The boy moved first.
Chunks of earth tore free from the street and screamed toward Noel in rapid succession, compacted and sharpened into crude missiles by raw force rather than finesse. Noel shifted aside almost lazily, the projectiles shattering past him and exploding against ruined stone. He didn't even need to blink.
For a fleeting moment, the pattern stirred a familiar memory.
Marcus.
Earth magic was everywhere. Anyone could throw stone. But at the level Marcus fought, it became something else entirely—pressure, timing, control sharp enough to kill in a single misstep. Noel had spent countless hours sparring against that element, learning how it flowed, where it hesitated, where it overcommitted.
And that was when he noticed it.
The boy had power. Ascendant-level power, dense and forceful, the kind that could overwhelm most opponents outright. But his control was rough. Movements were direct, reactive, driven by compulsion rather than intent. Strong—but unrefined.
