The Arcadia Young Elite Tournament, the pinnacle of youthful magic, ambition, and prestige was about to begin.
The arena stood beneath the morning sun like a slumbering giant. Its stone walls towered high, etched with old sigils that glimmered faintly in the light, a reminder of battles from the past. Crowds filled the stands, nobles in fine robes, commoners in a bit shabby cloaks, yet all carried the same restless energy. The air itself throbbed with excitement and anticipation.
Whispers and predictions buzzed in every direction. From the high balconies of noble families to the crowds in the gallery, all eyes turned toward the grand gates, waiting for the arrival of the thirty-two chosen prodigies.
And then, the first group entered.
Clad in crimson and gold, a squad of mages strode confidently through the gateway. Leading them was a tall youth with white hair and flame-shaped earrings glinting in the sun. His presence alone seemed to shift the very air.
"That's Rovan Yale…" gasped a noblewoman.
"The heir of the Yale family?"
"A Tier 2 Mage before seventeen. Earth and Flame affinity," a man murmured in awe.
"He is talented for sure, but his pride is even higher." Another added.
He walked in relaxedly with a smug expression, as if strolling through the roads of a conquered territory. But his swagger wasn't just for show, his raw strength and heritage backed it. He grinned, eyes scanning the crowd with amusement, completely unfazed by the thousands watching.
"Many seem skeptical about me," he muttered to a teammate. "No problem. I will show them what real strength feels like."
Not long after, a chill swept through the arena.
A gust of wind announced the arrival of another group. Three figures appeared at the entrance. Their arrival was so silent and sudden that many didn't notice until they were already halfway to the stage.
At their lead walked a young man in dark blue robes, a greatsword slung across his back. Silver hair danced in the wind. His steps were measured, his face unreadable.
"Zephyr Albrecht!" someone whispered hoarsely.
"The Wind Phantom…"
"He mastered Tier 2 spells in both Wind and Ice before nineteen. His sword is as fast as his spells."
"I heard he sliced a mountain ridge during training," said another.
Zephyr remained quiet, his eyes calmly sweeping the arena. He registered Rovan's presence but didn't flinch. The two made eye contact for a split second...
An unspoken challenge. They both knew. Only one could rise.
Rovan raised an eyebrow. "Albrecht," he said under his breath. "Let's see if you can keep up with your nickname."
Zephyr knew the meaning behind his stare but didn't respond. His silence was louder than words.
And then suddenly.....
Lightning!
A crackle filled the air. Energy shifted again as a girl stepped into view, calm as thunderclouds before a storm.
"Lilith Starwind…"
Gasps. The audience leaned forward.
"That's the Starwind girl."
"So she is really participating this time? I can't believe someone not just developed a mana core before fourteen, but reached tier 2 only at the age of twelve."
"She is terrifying."
"Only terrifying?! Dude, she has four affinities—Lightning, Gravity, Healing, and Air!. The word 'terrifying' isn't even close to describing her."
"Both her parents are monsters too. Her father's a Tier 5 mage and an S-class hunter. Her mother's a ranked national healer."
In the box above, Noah Starwind folded his arms, eyes silently observing his daughter. He only hoped someone here would put a dent in his daughter's pride.
"Try not to humiliate too many of them, Lilith," Emily Starwind whispered with a wary smile.
Lilith didn't respond. She yawned and muttered, "I hope I am not bored to death."
Her eyes scanned the arena, not looking for opponents, but for entertainment. Amusement. Perhaps… a challenge.
Nearby, Rovan smirked.
"She's a brat. But a pretty one," he muttered.
Zephyr, ever composed, didn't speak. But his eyes lingered longer on her than anyone else. Not with affection — with calculation.
Lilith noticed. "Trying to impress me?" she called out, her voice floating like ice. "Don't bother. I'm not interested in insects that think being fast means being strong."
That got a flicker of a smile from Rovan. "Oh? Then what do you call someone who's going to win this tournament?"
She ignored him, her gaze already moving elsewhere.
A few nobles exchanged amused glances. If Rovan or Zephyr could win her favor… the Starwind name would be theirs to share. Even if they lost the tournament, winning her hand would be a victory beyond measure.
Moments later, a hush swept the stadium again.
Another youth entered — not loud, not dramatic — but regal. A golden crest gleamed on his chest.
"Prince Rowan!"
"The king's third son!"
A surge of respect flooded the stands as nobles stood in honor. He didn't wave or smile. He simply walked — like a king already crowned.
"I heard, he trained under the Royal Court Mage himself. Tier 2, with Fire and Lightning affinities."
A prodigy cloaked in mystery.
Behind him came another sudden stir.
A figure in martial robes — simple, clean, and battle-worn — stepped in with a great curved sword on his back.
"Morgan Benedict."
"The Sword Saint's disciple?" Murmurs rippled in the air.
No magic robes. No family crest. Just his blade.
"He awakened Wind and Lightning affinities. And his body moves like a weapon forged in storms."
Morgan said nothing. Only the way he walked revealed his strength — a rhythm too flawless to ignore.
Silence.
Competitors trickled in after them, some quietly, some with bombastic fanfare. From rich houses to hidden sects. Whispered names, half-known legends. The crowd buzzed and murmured, anticipating battles of epic scale.
And then the final group....
From the shadows of the archway, two figures emerged. The one in front was tall, composed. His presence alone felt like gravity.
"Darius Smith."
"Man, he is a genius. Fire. Air. Gravity. Three affinities."
"Yes. And though he's only Tier 1, he's already stronger than most Tier 2s!"
But even as the crowd focused on him, a different pair of eyes noticed the figure walking just behind.
A boy in simple dark clothing, his cloak draped over his shoulders, hood resting behind his head. No aura, no dramatic entrance.
Logan Smith.
"Who's that kid?"
"A filler?"
"Maybe Darius's servant?"
The crowd's interest passed. The attention returned to Darius.
But....
In the royal balcony, an old Archmage leaned forward. His eyes fixed on Logan. "That one," he said softly. "He walks like he's already seen death."
Down in the arena, Lilith's eyes flicked to Logan. She frowned slightly. "Something about him seems off. Like a book that has pages missing ."
Lilith turned toward Darius. "Three affinities, huh? But still nothing compared to me."
Darius could sense all the glances.
But nothing concerned him.
Except one...
His nightmare... The one walking just behind him.