The sun rose over Vaelaris, casting golden light through the towering spires of Aetherreach Academy. Students gathered at the Grand Arena once more, now filled with rising anticipation. The first day of combat had arrived.
Lucian stood in the competitors' wing, silently adjusting the straps of his light combat gear—tight-fitting navy robes lined with silver, the academy's crest stitched into the left shoulder. His wings were hidden beneath enchanted wraps. His breath was steady, but the weight in his chest was heavy.
Today, he'd fight in front of the realm.
"Don't freeze up, country boy," came Riven's voice again from the corridor wall, arms crossed. "Everyone wants to see what the mysterious silver-haired Sigil-less freak can do."
Lucian gave a neutral look. "Then I won't disappoint them."
Elara appeared beside them, her tone more composed. "Your match is the third of the day. I'll be watching."
Lucian nodded. "You fighting today?"
She smiled. "Fifth match. Try not to set the arena on fire before I get there."
The instructor's voice boomed from above the gate. "Match three: Lucian Zevrik of Aether Class versus Darek Hollow of Standard Class. Proceed to Arena Two."
Lucian stepped forward, heart thudding in rhythm with each footfall. The gate slid open.
The moment he entered the floating stone arena, the crowd went quiet.
His opponent stood tall, with a jagged earth sigil etched along the side of his jaw and shoulders like stone veins. Darek cracked his knuckles, sending small tremors through the ground. "I don't know who you bribed to get into Aether Class, but I'll send you back to the dirt where you belong."
Lucian didn't answer. He simply closed his eyes.
The referee raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Darek struck first, hurling jagged spikes of stone across the battlefield. Lucian leapt sideways, a strong gust cushioning his movement. The crowd gasped as he redirected himself mid-air, landing lightly on a stone platform.
Darek summoned a wave of stone pillars—but Lucian raised his hand.
With a breath, wind surged beneath his feet and launched him forward.
He slid under the pillars, spun, and with a gesture, unleashed a slicing gale that knocked Darek off balance.
Lucian didn't stop.
He dashed forward, using wind bursts to control every movement. A swift kick to the chest knocked Darek backward. As the other boy stumbled, Lucian raised both hands—and a spiraling column of air pushed his opponent clean off the edge of the arena.
The silence broke into stunned applause.
The referee called, "Victory: Lucian Zevrik!"
Back in the corridor, Elara exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Riven narrowed his eyes.
"Wind Sigil? But his mark's on his back…"
Lucian walked off the field, gaze steady. He didn't smile.
He hadn't come here for cheers.
But somewhere deep inside him, something stirred.
A pull, like distant light behind a locked door.
And it wasn't wind.