The atmosphere at the Jade Training Grounds had shifted from festive curiosity to a stifling, cold dread. As Vincy stepped onto the arena floor, the temperature didn't just drop; it crystallized. Lady Seraphina stood thirty paces away, her violet robes shimmering with a faint, frost-like rime.
"Vincy Sparrow," she began, her voice carrying across the silent arena like the cracking of winter ice. "The school calls you an anomaly. The students call you a prophet. But as I look at you, I see a boy who doesn't even know how to stand in the presence of a predator."
Vincy shivered, his breath coming out in a white plume. "I... I really just want to finish my detention in the stables, My Lady. This all seems like a very grand misunderstanding."
"Don't let her chill your blood, Vincy," Piet's voice was a low hum in his mind. "She's using the Frost-Silk Veil. She's trying to freeze your intent before the match even begins. Tell her that her internal circulation is three degrees off in her left lung. It'll ruin her focus."
"Piet, I am not saying that!" Vincy hissed under his breath.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "Talking to yourself? Is that the secret to your 'Needle-Point' technique? Or is there truly someone else in there, pulling the strings of a puppet?"
She didn't wait for an answer. With a flick of her wrist, three needles of pure ice materialized in the air, humming with a high-pitched frequency. "Defend yourself, Sparrow. Let us see if your luck holds when the world freezes over."
The needles shot forward. To the crowd, they were blurs of lethal blue light. To Vincy, guided by the violet pulse in his brain, they were moving through thick syrup.
"Step right, pivot on the heel, and breathe out," Piet commanded.
Vincy moved. It wasn't the move of a warrior; it was a clumsy, panicked-looking stumble that somehow resulted in the three needles whistling past his ear, missing him by a hair's breadth.
"You have a strange way of moving," Seraphina mused, her cold composure flickering. She glided forward, her feet never truly touching the jade tiles. "It's as if you're falling into the gaps of my attacks. But can you fall forever?"
She closed the distance in a heartbeat, her palm glowing with a deep, cerulean light—the Glacial Heart Burst. "If I touch you once, your meridians will become brittle glass."
"I'd really rather you didn't touch me!" Vincy cried out, throwing his hands up in a defensive gesture that looked more like he was shielding his face from a sneeze.
"Perfect," Piet whispered. "Seven-Star Misdirection. Now!"
As Seraphina's palm met Vincy's open hand, the expected explosion of ice didn't happen. Instead, Vincy's fingers curled slightly, catching her wrist in a grip that felt like silk but held the strength of iron. He didn't push back; he pulled, adding his own momentum to her lunging force.
Seraphina's eyes widened. She felt her Qi—the cold, destructive force she had spent a decade refining—suddenly being 'invited' into a vacuum. She wasn't striking a boy; she was striking a vortex.
"How...?" she gasped, her face inches from Vincy's. For a moment, the cold lake of her eyes met the confused, brown eyes of a village boy—and for a split second, she saw a flash of violet starlight behind his pupils.
"I think your sleeve is caught," Vincy blurted out, trying to make the sophisticated redirection look like a clumsy entanglement.
Seraphina pulled back, her breath hitching. She felt a strange warmth radiating from her wrist where he had touched her—a warmth that felt ancient, royal, and utterly terrifying.
"You're not a student," she whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "Who is in there with you?"
"Tell her it's just a very bad case of indigestion," Piet suggested, his voice dripping with mischief.
"I'm just Vincy," he said aloud, his voice trembling. "And I'm really, really tired."
Before Seraphina could launch her next attack, a booming voice echoed from the Royal Gallery, cutting through the tension like a thunderclap.
"Enough!"
Lord Vane, the King's observer, stood up, his bronze robes catching the sun. His eyes were fixed on Vincy with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. "The girl has seen enough, and the boy is clearly... exhausted. This 'Friendly' exchange is over."
Seraphina looked at Vane, then back at Vincy. She slowly lowered her hands, the frost on her robes evaporating into a fine mist. "This isn't over, Vincy Sparrow. No peasant learns to catch the winter with their bare hands."
As Vincy walked off the stage, his legs feeling like overcooked noodles, the crowd remained in a stunned silence. They had expected a massacre; they had witnessed a mystery.
"Well," Piet chuckled as they reached the edge of the arena. "You didn't break her ribs, but I think you broke her brain. And more importantly, Lord Vane looks like he's just seen a ghost. Specifically, my ghost. We need to leave. Now."
"I just want a nap, Piet," Vincy moaned. "A nap and a bun that doesn't explode."