The day has arrived
Months had slipped by since the start of the third year, the humid heaviness of late summer giving way to the golden, mellow light of autumn. George awoke to the soft kiss of morning sunlight slanting through the dormitory windows. With the practiced efficiency of a seasoned student, he dressed quickly, the dark fabric of his Academy uniform clicking neatly into place. He moved with a lightness that had been absent during the grim days in the Warehouse District; here, within the stone walls of the Academy, he was simply a student again. He sprinted toward their usual meeting spot by the courtyard fountain, where the spray of water caught the early light like scattered diamonds. Nana, Kayn, and Faust were already there. Nana Ravenspear looked as regal as ever, her vibrant purple braids swaying as she laughed at something Kayn had just finished saying. Kayn Alabaster leaned against the stone basin, the jagged scar over his eye crinkling as he offered one of his rare smirks. Faust Fangula, predictably, was adjusting his spectacles while clutching a stack of freshly inked notes to his chest. They lingered for a few moments, sharing easy laughter and comparing their progress in spell theory, before the courtyard flooded with students. When the early bell rang—its echo vibrating through stone and air alike—they joined the steady flow toward General Studies.
General Studies The Holy Land
Professor Log stood at the front of the lecture hall, chalk already tapping a sharp, staccato rhythm against the blackboard. He began by briefly reviewing the previous month's focus on Draconia before shifting his piercing gaze toward the class. "Last month, we dissected the alpine militarism of Draconia," Log declared, his voice echoing beneath the high ceiling. "This month, we turn our eyes to the Holy Land." His gaze snapped to the back of the room, landing squarely on Ren, who was leaning back in his chair, red-tinted glasses sliding down his nose as he fought sleep.
"Ren!" Log barked.
The boy jolted upright.
"Pay attention," Log continued coolly. "The Holy Land—sometimes referred to as Sancta Sedes—is one of the oldest established nations in the world of Eden. It is a highly orthodox religious state that promotes Yahwehism." Turning back to the board, Log sketched a complex hierarchical diagram with practiced precision. "Sancta Sedes possesses a history spanning one thousand years, founded upon absolute adherence to this faith. The doctrine centers on the God Yahweh, whose prophet appeared a millennium ago to establish the foundations of the state. It serves as both the Holy City-State and the central governing body of the Yahwehnistic Church." He paced slowly along the front of the room. "Under international law, the Holy See is recognized as a sovereign juridical entity. Authority rests with the Pontius, the head bishop, who exercises exclusive dominion. Administrative duties are handled by the Curia, composed of several dicasteries. The Cardinal Secretary of State acts as chief administrator—effectively the state's prime minister." Log's expression hardened. "In the Holy Land, individualism and freedom of choice do not exist. Yahwehism teaches that roles and fates are assigned at birth. One's household determines profession, marriage, and social standing. Modest dress is mandatory. Sacred spaces demand silence. Absolute deference to the clergy is expected." He tapped the board once for emphasis. "The population is one hundred percent Yahwehnist. The economy survives through religious labor, global contributions, and a mandatory annual tithe of one gold coin per believer." A detailed world map shimmered into view on the stone wall. "Does anyone know Larrisa's official religion?" He pointed to Elvina.
"Yahwehism, sir," she answered, her voice small but steady.
"Correct," Log nodded. "It is the most dominant religion in all of Eden."
His tone shifted, growing unexpectedly poetic. "Geographically, the Holy Land is a masterpiece of nature. It is a mountainous peninsula dominated by the Petoria Mountains—the 'backbone' of the nation—riddled with hidden caverns and rare flora. Nestled between the peaks lies the Abudimus Valley, the heart of its agricultural and industrial production." He gestured westward on the map. "The Fabiola region forms a dense forest border with Larrisa, while the Central Plateau houses the majority of the urban population. With hundreds of glacial lakes, Sancta Sedes is known as the Water Tower of the World, holding nearly six percent of Eden's freshwater reserves."
As the final bell rang, Log's stern expression softened—just slightly. "In one month's time," he said, "prepare yourselves. We will be taking a field trip to the East Blue Laboratory."
Conjuration Studies
The student body erupted into cheers.
By lunchtime, excitement buzzed through the Academy. George and his friends huddled over their trays, the promise of the field trip overshadowing even the most daunting assignments.
Faust was practically vibrating in his seat. "The East Blue Facility is a marvel of magi-tech!" he squeaked, eyes wide behind his glasses. "I've been there with my parents—the atmospheric containment units alone are worth the trip!"
George laughed, though a small knot of unease tightened in his chest. Their last few outings had ended in life-or-death battles. Luck, he had learned, was rarely free. When the afternoon bell rang, they made their way to Aura Conjuration.
A blue-and-silver blur suddenly zipped through the doorway, a wind-woven broom spinning sharply to a halt. Professor Jinx Starwind hopped off with a playful twirl, eyes the color of raw, swirling magic sparkling with excitement.
"Hello, my favorite little sparks!" she chirped. "Last month, we played with volume. Today, we go much, much smaller."
She clapped her hands together.
"Welcome to Aura Condensation!"
Leading them onto the training field, she spoke as her gaze swept across their auras. "Condensing your aura into a smaller, denser form dramatically increases power, defense, and utility," she explained. "It turns a blunt instrument into
a needle." She conjured a fireball, then slowly compressed it. The flames didn't merely shrink—they hummed, emitting a high-pitched, teeth-rattling frequency. The orange glow condensed into a blinding white-hot sphere no larger than a marble.
With a wink, she flicked it toward a reinforced training dummy.
BOOM!
The shockwave rattled the field. When the dust settled, the dummy was gone—replaced by a smoking crater five feet deep.
"Remember," Jinx laughed at their stunned faces, "flow, not force! Even Magician-level mages struggle with this. Now—your turn!"
The rest of the afternoon echoed with sputtering sparks and frustrated groans. George clenched his jaw, visualizing his aura as liquid compressed into diamond. Nana's lightning flickered and died. Kayn's shadows twisted but refused to stabilize.
By the end of class, not a single student had succeeded. Frustration hung heavy in the air—but as George glanced at the crater Jinx had left behind, something stubborn ignited in his chest.
Combat Studies
The morning sun beat relentlessly down on the Larissian Magic Academy's track field, heat shimmering off the polished stone bleachers. Professor Ironheart stood at the center of the gravel path, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest, a stoic sentinel carved from muscle and discipline.
"Ten laps! Now!" he barked. "If you can't carry your own weight, you'll never carry the weight of a spell!"
George fell into a steady rhythm, sweat already beading on his brow. Nana ran beside him, her movements precise and disciplined, braids secured tightly. Kayn kept to the outer lane, half-shrouded in shadow, his expression locked in brooding focus. By the tenth lap, the students collapsed into a ragged line, lungs burning and hearts hammering. Ironheart gave them no reprieve. He raised his hand, the Tele-stone crystal in his ring catching the sunlight. With a sharp tap, it hummed to life, projecting a vivid blue display into the air. Names flickered like embers.
"Today, we move beyond the basics," Ironheart said. "We will conduct a mock tournament to assess your growth."
The projection spun, names blurring into chaos before slowing.
"Strength without precision is useless," he continued. "I will referee each bout. The rules are simple: the first to lose focus loses." He reached into a leather pouch, distributing small silver pins etched with the Academy's sigil. "Fasten these to your collars. If your opponent touches it—or if a spell shatters it—you're finished."
The names locked into place.
"Now," Ironheart said grimly, "take your positions."
Elvina Renfiele vs. Faust Fangula
"First match," Ironheart announced. "Take the mark."
Faust stepped forward, adjusting his formal tan vest with a theatrical flair. His reddish-blonde hair caught the light as he draped his dark red coat over his shoulders like a cape, looking more like a stage performer than a combatant. Across from him stood Elvina, her light blue hair clipped back neatly behind her round glasses. She looked quiet, almost fragile, but the way she planted her feet suggested a hidden depth of resolve.
Ironheart raised his hand and dropped it sharply.
"Begin!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Elvina's aura flared—a soft, cerulean glow. She thrust her palms forward, manifesting multiple spheres of high-pressure water that whistled through the air toward Faust.
"A bit predictable, don't you think?" Faust teased, his voice carrying a confident ring. He slammed his palm into the dirt, and with a low groan of shifting stone, a jagged earth wall erupted from the track.
The water balls slammed into the barrier, splashing harmlessly against the mud and rock. Sensing an opening, Elvina didn't stay stationary. She moved with surprising speed, her boots barely touching the ground as she weaved around the side of the wall. She appeared behind Faust in a blur of blue and white, her hand lashing out. A tether of liquid—a water whip—snapped toward his collar. Faust's eyes widened. He twisted his body, the whip grazing the fabric of his vest as he barely dodged the capture. "Too close!" he exhaled, retreating as he launched a rapid succession of earth blasts—clumps of hardened clay and stone that shot like cannonballs. Elvina danced through the barrage, her movements fluid and rhythmic. To the watching students, it looked like she was winning the war of attrition. George leaned forward, his eyes wide. He remembered Elvina from the previous year as a quiet student, but her control over the water's trajectory was now masterful.
Faust, however, had a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. He stopped his retreat and planted both feet firmly. "Gotcha," he whispered.
Just as Elvina stepped forward to launch a final strike, Faust slammed his hand onto the ground, channeling his aura directly into the soil beneath her. The earth didn't just rise; it shifted and groaned. Elvina's lead foot sank into a sudden softening of the track, causing her to stumble and lose her rhythm. Before she could recover, the ground itself seemed to come alive. Tendrils of heavy, wet earth rose like snakes, wrapping firmly around her arms and legs, pinning her securely to the spot. She struggled, but the more she pulled, the tighter the earthen mold became. Faust stood up, dusting off his trousers with an air of practiced elegance. He walked toward her, his cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. With a gentle, theatrical motion, he reached out and plucked the silver pin from her collar.
"Match over. Winner: Faust," Ironheart grunted, though a small glint of approval shone in his eyes.
The field erupted into hushed murmurs and awe. George looked at his hands, then back at his friends. The gap between them and the rest of the class was closing; everyone had been training in secret.
"I can't believe it," George muttered to Kayn. "Faust... he wasn't just throwing rocks. He was setting a trap from the first move."
Claudius Zelretch Vs Jamil Nikolett
The wide-open space felt charged, the grass at the edges of the pit bending under the weight of the mana rolling off the two combatants. Claudius and Jamil stood squared away, their shadows stretching long across the dirt as they took their stances.
"This won't be like the last time we fought, Jamil," Claudius said. He adjusted his stance, his eyes narrowing with a calculated intensity that wasn't there during their previous bouts.
Jamil's smirk was effortless. He glanced over his shoulder toward Ren, offering a quick, confident wink before snapping his focus back to Claudius. "Just remember what I told you about me getting stronger," he countered, his voice carrying the light, breezy confidence that usually defined him—though his eyes suggested he was taking this very seriously.
Standing at the edge of the circle, Ironheart watched them with a practiced, stoic gaze. He didn't waste words. With a sharp, horizontal sweep of his arm, he signaled for the match to begin. Claudius immediately dropped into a low, defensive stance. His hands began to weave together in a blur of motion, pulling the surrounding air into tight, vibrating spheres. "Remember this?" he challenged. He unleashed a barrage of small, rapid-fire wind blasts. Unlike the year prior, these weren't just meant to harass or distract; they were dense, potent, and fired with a lethal precision meant to end the fight before it truly began. Pop-pop-pop! The air hissed and whistled as the projectiles tore across the field. Jamil was forced into a desperate dance. He dodged and weaved, his feet barely touching the ground, but the sheer volume of the attack kept him from finding his footing. Gritting his teeth, Jamil swept his hands in a wide, circular pattern, catching the incoming blasts in a rotating slipstream. He pulled the energy into his center, swallowing Claudius's momentum, and then redirected it into a singular, powerful wind ball. He launched the sphere back at Claudius with a roar. Claudius didn't flinch; he stepped into the attack and chopped the wind ball with his bare fist, the force of his strike dispersing the gust into a harmless breeze that ruffled his uniform. Jamil grinned, seeing the opening he needed. He manipulated the air pressure beneath his feet to create a localized vacuum, effectively slingshotting himself forward in a sudden burst of incredible speed. Claudius recognized the sequence immediately and began to retreat, his hands moving to construct a reinforced wall of wind. But Jamil was already airborne. He twisted his body with gymnastic grace, channeling a condensed, razor-sharp blade of wind directly into his heel.
"Wind-Cutter Kick!"
The invisible force, vastly more powerful than the version he'd showcased a year ago, slammed into Claudius's barrier. The wall shattered with a concussive crack, sending a shower of displaced air across the training field. Claudius managed to dive out of the way, but the shockwave caught him, sending him stumbling. He scrambled to find his balance and looked up, but Jamil was gone. The space where his opponent had been was empty. A sudden chill of realization hit Claudius. He looked down and saw Jamil crouched at his feet, having used the chaos of the shattered wall to mask his movement. Using a focused, needle-thin current of wind, Jamil reached out and snagged the pin from Claudius's collar.
Ironheart's hand shot into the air, his voice echoing across the training grounds. "Winner: Jamil Nikolett!"
Jamil stood up, tossing the pin into the air and catching it with a flourish, his breathing heavy but his smirk wider than ever.
Ren Kasukabe vs Davina Petrova
Ren stepped forward onto the Academy training field, the scorched scent of the previous match still lingering in the air. His eyes locked onto Davina with ferocious precision, his pupils narrow like a predator gauging the distance. Across from him, Davina remained infuriatingly unbothered. She adjusted her stance, her posture cool and academic, treating the duel more like a lecture than a fight. She raised her hands, and the air around her shimmered with the faint, translucent glow of her barrier magic.
"Begin!" Ironheart's voice boomed, the sound echoing off the distant academy walls. Ren didn't hesitate. He vaulted backward, creating distance as his mana ignited. Mid-air, he conjured a bow carved from flickering, crimson flames, the heat distorting the air around his grip. He landed and immediately unleashed a rapid succession of fire arrows. They streaked across the field like falling stars, but Davina didn't move an inch. With a casual flick of her wrist, she manifested a series of geometric shields. Each arrow shattered against her barriers, dissolving into harmless sparks. Switching tactics, Davina went on the offensive. Instead of waiting for him to strike, she projected her barriers forward, turning her defense into a blunt-force weapon. Ren scrambled to dodge, his boots skidding through the dirt, but the invisible weight of her magic was relentless. A barrier caught him square in the chest, then another clipped his shoulder, smashing him backward.
This is bad, Ren thought, gritting his teeth as he tasted copper in his mouth. He stared at the shimmering wall surrounding her. How do I get around those defenses? She's a fortress.
He forced himself back to his feet, eyes darting as Davina prepared another strike. As she launched a wide, horizontal barrier to sweep him off his feet, Ren didn't retreat. He drew his bow string to his ear and fired a single, concentrated arrow. It struck the center of her advancing shield, the impact revealing the barrier's physical borders for a split second. Using that moment of visibility, Ren sprinted forward, stepped onto the flat surface of her own magic, and launched himself high into the sky. From his vantage point above, he unleashed a chaotic volley of fire arrows, peppering the entire field. The explosions were loud and messy, kicking up a massive curtain of dust and soot that choked the visibility of the arena. Davina, sensing the danger from all sides, immediately encased herself in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spherical barrier, a perfect dome of protection. Inside the gray cloud of debris, Davina strained her ears. She caught a shadow of movement to her left—a silhouette darting through the haze. Reacting on instinct, she thrust her barrier outward with enough force to crush stone, feeling it connect with a heavy thud. The silhouette fell. Believing the match was over, Davina allowed the glow of her magic to dim slightly. She stepped forward as the dust began to settle, peering through the fading debris. She found Ren lying facedown, motionless. She stood over him, reaching down to claim the pin from his collar to finalize the victory. Ren's head tilted up. He wasn't unconscious; he was smirking. He rolled violently to the side just as a volley of fire arrows—which he had fired into the air earlier and suspended within the heat of the dust cloud—came crashing down exactly where he had been lying. Davina gasped, frantically throwing up a shield to block the descending fire, but the distraction was absolute. In that heartbeat of vulnerability, Ren didn't aim for her body. He fired one last, thin arrow of flame that wisped past her ear, snagging the edge of her pin. As the arrow looped back toward its creator, Ren caught the projectile, the pin clinking into his palm.
The silence that fell over the training field was deafening. Even the wind seemed to stop.
"Winner: Ren Kasukabe!" Ironheart announced, his tone holding a rare note of genuine surprise.
A murmur rippled through the gathered students, quickly growing into a roar of disbelief.
Freda Reid vs Kayn Alabaster
Freda and Kayn stepped into the center of the Academy training field, the atmosphere shifting from the high-tension rivalry of the previous matches to one of mutual respect. Freda looked at Kayn, her expression gentle but her eyes bright with determination.
"Kayn," Freda said, her voice soft yet steady, "let's give it our all, okay?"
Kayn offered a short, firm nod, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes as he settled into his stance. "Yeah. Don't hold back, Freda."
Ironheart stood between them, his presence like a looming mountain. He raised his hand, scanned both students for readiness, and then brought it down in a swift motion. "Begin!"
The reaction was instantaneous. Freda slammed her palms against the ground, the earth groaning under her command as she launched a series of jagged boulders toward Kayn. He moved with fluid, shadowy grace, twisting his body to dodge the heavy stones as they whistled past him. He retaliated quickly, firing a sequence of dark, pulsing shadow balls. Freda didn't flinch; she pulled a thick wall of earth from the soil to absorb the impact. As the shadows dissipated against the dirt, Freda surged forward. She delivered a sharp palm strike against her own wall, shattering the structure and launching the fragments as palm-shaped earth projectiles. The sheer volume of the attack caught Kayn off guard. He tried to weave through the debris, but a stone palm struck him hard in the sternum, followed by another across the cheek. The force sent him tumbling back across the dirt. A collective gasp rose from the watching students. Kayn pushed himself up, blood trickling from a small cut on his forehead, his breathing becoming shallow. He didn't stay down for long. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward, trying to close the distance before Freda could reset. Freda reacted by raising pillars of earth in his path, creating a jagged labyrinth of obstacles to slow him down. Kayn dodged the rising pillars, but Freda was already molding her next move. She reached out, attempting to conjure a massive earthen hand from directly beneath Kayn's feet to crush his momentum. Sensing the shift in the ground, Kayn fired a shadow ball directly at Freda's face. The distraction worked; she was forced to dive to the side, breaking her concentration and causing the earthen hand to crumble back into dust. Seizing his window, Kayn unleashed a relentless volley of shadow balls. Seeking safety, Freda stomped the ground, encasing herself in a seamless, reinforced box of earth. Outside, Kayn didn't stop. He commanded his shadow magic to crawl over the structure like a shroud, enveloping the stone box in total darkness. Inside her fortress, Freda felt the temperature drop. Confused by the sudden silence, she manipulated a small slit in the wall to peer out. However, the darkness Kayn had draped over the box persisted, obscuring her vision entirely. In a last-ditch effort to break the suffocating gloom, she triggered an internal pulse of aura, causing the earth box to explode outward in multiple directions, the stone shards acting as a final defensive perimeter. As the dust settled, Freda stood ready for the next exchange, her hands raised—but the match was already over.
"Winner: Kayn Alabaster," Ironheart announced.
Freda blinked, her hands dropping to her sides. She reached for her collar, finding nothing but empty fabric. Kayn stood a few feet away, quietly holding Freda's pin between his fingers. Disappointment and genuine confusion filled Freda's eyes as she looked at him.
"How? When did you grab my pin?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly with shock.
Kayn walked over and took the hand of his friend, pulling her toward him. "When you were building that earth barrier around yourself," he explained softly. "I used the moment the walls were closing in to slip in my shadow, using the shadow of the box. I managed to steal the pin while you were focused on the defense."
Freda's confusion melted away into a warm, proud smile. "You're amazing, Kayn," she said, before pulling him into a sudden, tight hug.
Kayn's face turned a brilliant shade of crimson, his usual composure vanishing in an instant. The rest of the class, catching the sight of the stoic shadow-user blushing furiously, erupted into a wave of laughter and cheers.
Niko Dashkov vs Judith Faustina vs Onyx Lovell
As Ironheart announced the next match, Niko and Judith stepped forward, the dust from the previous bouts still settling around their boots. Ironheart stood motionless for a moment, his gaze shifting between the two students and the remaining names on his list. He paused, the silence stretching long enough to make the crowd uneasy.
"Wait," Ironheart commanded, his voice booming with a sudden shift in tone. "Since we have an uneven number of students remaining for this rotation, I am adding a stipulation. This match will be a three-way battle. Onyx, step forward."
The training field fell into a heavy, stunned silence. George, watching from the sidelines, could hear the frantic whispers rippling through the ranks. "A three-way?" "Did he really just say three-way?"
Onyx stepped into the ring, his expression unreadable and calm, a stark contrast to the visible tension in Niko and Judith. The three students took their positions, forming a wide triangle. They gazed at one another, the air thick with the uneasy realization that their focus would have to be split. As Ironheart signaled for the match to begin, the three of them advanced simultaneously. Judith moved first, her hands blurring as she pulled from the earth beneath her. She launched a barrage of dense earth balls, splitting the attack between both Onyx and Niko. As the projectiles screamed toward Niko, he didn't flinch. He thrust his arms forward, fists clenched; instead of shattering, the incoming earth morphed upon contact with his Aura, wrapping around his forearms and hands like heavy, jagged gauntlets. On the other side of the field, Onyx moved with a liquid grace, dodging the projectiles with such ease it looked as if he were merely taking a stroll, his Mana levels barely flickering despite the movement. Niko rushed Judith immediately, hoping to use his newfound weight to land a decisive blow. He swung a heavy, earthen fist, but Judith was faster. She reached out and grabbed his gauntlets mid-swing. With a surge of her own Aura, she forcefully morphed the stone, transferring the gauntlets from his arms to hers in a fluid theft of magic. Before Niko could react to the loss of his weapon, she delivered a brutal kick to his sternum, sending him stumbling backward. Onyx seized the moment, launching a massive earth ball at Judith's flank. She spun, shattering the projectile with her stolen gauntlets in a spray of dust and gravel. Without missing a beat, she manipulated the ground to lift multiple stone boulders, hurling them at Onyx with a roar of effort. Onyx didn't move. As the boulders reached him, he caught them mid-air, holding them suspended in a display of superior control that suggested his Mana reserves were far deeper than his peers'. Niko, seeing Judith fully distracted by her exchange with Onyx, lunged again. He grabbed her gauntleted hands, reclaiming the stone and transferring the armor back to his own fists. With the momentum of the grab, he delivered a powerful punch to her chest. The impact sent Judith flying backward across the dirt, leaving her gasping for breath and nearly unconscious. Turning his full attention to Onyx, Niko roared as he gathered every loose boulder on the field, merging them with his gauntlets to form a gargantuan sphere of compressed stone. He launched the massive ball at Onyx with everything he had left. Onyx didn't try to dodge. He stepped into the path of the boulder, his Aura flaring visibly as he palm-struck the earth ball with both hands. Instead of the sphere crushing him, the stone began to liquefy and reshape, morphing around his body until he was encased in a suit of terrifying, jagged stone armor. The students watching from the edges were in a state of absolute shock and awe. From within his armored shell, Onyx fired a volley of stone projectiles from his fists. They hit Niko with surgical precision—dead center in the sternum, the chest, and finally the face. The force was overwhelming, knocking Niko flat onto his back. With the field finally still, Onyx walked calmly to the fallen forms of his classmates and retrieved both Judith's and Niko's pins.
"Winner: Onyx Lovell," Ironheart announced, his voice steady amid the chaos.
The training field erupted. The other students roared in approval, their voices a deafening wall of sound. George stood among them, breathless and amazed at how much stronger his classmates had become since their first days at the Academy.
Nana Ravenspear vs Nora Silverstone
As Nora and Nana stepped forward to take their places, the rowdy energy of the Academy training field vanished instantly, replaced by an absolute, heavy silence. George could feel the very atmosphere shift; the temperature seemed to fluctuate between the biting chill of mountain winds and the oppressive heat of a furnace.
"I hope you're ready, Nana. I've been waiting to teach you exactly what a noble is capable of," Nora said, her voice dripping with a polished, condescending edge. She adjusted her pristine collar, looking down her nose as if Nana were a smudge on the landscape.
The playful smile that usually defined Nana's face vanished. Her eyes darkened, reflecting a flicker of embers. "And I've been waiting to knock that smug look off your face since last year. I guess my birthday present came early," Nana countered, her voice low and vibrating with a simmering rage.
The two stared each other down, a low growl nearly audible between them. The tension was a physical weight that pressed against the chests of every student watching. Even the air seemed to crackle, caught between Nora's swirling currents and Nana's rising heat.
"Begin!" Ironheart's signal sliced through the stillness.
They didn't wait a microsecond. Nana and Nora rushed each other, meeting in the center of the ring with a violent collision of physical force and elemental energy. They traded a blurring sequence of blows and combinations—fists meeting palms, shins clashing against forearms. It was a masterclass in high-speed combat; for every strike Nora launched with the fluid grace of a gale, Nana met it with the explosive intensity of a wildfire. Neither was able to gain a decisive edge. Nana leaped back, her palms glowing as she fired a concentrated blast of fire. Nora didn't flinch; with a sharp flick of her wrist, she commanded her Aura to create a high-pressure slipstream that dissipated the fireball mid-air, scattering the sparks into the wind. Nora retaliated instantly, launching a spinning wind ball that hummed with a predatory whistle. Nana pivoted, the gust grazing her cheek as she dodged with deceptive ease. Springing off her back foot, Nana sprinted toward Nora, her movement fueled by a sudden burst of speed. She leaped into the air, putting her entire weight into a devastating roundhouse kick. Nora managed to cross her arms just in time to block, but the sheer kinetic force sent her skidding backward across the dirt, her boots carving deep grooves in the field.
Grimacing, Nora stabilized herself and launched a rapid-fire succession of air balls. Nana twisted through the first, but the second caught her square in the shoulder, sending her reeling.
Nora straightened her uniform, a sharp scoff escaping her lips. "I suppose even a commoner can learn a few moves."
That was the breaking point. The insult sent Nana into a blind rage. Her internal Aura spiked, and the orange hue of her fire suddenly whitened, snapping and hissing as it transformed into jagged arcs of lightning. Nana blitzed forward. She was no longer a blur; she was a flash of light. Nora's eyes widened, her wind-enhanced reflexes barely able to keep pace with the electrical onslaught. Nana landed a brutal combination of strikes—a jab to the ribs, a hook to the jaw—each hit carrying the stinging bite of a lightning strike. Desperate to create space, Nora gathered a massive amount of wind into her palm and detonated a devastating wind ball at point-blank range. The resulting explosion threw them both in opposite directions. Both students hit the ground hard, eventually pushing themselves up to their knees. They were breathing heavily, their uniforms torn, scorched, and battered by the elemental chaos. They locked eyes one last time, a silent agreement passing between them. Both stood up, pouring the absolute remainder of their Mana—every last cent of their spiritual currency—into their dominant hands. The air began to scream. Nana's hand surged with a roiling sphere of lightning, while Nora's palm held a massive, rotating vortex of wind. They charged one final time, thrusting their attacks forward. The lightning and the wind collided in the center of the ring, creating a massive, blinding shockwave. The concussive force was so great that it knocked the nearby students to the ground and sent a cloud of dust billowing into the sky.
As the dust finally settled, Professor Ironheart stood at the edge of the crater, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as unmoving as stone. He looked at the two girls, both lying exhausted on the outskirts of the blast radius. "The match is a tie," Ironheart declared, his voice cutting through the ringing in everyone's ears. "Both pins were removed during the final clash."
The silence returned for a heartbeat before the crowd found their breath again. George watched as the two rivals lay in the dirt, their mutual exhaustion finally silencing the growls.
Flynn Nightwing vs George Lydia
The training field was heavy with the weight of the previous duels, but the air truly grew thin when Professor Ironheart signaled for Flynn Nightwing and George Lydia to take their positions. As George stepped forward, his boots crunching against the scorched earth, he felt a phantom ache in his chest—a memory of the last time they had faced off in a mock battle that felt far too real.
Flynn stood across from him, his uniform slightly disheveled and his eyes burning with a familiar, sharp-edged arrogance. "Don't think I'm going to go easy on you, loser," Flynn sneered, his voice tight. "I haven't forgotten about the last time we faced off. You got lucky."
George tightened his grip, his own resolve hardening. "Yeah, neither did I. I've been wanting to pay you back for that wind blast, Flynn. Consider this the settle-up."
George stole a quick glance toward the sidelines. He saw Nana, her dark purple braids frayed and her uniform tattered from her own brutal draw, and Kayn, whose face was still smeared with the dust of his victory. Their presence acted like a tether, grounding him. He flashed them a quick thumbs-up. "I'm going to win this time, believe it!"
The gathered students fell into a sudden, expectant hush. Ironheart, standing like a monolith of stone, raised his hand and dropped it sharply. "Begin!"
George opened the match with a violent burst of speed, unleashing a rapid-fire succession of wind projectiles. Flynn didn't flinch, meeting the onslaught with his own currents, the clashing air creating a series of miniature sonic booms. Flynn retaliated with a heavy wind ball, but George anticipated the arc. He used a "Wind Push," meeting the energy with a counter-rotation that redirected the blast harmlessly into the sky. The two mages blitzed each other, becoming blurs of movement in the center of the ring. They exchanged a brutal sequence of physical combinations and elemental strikes. Flynn surged forward with a heavy punch, but George caught his arm, twisted his hips, and used Flynn's own momentum to flip him over his shoulder. Flynn, ever the prodigy, managed to twist mid-air, landing on his feet and immediately dropping to his back. Using the leverage, he launched a powerful somersault kick that caught George under the chin, sending him soaring upward. George recovered mid-air, using his Aura to stabilize his flight. The other students watched in shock—control like that was rare for a third-year. Seeing his opening, Flynn rushed in to end the fight with a heavy, mana-infused punch. George didn't flinch. He planted his feet and unleashed a point-blank wind blast that hit Flynn with the force of a battering ram, sending him flying backward through the treeline at the edge of the field. A moment of silence followed before Flynn emerged from the wreckage, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. His eyes were no longer arrogant—they were wild with a primal, genuine fury. He launched two wind blasts to George's flanks. As George moved to parry them, Flynn fired two condensed fireballs into the heart of the gusts. The elements collided and ignited, creating a roaring fire vortex that swallowed George whole. When the smoke cleared, George emerged, his clothes tattered and blood dripping from his arms.
"I hate that you never stay down!" Flynn screamed, his voice cracking with desperation and rage. "I hate you! I hate you!"
Flynn gathered his Aura into a massive fireball, the heat distorting the air. George felt his own reserves running low, but he pushed past the limit of his Mana. He reached into the currents, and a shimmering, humming blade of condensed, solidified air appeared in his hand. A Wind Sword. With a roar, he swung the blade, slicing the fireball in half and dissipating the heat. The crowd gasped. Kayn and Nana exchanged a look of pure disbelief. George lunged. Flynn dodged the physical swipes of the blade, but George swung the sword through the empty air, unleashing multiple crescent-shaped Wind Slashes. Flynn scrambled back, launching his own wind balls to counter, but the pressure was too much. George gathered his remaining Aura for one giant, vertical slash. Flynn threw up a barrier just in time, but the resulting vacuum wave was immense. It tore through the grass and created a shockwave that knocked back the surrounding students like bowling pins.
George didn't give him time to breathe. He blitzed forward, his strikes coming faster than Flynn could process. Flynn connected with a desperate, devastating kick to George's sternum, sending him flying back several feet. George fell to his knees, gasping for air, while Flynn stood swaying, his hands glowing with a terrifying concentration of wind. George stood up one last time, his Wind Sword humming with the last of his Aura. He channeled every remaining spark into the blade. Across from him, Flynn condensed a combined sphere of fire and wind into a single, unstable point of energy. They charged simultaneously. Flynn launched his combined elemental ball just as George delivered a massive, overhead swing with his sword. The impact was cataclysmic. A blinding shockwave tore through the training field, leveling the ground and forcing even Ironheart to brace himself against the gale. When the debris finally settled, the field was a ruin of cratered earth. George and Flynn were both swaying on their feet, their Aura completely depleted and their Mana spent. With a simultaneous crash, they both collapsed to the ground, bloodied and unconscious. The silence that followed was heavy with awe. Nana and Kayn were the first to break it, sprinting onto the field to reach George.
Ironheart stepped forward, a slight, rare smirk on his rugged face. "Nana, Kayn, Onyx... take Flynn and George to the healing stations. The rest of