Five years later…
The sky above the Lionheart estate burned like a forge, streaks of molten gold and crimson setting the quiet forest clearing ablaze in the dying light of dusk. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the sharper tang of sweat and steel. Sparks burst from the clash of blades, fleeting stars against the gathering shadows.
Cassian Lionheart—now fifteen—moved with the sinuous grace of a serpent poised to strike. His blade whispered through the cooling air, each swing a testament to years of relentless training, will hardening like tempered steel. Opposite him stood his grandfather, Alaric—the Hero of Light—his silver hair catching the last stubborn rays of sunlight, eyes steady and sharp, carved by decades of battle.
Their duel was a dance both practiced and unpredictable, a war of wills and strength measured in flickering seconds and fleeting breaths. But tonight, the scales shifted.
Cassian slipped beneath a high slash, his body flowing like water around stone. Time slowed as his blade flashed—lightning fast, slicing the air with a crack—disarming Alaric and snapping the old wooden sword clean in two.
The forest held its breath, silence thick as the rustling leaves.
Alaric exhaled, a low chuckle rolling from deep within him—warm and proud.
"So… you've finally surpassed me," he said, voice steady but tinged with awe.
Cassian's heart thundered. He lowered his blade, the weight of the moment sinking deep. "It only took five years."
Alaric's stern face softened, lines of age folding into a rare smile. "Good. You're ready."
"Ready for what?" Cassian asked, eyes narrowing, shadows of doubt flickering behind his resolve.
The old man stepped closer, voice dropping to a grave whisper. "To leave this place. To carve your own path beyond these woods. The world out there is vast… and merciless. It's time the Lionheart name blazed across it once more."
---
A Mother's Grave
Before he left, Cassian sought the solitude of the northern woods, where ancient roots gripped stubborn snow and the wind whispered secrets few dared listen to.
Beneath the bowing branches of a weeping willow, hidden from prying eyes, rested a modest grave. A weathered stone bore a single name: Seraphina.
Cassian knelt, the cold seeping through threadbare trousers, and laid a delicate white flower at the base. Silence wrapped around him—a shroud woven from memories and unspoken promises.
After a long pause, his voice broke the stillness, raw and fragile.
"Mother… I'm leaving. To a place where only the strongest gather. I will carry your light... and the weight of all I don't yet understand. But this time, I'll choose my own path. Not bound by what came before… just me."
The willow's branches stirred gently, as if reaching out to him.
He rose slowly, eyes burning with unshed tears, and stepped away—each step heavy with the weight of resolve and the tremor of uncertainty.
---
The Academy of the Silvermoon
The city of Solstice thrummed with life beneath twilight's sapphire veil. At its heart stood the Academy of the Silvermoon—a towering marvel of white marble and enchanted crystal that shimmered like a beacon.
Legends had walked these halls—sages who bent reality with their wisdom, battle mages who commanded storms, knights whose names echoed through time. This crucible forged the world's finest, and now Cassian was to face his trial.
Thousands of hopefuls crowded the vast plaza, breaths misting in the chill air. Magic hummed faintly from trembling fingertips; polished blades caught the dying light. Anticipation crackled, electric and alive.
Then a voice—rich, commanding, impossible to ignore—boomed from the grand balcony.
"Welcome, applicants! Today you face the Enrollment Trial—a test of strength, strategy, and survival!"
The air rippled as a swirling portal bloomed, blue and silver light weaving like liquid stars. "Enter the Mirror Realm, a magical arena forged for combat. Your goal: survive."
---
The Enrollment Trial — Rules of War
A hush fell as the head examiner stepped forward—a tall woman with emerald eyes sharp as daggers and a smile that never reached them.
"Listen closely," she said, voice cold and clear. "Death here is illusion. When defeated, you will be ejected—disqualified, but unharmed."
"Only fifty will survive and earn entry."
"But survival alone does not grant honor."
She paused, eyes sweeping the crowd, settling briefly on Cassian.
"Ranks four through fifty receive 250 Academy Points."
"Third place: 250 points and a private dorm."
"Second place: 500 points and a large private dorm."
"And first place... 1000 points, plus a personal villa with training grounds and a swimming pool."
---
Into the Mirror Realm
Cassian's pulse raced. Around him, a storm of candidates braced.
A girl hovered inches above the ground, snow-white hair cascading like a frozen waterfall, her towering staff humming with silent power. Nearby, a boy clad in dark red armor cracked his knuckles, cruel lips twisting into a grin that tasted of blood and victory. Another stood apart, silver-eyed and masked, lost in a tome thick with secrets, untouched by chaos.
Prodigies. Rivals.
Cassian's jaw clenched, a fire sparking deep within.
So… this is what stands between me and the future.
The portal flared. One hundred students stepped forward.
The world snapped, shifting into a sprawling, wild forest bathed in shifting illusions. Elemental beasts stalked unseen. Hidden traps waited to claim the unwary.
Cassian inhaled deeply—the crisp scent of pine and magic filling his lungs.
This isn't just about getting in.
This is about standing at the summit.
He stepped into the light—into the unknown—his grandfather's legacy and his own shadows trailing silently behind.