Aetherical Pathways—known to the common folk as Ghost Steps—were one of the most fascinating applications of spatial magic. The technique involved disturbing the very fabric of reality within a mage's Domain to instantaneously swap one's position with the surrounding mana. It was a dance of coordinates and willpower. To the untrained eye, it looked like teleportation; to a mage, it was a brutal calculation of spatial folding.
Stellian stood at the edge of the track, his eyes tracing the shimmering lines of the course. The air above the track was distorted by several "Rift Gates"—floating mirrors of mana that led to different exit points. The entire arena hummed with a low-frequency vibration, the sound of the world being stretched thin by the arcane machinery beneath the dirt.
"Sir, what exactly are the basics of the game?"
Alaric Kaze, leaning against a crate while tending to his wounded foot, pointed toward the obstacle-filled track. His face was pale from the pain of a deep laceration, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Just touch them and you win. The use of direct combat magic is strictly prohibited, but anything else goes. You can use any trick, any illusion, or any movement technique you can conjure. In this arena, your imagination is your only limit."
Alaric raised four fingers, his expression turning serious as he looked at the small boy.
"There are four runners. They've been training for years to navigate these rifts. Even if just one of them passes the finish line before you tag them, you lose. You, the Tagger, have to hunt all four of them down first, and then you must be the one to cross the line to seal the victory. It's a race against time and four separate targets."
Stellian tilted his head, his white-blonde hair catching the midday sunlight. He looked at the vast distance, then back at Alaric.
"That's it?"
Alaric chuckled, the sound deep and slightly pained.
"Yes, that's it. And that is exactly why this game is so fun. It sounds simple, but at high speeds, it's a nightmare. I wanted to play today, but I took this injury during the qualifiers. My team is short-handed; I was the only one left to take the Tagger role, but then you appeared. A miracle in a small package."
He reached out and gave Stellian a gentle push toward the starting blocks.
"Go and shine, kid. Don't worry if you lose. Without you, we were going to be eliminated by default anyway. Just give them a show they won't forget."
Stellian took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. His heart rate, usually so steady it was almost eerie, began to pick up a focused beat.
'I'll try my best.'
He walked toward the center of the arena. The dirt under his boots was packed hard by the thousands of mages who had run this course before him. He reached the Tagger's mark and dropped into a low stance, placing his right foot forward and his left foot back, tensing his small muscles like a coiled spring. He wasn't just standing there; he was syncing his breathing with the ambient mana of the stadium.
["Now, a surprise candidate for Team Red! What's your name, boy?"]
The voice of the commentator boomed through the magical amplification stones, echoing across the plaza like thunder. Stellian looked up, his eyes cold, emerald, and entirely focused.
"Stellian Caelestos."
["Stellian! A round of cheers for the young boy who's going to be our Tagger for this final match!"]
The crowd erupted. Most clapped out of pure amusement, charmed by the sight of a seven-year-old in such a high-stakes match. To them, he was a mascot, a brief distraction before the inevitable loss. But as is the nature of humans, the whispers of doubt soon followed.
"Isn't he way too young?"
"Yeah, can a kid that age even use a Domain? He looks like he belongs in a nursery, not an Aetheric ring."
"I'm twenty and I can't even manifest a stable field. How is he going to keep up with Pro Runners? This is going to be a slaughter."
The gossip drifted through the air, but to Stellian, the noise of the crowd was lighter than a grain of sand. It had no weight in his world. He focused on only one thing . His task. He felt the ripples in the air as the runners prepared their own spells.
["On your marks!"]
["Get set!"]
["GO!"]
The four runners vanished in a blur of motion, dashing toward the distant rift gates. They were fast—professionally fast. For several seconds, the Tagger was required to stay still as a handicap. Stellian remained frozen, his eyes closed. He wasn't just waiting; he was calculating.
'Use your own trick.'
When his timer hit zero, Stellian didn't run toward the runners. In a move that shocked the stadium, he turned and dashed in a completely different direction, heading toward the side of the arena.
Alaric Kaze watched from the sidelines, his brow furrowed in confusion.
'What is his plan? He's losing ground. By the time he turns around, they'll be halfway through the first Rift. He's throwing the game!'
But despite the confusion, something about the boy's calm aura made Alaric stay quiet. He had seen that look before—the look of a master who knew something everyone else didn't.
'A seven-year-old, huh? Let's see what your true talent is, boy.'
Stellian was now dashing toward the far end-line, ignoring the runners entirely. He was running along the outer boundary, moving with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a child of his stature. He looked like a white streak against the red clay of the track.
["Wait! Has the boy forgotten the rules? He's running away from the targets! Is he scared?"]
At that moment, Aurelia emerged from the crowded food stalls, holding the snacks she had promised. She looked toward the fountain where she had left Stellian, but found only empty space. Her eyes darted toward the massive roar of the crowd, and she heard the word "kid" being shouted by a thousand voices. A pit formed in her stomach.
'Please don't tell me...'
She dropped the snacks and sprinted toward the barrier, pushing through the wall of people until she reached the front rail. Her jaw dropped as she recognized the white hair and the focused at boy on the track.
"What the—"
She looked at Stellian, who was now being announced as the Tagger, sprinting toward the opposite side of the rift.
'I am not letting you go this time, you little rascal! You're in so much trouble!'
She forced herself to stay calm, her hands gripping the wooden railing so hard it creaked. She decided to watch. She wanted to see exactly what he was thinking. Her anger was being slowly overtaken by a terrifying curiosity.
["Aetheric Steps are now allowed! Let the rifts open!"]
As the announcement rang out, the four runners ignited their mana. They moved like beams of golden light, flickering across the track as they used classic Ghost Steps to bypass obstacles. Each teleportation was a massive burst of energy that propelled them twenty meters forward, but it was taxing. Every jump required a moment of mental recalculation.
Stellian, however, didn't use the steps he had just learned from Alaric. His mind was working at a speed no one in the arena could comprehend. He was analyzing the friction of the air and the density of the mana. He saw the "Step" not as a jump, but as a flaw in the system.
'Why exhaust the power of the brain to change places with mana over a long distance? .'
He watched the runners struggling with the mental strain of teleporting twenty meters at a time. It was clunky. It was inefficient. After every jump, they had to stabilize their mana for a fraction of a second. It was a rhythmic weakness.
'When you can just... run through it.'
Stellian deactivated his large-scale Domain. Instead of trying to teleport to the end of the track, he focused his mana into a tiny, one-meter sphere around his body. This was his "Micro-Domain."
He didn't take one big leap. He took a thousand micro-leaps.
To the audience, it looked like Stellian was moving in a perfectly straight line like a beam of pure light, but the reality was more complex. As he covered one meter, his mini-domain would reset, and he would instantly "Step" again. By repeating this process every single meter without pause, he created a continuous path through the mana. He wasn't running; he was sliding through reality itself. It was as if the world was moving backward while he stayed still.
"What the hell is that?"
Alaric stood up, ignoring the pain in his foot. He had never seen a "Chain-Step" performed with such seamless fluidity. Usually, mages needed seconds to recalculate coordinates. This boy was doing it a hundred times a second.
"He's amazing..." Aurelia whispered, her anger momentarily replaced by awe.
But the question remained: why was he dashing to the end line instead of tagging the runners?
Only Stellian knew. The four runners were forced to navigate the complex parkour of the rifts, which slowed their momentum as they had to figure out which gate led where. Stellian reached the final exit rift in an instance. He didn't just pass through it; he looked like he was flying. The space around him seemed to flow backward as he anchored himself to the finish line.
'Now, the trap is set. They are entering the funnel.'
The runners turned their heads as they exited the final gate, expecting to see the Tagger far behind them. Instead, they saw a small boy standing at the very end of the course, his back to the finish line, facing them with a calm, predatory gaze. He looked like a wall they couldn't climb.
"He's a freaking genius!" Alaric screamed, waving his fist in the air.
He finally understood. Stellian hadn't chased them; he had cut them off at the exit. He had turned the entire track into a bottleneck. He had made them come to him.
As the first runner crossed the final bridge, Stellian moved. To the runner, the scene was like something out of a horror story. Stellian didn't look like a boy; he looked like a ghost shrouded in golden light who appeared before him in a heartbeat. The runner tried to swerve, but the speed was too much to counter.
"Tag."
Stellian whispered the word as he placed a light hand on the runner's shoulder. The touch was gentle, but to the runner, it felt like the weight of a mountain.
["Player three of the Blue Team... TAGGED!"]
The audience was dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into cheers. Stellian didn't stop. He glanced back and saw the second runner almost reaching the safety of a side-rift. He flickered again, his body becoming a blur of white and gold.
"Tag."
He placed a hand on the man's chest, the momentum of the "Step" pushing the runner backward into the rift he had just exited. The runner fell back into the teleportation gate, effectively removing him from the course and sending him back twenty meters.
["Player number two... TAGGED!"]
'Two remaining. The variables are decreasing.'
He turned his gaze to the third runner, who was trying to circle around him. Stellian didn't give him a chance. He used his micro-steps to intercept the man's path before he could even accelerate. He moved in a zigzag pattern that defied the laws of Steps
"Tag."
He tapped the man's back before the runner could even blink. The man stumbled, looking around as if he had been hit by a phantom.
["Player four... TAGGED!"]
Stellian looked at the last runner, the captain of the Blue Team, who was only two or three steps away from the finish line. The man was desperate, his mana flaring as he tried one final, massive Ghost Step to clear the gap. His face was twisted in a mixture of fear and determination.
'I am done waiting.'
Stellian dashed through the rift again. While the captain was using a classic, heavy step that took a moment to manifest, Stellian's micro-steps allowed him to adjust his trajectory mid-air. He predicted the captain's exit point with terrifying accuracy.
"Tagged."
He pushed the last runner into the rift's edge just as he reached for the line. The captain stumbled, his hand missing the finish pole by an inch as he was forced to teleport backward by the contact.
["Player one... TAGGED!"]
In the same breath, Stellian crossed the end line, his small boots coming to a halt with a soft crunch on the dirt.
["The winner is... STELLIAN CAELESTOS!"]
["Team Red has won this year's Tag by a single margin! Unbelievable! We have just witnessed history!"]
The stadium erupted in a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the plaza. People were standing on their seats, screaming the name of the white-haired boy. The "mascot" had just outplayed four professional mages.
"Hooray! Hooray!"
The other members of Team Red rushed onto the field. They were grown men, warriors in their own right, but they hoisted Stellian onto their shoulders like a conquering king, parading him toward the exit of the arena. They were laughing and cheering, their faces flushed with the thrill of an impossible victory.
"You are truly amazing, boy," Alaric remarked, hobbling toward them with a profound, proud smile. He looked like he had just won the lottery.
Stellian looked down, his breathing slightly heavy, his chest heaving under his small shirt. His usual introverted nature was starting to return as the adrenaline faded. The noise was starting to bother him.
"I just used a slightly different method than the others. It was just an observation of efficiency."
"Yeah... and I think I might have to use a 'different method' on you too, don't you think?"
Stellian felt a sudden, icy chill run down his spine. That voice was familiar, and it was currently vibrating with a very specific kind of maternal irritation that only one person could produce.
He slowly turned his head. Aurelia was standing at the edge of the exit, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were flashing with a dangerous light that promised a very long lecture.
"Oh... Aurelia," Alaric said, blinking in surprise. "What are you doing here? And how do you know him?"
Aurelia looked at Alaric, her expression shifting to one of shock as she recognized the man.
"Professor Alaric? My goodness..."
She quickly stepped forward and gave a respectful, formal bow.
"Professor, what are you doing here in the Magic Festival?"
Alaric pointed toward the billboard high above the arena.
"I saw something related to Aetheric pathways on such an amazing level... how could I miss it? I had to see it for myself. I didn't think I'd see one of my students here."
He then pointed at Stellian and asked again, "But really, who is this boy? His Chain-Step would even make a Royal Arcanist blush."
Aurelia looked at Stellian again, her eyes narrowing into slits.
"He is... you could think of him as my little brother."
She paused, adding a sharp, warning edge to her voice.
"A very, very trouble-making one who doesn't know how to follow instructions."
Alaric laughed, placing a heavy, supportive hand on Stellian's shoulder.
"Don't be so hard on him, Aurelia. We only won today because of him. He basically saved my reputation as a teacher. I couldn't let my team lose while I sat on the sidelines injured. He saved us all today."
"But—"
"No 'buts,'" Alaric interrupted with a wide, toothy grin. "Just forgive him this once. Didn't you see how he was performing out there?"
Aurelia sighed, her wall of anger starting to crack as she looked at Stellian's tired but curious face. He looked so small standing next to the massive, armored Alaric. The pride she felt for him was beginning to drown out the annoyance.
"Yeah... that's true. It was... impressive."
"Then there's no problem, I guess?" Alaric asked, looking between the two of them.
"Yeah... I guess," she muttered, finally letting a small, tired smile show.
"Well, I've got to go and get this foot looked at properly," Alaric said, waving them off. "The medics are probably looking for me with a sedative by now. You kids get home safely. And Stellian? Don't stop thinking differently. The world needs more people who aren't afraid to break the rules of magic."
"Okay," Aurelia said, finally taking Stellian's hand. Her grip was firm, a silent reminder that he wasn't out of the woods yet.
Stellian looked up at her, realizing he had just been bailed out of a massive amount of trouble. A small, subtle smirk appeared on his face. He had gained a new technique, impressed a Professor, and survived the most exciting day of his life.
Aurelia's face twitched. She saw the look of pure, smug satisfaction on his face.
"You little rascal..." she whispered, though she didn't let go of his hand.