The battlefield was war-torn.
Stone cracked beneath Celia's boots as she skidded across the arena floor, arms tightening around Mariette's limp form. The Duskfur Simian blinked after them—ripping through shadows like a specter. Its claws swiped within inches of her back, the air screaming in its wake.
Celia spun, holding Mariette tight with one arm and flinging a Shadowburst behind her with the other.
Boom.
The dark magic struck the Simian in the chest. It stumbled—only briefly—before muscle knit back together again, steam hissing from its smoldering fur.
She didn't wait to see it recover. She bolted, boots pounding across cracked stone.
"Stay with me, Mariette. Don't you dare fade on me."
The Duskfur Simian's claw crashed into her Light Shield with a shriek of magic and pressure. The barrier flared, golden veins cracking across its surface.
She didn't yield.
In her arms, Mariette stirred weakly.
"Ms... Celia…" she rasped. "I'm… sorry. I'm just… slowing you down. You should just leave me and—"
"Stop talking." Celia's voice was sharp. Fierce. "I won't leave you. Not now. Not ever."
Her eyes shimmered, not with tears—but with light and darkness blazing in tandem.
"Because you're mine."
Mariette's breath hitched. Her face flushed, even through the pain. "Y-you're saying weird things again…"
Celia ducked behind a shattered stone pillar, kneeling. Carefully, she laid Mariette down in the protective curve of the ruins, shielding her with her own body as she raised both hands.
"Light magic," she whispered. "Come on. Please."
Her hands trembled. The magic wasn't steady. It wasn't pure. But it was enough.
Mana pulsed from her core in uneven waves. Her eyes burned with elemental fire. Light hummed at her fingertips. Wind encircled her like a cyclone. Fire flickered from every movement she made. And shadow—no longer wild—trailed in perfect harmony behind her like a cloak.
She was no longer a child grasping at power. Not here. Not now.
She was a storm wrapped in skin.
"I can only sustain four affinities at once," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Even with everything I've learned… this is still—"
She stopped herself. No use doubting. Not when everything was on the line.
In her world, mages were born with a single elemental affinity—if they were lucky. Some, touched by divine bloodlines or rare blessings, could wield two. Three at most. But Celia was… different.
She had them all.
Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Ice. Lava.
And the two rarest: Light and Darkness.
All except lightning—the one most common and ironically, the only one to elude her.
It had been a cruel joke when she discovered it. But today? She didn't care.
Because she wasn't holding back anymore.
She rose. The Simian roared—no sound, only a blast of killing intent—as it leapt toward her.
Celia launched herself into the air, arcing high over its head. Her hands blurred with spell signs etched into her soul.
"Stormflame Halo!"
A blazing ring of fire crashed down like a guillotine. The Simian blinked—dodging through shadows.
But she was already ready.
"Shadow Net!"
Black chains snapped up from the ground, binding its limbs mid-leap. It twisted, silent and furious, slashing at them with claws that hissed with corrupt flame.
"Too slow," Celia growled.
She dropped behind it and unleashed a Windblade so sharp it tore through stone. The blast sent the Simian hurtling across the arena, clawing gouges in the floor as it skidded.
Celia didn't stop. Her foot struck down—and she was already mid-cast.
"Radiant Shards!"
A hundred motes of light exploded outward, like miniature stars flung from her hands. They shimmered, targeted the Simian's weak points, and struck with piercing precision.
The beast blinked again—reappearing behind her.
But it was tricked.
The Celia it attacked melted into shadows.
"Light Step."
She reappeared above it, arms extended, conjuring a dual-element spear of flame and wind.
"Skybreaker!"
She hurled it down. The spear slammed into the Simian's chest, detonating in a searing explosion that lit up the entire dome.
Rubble flew. Smoke spiraled.
The Simian crashed to its knees, fur scorched, flesh cracked.
She landed hard. Her boots skidded across the stone. Her breath was ragged—but steady. Fire still danced in her hands.
Within the protective dome she'd cast earlier, Mariette lay barely conscious, eyes fluttering open just long enough to see Celia standing firm.
"Don't die," Mariette whispered, barely audible.
"I won't," Celia whispered back. "Not until I drag you out of here."
But the beast wasn't done.
The Duskfur Simian rose again—wounded, yes. But not broken.
It snarled. Silent fury. Raw mana twisted around it like a storm. Black flames ignited across its arms, red lightning sparking from its limbs. The air itself grew heavy.
It was absorbing the arena's darkness. Just like Celia once had.
But unlike her, it wasn't harmonizing with it.
It was feeding on it.
Consuming it.
Becoming something worse.
Twice the speed of lightning—no metaphor, no exaggeration—it charged. Pure crimson mana coiled around its body like a second skin.
Celia raised her arms. Four elements surged forth—surrounding her like divine armor.
Shadow — to cloak.
Wind — to move.
Flame — to strike.
Light — to shield.
"Quadra Burst!"
She met it head-on.
Magic and might collided. Thunder cracked. The ground beneath them shattered. Light clashed with dark. Fire crashed into fury.
They were no longer mage and monster.
They were avatars of destruction.
Celia's boots dragged deep trenches as she pushed against the creature's charge. Her bones screamed. Her shoulder throbbed with a fresh wound, blood dripping down her side.
But she did not fall.
With a final cry, she poured every drop of her will, every ounce of her mana—
And broke through.
BOOM.
The Simian was hurled backward, slamming into the far wall with a concussive blast that echoed across the arena. Smoke poured from its body.
It staggered. Fell to one knee.
It didn't rise again.
Celia stood.
Barely.
She swayed, arms trembling. Her left hand was burned. Her side ached with sharp, broken pain.
But she stood.
And when she turned—
"Mariette!" she cried, rushing back.
She dropped beside her, hands glowing. "Hold on—I'm here. I'm right here!"
Mariette's breath was shallow. The healing light flickered, dimming with every second.
Her eyes were glassy.
No.
No, no, no.
"Don't you dare," Celia whispered, pressing both hands to her chest, flooding her with more light. "Please—"
She didn't even realize she was crying.
Then—
A violent pulse ripped through the arena.
Celia's body froze.
Dark energy spiked behind her.
The Simian—
It was rising.
Towering in the smoke, it glowed with corrupted mana. Charred, broken—but not defeated. It stood on sheer hate.
Crimson lightning coiled around its limbs.
It blinked.
And in the space between heartbeats—
It appeared before her.
The simian's claw lashed out with brutal speed.
Its claw ignited with a twisted fusion of shadow and storm—lightning and darkness lashing like a whip.
Celia barely had time to react.
The sharp edge caught her across the side of her head.
Pain exploded behind her skull.
She was thrown backward like a ragdoll, crashing hard against the cracked stone floor.
Her vision blurred. Stars exploded in her eyes.
Darkness crept in at the edges.
A voice whispered—soft, low, steady—as if coming from deep within her soul.
"Celia… don't slip away. I've been waiting for you… for so long."
She tried to answer.
To fight.
But her body wouldn't obey.
Her consciousness slipped away—
And then—
She was somewhere else.
Quiet. Dim. Still.
The scent of chalk and old textbooks filled the air.
She sat at a desk—cold, unfamiliar—her arms folded as if she'd fallen asleep that way.
Light filtered in through dusty windows.
A projector hummed faintly overhead.
Desks stretched around her in neat, ordinary rows.
And in front of her—
A whiteboard.
Notes she couldn't read.
A classroom?
Her fingers twitched.
She looked down at her hands.
Smaller. Paler.
No battle scars.
No rings of magic circling her wrists.
On her lap—
A schoolbag.
Her clothes—
A uniform.
It clung awkwardly to her—like a memory struggling to fit again.
She reached for her phone, and on the lock screen—
A name.
A message.
One she hadn't read in time.
Her throat tightened.
Her breath stuttered.
"…Where… am I?"
Then—
A familiar voice, soft and warm, edged with concern.
"Celia."
A hand nudged her shoulder—gentle, insistent.
"You're here. You're safe. I'm right here."
She stirred.
"Class is starting."
The projector clicked.
She blinked.
The voice spoke again, softer this time—like a secret shared between two souls who've always belonged to each other, quietly tethered by something deeper than words.
"You've been gone for too long. Come back to me."
"…You okay?"