The sun rose high above the Academy, shining down on the battered arena that had borne witness to so much chaos and glory. Today, every seat was filled. Students, instructors, dignitaries—all awaited the final battle with bated breath.
Eryon stood at the center of the ring, his sword in hand, his body wrapped in bandages. Bruises colored his skin, and though healing magic had mended the worst of his wounds, his strength was far from fully recovered.
Across from him stood Alice Dawnmere.
Clad in light armor, her expression was a mask of cold focus. Her blond hair framed her stern gaze, and despite her injuries, she radiated indomitable pride.
Professor Kaelen's voice rang out.
"Final match: Eryon Solaris versus Alice Dawnmere."
The arena held its breath.
Kaelen's hand dropped.
"Begin!"
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Eryon… lowered his sword.
The crowd erupted in confused murmurs.
Alice blinked, her expression slipping for the first time.
"I concede," Eryon said, his voice calm but firm.
A ripple of shock passed through the stands.
Alice's face twisted in disbelief—then fury.
"What are you doing!?" she shouted, stepping forward, fists clenched.
Eryon held his ground. "You're injured. So am I. We don't need to do this."
The words only seemed to inflame her more.
"Injured!?" she spat. "You think I can't fight!?"
He shook his head. "That's not it—"
"Then what!?" she screamed, her voice cracking with something raw and painful. "Is it pity? You feel sorry for me?"
Eryon opened his mouth—then closed it, unsure.
Alice's eyes widened, and something clicked.
Her face flushed deep red.
"You're trying to win my favor!" she accused.
Eryon stumbled back a step. "No! It's not—"
But it was too late.
Alice's rage was a storm.
"You think by sparing me you'll earn my gratitude!? That I'll look at you kindly!? You're pathetic!"
Eryon flinched as if struck.
"I don't need your charity! I don't need your pity! And I would never—" she choked, furious tears threatening to form, "never consider someone like you a friend!"
Eryon lowered his gaze, struggling to find words.
Alice turned sharply, her shoulders trembling.
"You make me sick," she said, her voice low and trembling with rage.
And without another word, she stormed off the field, leaving a stunned silence behind her.
Professor Kaelen coughed awkwardly, stepping forward.
"Due to… unusual circumstances, and given that no clear victory was achieved," he said loudly, "it is the decision of the Academy that the three finalists—Eryon Solaris, Alice Dawnmere, and Vaen Solarius—be recognized equally as champions."
There was scattered applause, but most of the arena remained frozen in awkward shock.
Later that night, in her private chamber, Alice lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Her heart still pounded erratically.
Why? she thought furiously. Why did he act like that?
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Eryon's bewildered expression.
She remembered how he had tossed aside her offered core without hesitation.
She remembered the reckless, burning boy who had stood before Vaen without fear.
Her cheeks burned, and she turned over sharply, burying her face in the pillow.
Idiot, she thought.
Stupid, infuriating idiot.
Meanwhile, in the boys' dormitory, Eryon sat on his bed, hands buried in his hair.
Kael and Ryn hovered nearby but wisely said nothing.
Eryon groaned, collapsing backward onto the mattress.
"I don't get girls," he muttered.
He stared up at the ceiling, confused, frustrated, and—somewhere deep inside—a little bit hopeful.
Even in dreams that night, the image of Alice's furious, flushed face would not leave him.
Nor the unspoken truth blazing behind her anger.