In the stands, Elros sat beside the young lady, Naia. Turning to her, he asked, "Is that the little sister you mentioned before?"
Naia nodded. "Arya is actually my cousin, but we were raised together like real siblings." A hint of pride flickered in her eyes as she added, "She's incredibly talented. In a few years, she'll probably surpass me."
"Oh? Really?" Elros responded, intrigued. Inwardly, he admired their bond. Most members of powerful families were locked in constant competition, scheming for influence and status. Yet, these two cousins seemed genuinely close, treating each other as true siblings. He couldn't help but wonder—what were the dynamics like within the Clearwater family?
The judge raised his hand, calling for silence. The arena grew quiet as all eyes turned to the two combatants. "This duel is for demonstration purposes only," he began, his voice firm. "No excessive force is to be used. The first to disarm their opponent or push them out of the arena will be declared the winner. Do you both agree?"
Lyra gave a small nod, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her rapier. "Understood," she replied, her voice steady but laced with determination.
Arya dipped her head in acknowledgment, her fingers curling around her staff. "I agree," she said softly, though her tone carried a quiet strength that matched Lyra's resolve.
The judge stepped back, raising his hand high. "Begin!"
In an instant, the tension in the air snapped like a taut string. Lyra was the first to move, her rapier flashing as she dashed forward with blinding speed. Her movements were precise, every step calculated as she aimed to close the distance.
Arya, however, remained calm. With a flick of her wrist, the air around her seemed to shift, and a wave of water materialized in front of her. The wave surged toward Lyra, aiming to force her back before she could get too close.
Alden leaned slightly forward, observing the duel with interest. "It seems that Lyra is a Vitalist," he remarked. "So she has awakened her heart core energy first. Meanwhile, Arya is a Mage, awakening her brain core energy first. This is shaping up to be a classic Vitalist versus Mage battle."
Evelyn nodded in agreement and added. "Though that Arya girl…" she noted, her voice laced with admiration. "She's not only manipulating water. But, at the early stage of the Awakening Phase she's actually conjuring it. I guess, as expected from the Clearwater bloodline."
The clash between the two girls intensified. Lyra's rapier sliced through the water, her precise movements weaving around Arya's defenses. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps, enthralled by the sharp contrast in their fighting styles.
Yet Arya remained composed, the water swirling protectively around her, forming a shifting barrier. Lyra, undeterred, pressed on, an excited grin spreading across her face. She charged forward relentlessly, her rapier thrusting with unyielding speed and precision, breaking through Arya's magical defenses and forcing her to retreat.
Alden chuckled, and said with amusement. "That girl, Lyra—she seems to be a battle maniac. Her style is relentless, almost overwhelming, and she's enjoying the fight with a grin on her face."
Back on the platform, Arya's calm demeanor wavered slightly as she realized her defensive water magic wasn't strong enough to withstand Lyra's assault. Her sharp eyes narrowed in determination, and she did something unexpected.
Flipping her staff, Arya pointed its end toward her advancing opponent. Water surged from her hands, coating the entire staff and transforming it into a gleaming blade of liquid energy. The head of the staff now resembled a hilt, its elegant design blending seamlessly with the shimmering water blade.
Clenching her teeth, Arya stood her ground, her stance firm. As Lyra closed in like a charging bull, Arya parried the rapier's strike with her newly forged weapon.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sharp sound of metal clashing echoed across the arena, silencing the crowd for a moment before they erupted in astonished cheers.
"Well, I'll be damned," Alden whistled, impressed. "She chose to engage in a melee against a Vitalist and fight her head-on. That takes guts."
Evelyn nodded in agreement, her gaze fixed on the duel. "Arya's determination is remarkable, especially considering she's up against someone as relentless as Lyra."
Rayner, however, remained analytical. "It's not as surprising as you think," he said coolly. "Even though Lyra is a Vitalist and awakened her heart core energy first, the difference in physical strength between the two isn't that pronounced right now. As both of them are in the early stage of the Awakening Phase, their physiques are still developing. Lyra's true advantage in melee combat hasn't manifested yet."
He crossed his arms, his sharp eyes focused on Arya. "What's impressive though, is Arya's composure. She realized this fact and made the right decision to engage Lyra in close combat rather than continuing her useless retreat. That level of awareness at her age is impressive. I'll give her that."
The duel intensified, with each exchange more ferocious than the last. Lyra's rapier moved like a blur, her strikes calculated and precise, honed through countless hours of practice. Arya, however, held her ground, her water-covered staff meeting Lyra's attacks head-on with surprising strength and finesse.
The crowd was enraptured, their cheers growing louder with each clash. Lyra, however, was less thrilled. Beneath her confident expression and unwavering focus, a seed of frustration took root.
'She's parrying me… with a staff,' Lyra thought, her grip tightening on her rapier. She poured her heart into mastering the art of swordplay, and yet this girl—this Mage—was matching her blow for blow with a weapon that shouldn't even compare.
Her indignation simmered beneath the surface, but she kept her expression neutral. Letting her emotions show now would only give Arya an edge, and Lyra refused to allow that.
"You're holding up better than I expected," Lyra said, her voice calm but with an edge to it.
Arya's gaze remained steady. "And you're as relentless as they say. But I'm not giving in."
Lyra pushed forward, her attacks coming faster, harder. She aimed for gaps in Arya's defense, her movements growing more aggressive, as if trying to overwhelm her opponent through sheer will. Yet Arya remained composed, her water blade adapting fluidly to deflect each strike.
Lyra's frustration threatened to bubble over. She feinted left, then right, before lunging with a powerful thrust aimed at Arya's shoulder. Arya countered with a sweeping motion, her water blade colliding with Lyra's rapier in a burst of force that sent droplets scattering across the arena.
The two girls skidded backward, breathing heavily. Arya's hair clung to her face, damp from her own magic, but her expression was calm, resolute. Lyra, despite the fire in her veins, maintained her usual confident smirk, masking the irritation gnawing at her pride.
The tension between them was palpable as Lyra prepared for another charge. But before either could move, the judge's voice rang out.
"That's enough!"
The sharp command cut through the arena, silencing the crowd. The judge stepped forward, raising his hands. "This duel ends in a draw. Both of you have demonstrated incredible skill, but this is a friendly match, not a battlefield. I won't allow injuries to mar such talent."
Lyra clicked her tongue in frustration, clearly dissatisfied with the draw. She believed she should have won, especially since her opponent had dared to engage her in melee combat—a choice she considered foolish.
The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers ringing through the arena as they celebrated the intense match. Lyra and Arya lowered their weapons, the fierce intensity in their gazes giving way to a softer, mutual acknowledgment. Both girls nodded at each other, their silent exchange speaking volumes. Yet, the tension between them lingered, an unspoken promise of another battle to come.
As the girls made their way out of the arena, the judge's booming voice cut through the noise, announcing the next duel: "Keir Arson versus Oscar Ravenleaf!"
The crowd's cheers reignited, but a ripple of murmurs soon spread. Whispers of confusion buzzed through the spectators, many questioning if they'd misheard. "Oscar Ravenleaf?" someone muttered incredulously. "Aelric Skyguard is not fighting?"
Descending the arena steps, Lyra paid little attention to the chatter. Meanwhile, a figure hesitantly ascended from the opposite side of the platform. Oscar Ravenleaf's appearance immediately drew eyes and more whispers. He was tall but lanky, his shoulders hunched as if under an invisible weight. His unkempt dark hair framed a pale, anxious face, and his tattered brown cloak hung loosely on his thin frame, the edges frayed and torn. Most shockingly, he was barefoot, his steps dragging across the ground with an almost painful hesitance.
Oscar moved as though he wanted to disappear. His hunched posture and slow, shuffling pace were in stark contrast to the confident strides expected of a descendant of the Ravenleaf family.
As he ascended the steps, his path crossed Lyra's as she made her way down. Oscar, not paying attention, bumped into her lightly and stumbled backward, landing awkwardly on his bottom.
From his spot on the floor, he looked up—and froze. His wide eyes locked onto Lyra's graceful form, her silver hair gleaming under the sunlight. His face contorted in terror as he scrambled backward, raising his arms as though shielding himself from a monster.
"AHH! AHHH! AHHHHHH!!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. The crowd fell silent, stunned by the spectacle. Oscar's panicked cries echoed as he crawled away, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, like a cornered animal.
Lyra blinked, utterly dumbfounded. For a moment, she could only stare, rendered speechless by the absurd display. Around her, murmurs of disbelief began to ripple through the crowd.
"What in the world…" she muttered under her breath, unsure whether to feel insulted, confused, or amused.
In the viewing stands, Professors Rayner, Evelyn, and Alden exchanged incredulous glances.
"That's… the Ravenleaf family's descendant?" Evelyn asked, her tone laced with disbelief.
Alden hesitated before nodding. "Yes, that's Oscar Ravenleaf," he confirmed, though his uncertainty was evident.
Lyra returned to her twin brother, Aelric Skyguard, who stood with his usual calm and composed demeanor. His long, straight silver hair framed his sharp, narrow eyes and elegant features, a sly smile perpetually playing on his lips. Perched atop his shoulder was a small white snake, its head resting near his cheek, occasionally flicking its tongue as if sharing in his quiet amusement.
"You were rather passionate in your duel," Aelric remarked, his tone teasing.
Lyra's irritation flared instantly. "Shut up," she snapped, glaring at him.
Unfazed, Aelric chuckled softly. "It's good to be competitive," he said, his voice calm and measured, "but you shouldn't let your emotions control you."
Lyra scoffed, crossing her arms. "Whatever," she muttered, deliberately ignoring his advice.
Her attention shifted to the arena, where Oscar Ravenleaf was still recovering from his earlier embarrassment. She frowned. "What was that thing's problem just now?" she asked, the disdain in her voice unmistakable as she referred to Oscar as a 'thing'.
Aelric's sly smile widened. "Who knows?" he replied, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe he thought you were an ugly monster and got startled. You can't really blame him."
Lyra's temper erupted. Grabbing Aelric by the collar, she pulled him close, her fiery glare boring into his calm expression. "Do you have a death wish?" she shouted, her voice dripping with menace.
Aelric, completely unperturbed, raised his hands in mock surrender "I was only joking, dear sister," he said smoothly, his smile unwavering. "No need to get violent." He said while laughing.
The white snake on his shoulder slithered closer to Lyra's hand, hissing faintly as if echoing its master's amusement. Lyra released him with a huff, muttering under her breath, while Aelric adjusted his collar with an air of casual grace.
"You're too easy to provoke," he said, shaking his head.
"And you're insufferable," Lyra shot back, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself.