Thorne leaned forward.
The red-aura teacher's eyes gleamed.
"Interesting," he murmured.
---
Ilias stood, breathing hard, staring at Caspian across the arena.
And in his mind, memories flickered.
*Elyria. Home. The Crescendia church—where they tested everyone to see if they were Tuned.*
*Standing in line with other kids, waiting.*
*The machine humming. The light scanning him.*
*"Untuned."*
*The laughter. The mocking.*
*"We thought you had potential."*
*"Guess not."*
*Kids shoving him. Calling him weak. Worthless.*
*And Ilias, standing there, fists clenched.*
*Then fighting back.*
*Discovering he was strong. Absurdly strong. Even without resonance.*
The memory faded.
Ilias's eyes refocused.
*Street rule: If someone badmouths you, you fight back. Even if you lose, you fight. Or you become a laughingstock forever.*
*But if you fight—even if you lose—people respect you.*
*Because they know you gave everything.*
Ilias straightened.
*I didn't come here to lose.*
---
Caspian raised both hands.
Shields erupted—dozens of them, filling the arena, closing in from every angle.
Fire. Ice. Stone. Rock.
An orchestra of destruction.
Harp strings sang, layered and overwhelming, a classical *symphony* bearing down on Ilias like a storm.
Ilias ran.
Punched through shields, dodged others, the sounds crashing around him—fire roaring, ice chiming, stone rumbling.
Caspian kept his distance, throwing shield after shield, keeping Ilias at range.
*That's his plan,* Ilias realized. *Keep me away. Never let me close.*
A massive rock wall materialized in front of him, slamming down like a falling building.
Ilias didn't stop.
He *jumped*.
Not Air Walker. Not stepping on nothing.
A full, powerful *leap*—straight up, clearing the wall, soaring into the air above the arena.
The crowd gasped.
Caspian's eyes widened.
Ilias hung there for a heartbeat, Osh'Kora gripped tight in his hand.
Then he *dove*.
Not falling.
*Forcing* himself down.
Accelerating.
His Resonance flared, and the ground beneath him *split*.
The arena floor cracked, tore open, a cavity forming as Ilias plunged into it, disappearing underground.
The crowd stared.
"What is he—?"
Ilias landed in the hole, crouched, Osh'Kora pulsing in his grip.
*Transform.*
The staff shifted, lengthened, became a *whip*.
He swung it upward.
It shot out of the ground, flew *past* Caspian's head.
Caspian dodged instinctively, sneering. "Was that supposed to hit me? Predictable—"
The whip *curved back*.
Wrapped around his neck.
Caspian's eyes went wide.
Then he was *yanked* down.
Into the hole.
Into the darkness.
With Ilias.
---
The crowd erupted.
"What just—?!"
"Did he just—?!"
In the observation room, the red-aura teacher leaned forward, grinning.
"*Now* we're talking."
---
Underground, in the narrow cavity, Caspian hit the ground hard.
Ilias was already on him.
Grabbed him by the collar.
And *punched*.
Again.
And again.
Caspian tried to throw up a shield—Ilias punched through it.
Tried to block—Ilias didn't care.
Each hit drove Caspian deeper into the earth, the walls cracking, dust exploding outward.
Then Ilias wound up.
And *punched* him *out*.
Caspian flew upward, breaking through the surface, crashing onto the arena floor in a spray of debris.
Ilias crawled out after him, dust and dirt clinging to his clothes, eyes cold.
The distance was closed.
No more shields between them.
Caspian scrambled to his feet, threw up a fire shield desperately.
Ilias punched through it.
Ice shield.
Punched through it.
Stone.
Punched through it.
He was *relentless*.
No mercy. No hesitation.
Just *beating* Caspian down, fist after fist, driving him into the ground.
Caspian's mind screamed.
*I'm from a GREAT HOUSE. A prince. My family rules a planet. We're not the strongest kingdom, but we're still ABOVE trash like him. Who does he think he IS?!*
Ilias's fist came down again.
*Crack.*
Caspian's vision blurred.
Then—
Light.
**White light.**
It exploded from Caspian's body, a shockwave of pure energy that sent Ilias *flying* backward, crashing into the far wall.
The arena went silent.
Caspian stood.
His wounds *healed*. Cuts closing. Bruises fading. Blood evaporating.
White light radiated from him, overwhelming, *divine*.
His eyes blazed.
"I am a *PRINCE*," Caspian roared. "Do you understand that? Prince of an entire *planet*. My bloodline stretches back *millennia*!"
He stepped forward, power crackling around him.
"Just because we're in the same class, in the same *room*, does NOT mean I'm trash like you!"
Another step.
"I am NOT someone who can be beaten down easily!"
He charged.
---
In the observation room, the red-aura teacher's grin widened.
"Oh, this is getting *good*."
Thorne glanced at him. "You sound excited."
"I am."
---
Ilias pushed himself upright, breathing hard, staring at the glowing figure bearing down on him.
And something inside him *shifted*.
His Resonance flared.
Not weak. Not flickering.
*Burning*.
Gold light poured from his skin.
His dark brown skin began to *glow*—a warm, radiant brownish-gold, as if the sun itself lived beneath his flesh.
His hair shifted, black strands turning *golden*, shimmering like molten light.
His eyes blazed, Resonance flooding them, making them shine like twin stars.
And around him—
An apparition.
Faint. Ghostly. But *there*.
A figure, tall and broad-shouldered, draped in *chains*.
Broken chains.
Shattered links falling away, clattering to the ground in phantom echoes, dissolving into light.
The symbol of *freedom*.
Ilias stood, golden and radiant, the broken chains swirling around him like a cloak of defiance.
He looked at Caspian.
And spoke, voice calm and absolute.
"We're in the same class for a reason. I didn't expect this to be easy either."
---
In the observation room, the red-aura teacher went *silent*.
His jaw hung slightly open.
Then he broke into a *wide grin*, eyes blazing with excitement.
"Oh, this one's going to surprise *everyone*."
Thorne smirked. "You picked a good one this time."
The red-aura teacher shook his head, still grinning.
"I didn't pick him. He was already mine the moment he stepped on this planet."
---
Caspian, wreathed in white light, charged.
Ilias, crowned in gold and broken chains, charged.
They collided.
And the arena *exploded* with power.