The courtyard had fallen into a hush, the murmur of students giving way to something heavier—a thick, anticipatory silence. The instructor's voice rang out, clipped and sharp, carrying the weight of command.
"Next match. Aurelle versus Lira."
The names themselves seemed to draw invisible lines through the gathered crowd. Gray felt his stomach tighten as the two stepped forward, the grass beneath their boots still damp with the morning's drizzle. The circle of space between them became a stage no one could look away from.
Lira rolled her shoulders, the twin blades already in her hands catching the pale light like fire waiting to be born. Aurelle, in contrast, walked with his usual detached calm, his wooden practice sword balanced easily in one hand. His expression was unreadable, though Gray thought he saw a flicker of annoyance—or was it focus?—in the set of his jaw.
The instructor gave no further instructions. His arm dropped, and the fight began.
Lira was the first to move, a burst of controlled energy. Her blades swept in a low-high combination, a blur of steel as she pressed forward. The air around her wavered with nascent heat, flames sputtering faintly at the edges of her weapons as if the very air bent to her will. Sparks burst as her steel scraped against Aurelle's wooden sword, and the courtyard filled with the ringing clash of their meeting.
Aurelle barely moved his feet, a rock against her tide. He let her press, deflecting each strike with a precision that bordered on arrogance. His stance was tight, economical. His counters were sharp, short flicks of the wrist meant to pry open her guard, but Lira pressed on, refusing to yield, her movements a fierce, burning dance.
Gray leaned forward, his own forgotten aches momentarily ignored. "She's faster than before," he muttered under his breath, remembering her earlier bouts. Now, her movements burned with something sharper, more personal.
The first new exchange saw Lira feint high with her right blade, then drop into a spinning low sweep aimed at Aurelle's ankles. He hopped over it neatly, but as he landed, she was already rising, her left blade coming up in a fiery uppercut. Aurelle was forced to throw himself backward, his coat tails whipping, a rare, sharp frown cutting across his features as the heat singed the air where his chest had been.
Lira darted back, her free hand flaring as Vyre coursed through her. A compact fireball coalesced, spinning from her palm, and she hurled it straight at Aurelle's chest.
Gasps rose from the students. A flare in training? Wasn't that too dangerous?
Aurelle didn't flinch. His blade slashed sideways in a clean, dismissive arc, dispersing the flame into a shower of harmless sparks that scattered against his jacket. He stepped forward through the dying embers, face calm, and countered with a quick, piercing thrust that forced Lira to cross her blades in a desperate parry.
Gray noticed her teeth were gritted, her knuckles white on her hilts. Her blades now glowed a faint, angry red as she poured more fire on it, heat rolling off in visible waves. Each strike now hissed through the air, leaving faint scorch marks on the ground where the superheated air cracked. She was fighting to prove something, Gray realized. Every movement screamed defiance.
Still, Aurelle remained steady. His swordsmanship didn't waver. It was like watching a machine cut through flame—methodical, ruthless, patient. He didn't unleash an affinity, didn't call on any element. He simply moved, always exactly where he needed to be.
"Why isn't he using it?" Gray thought, narrowing his eyes. He found himself scanning every subtle twitch, every faint pulse of Vyre in the air. Aurelle gave nothing away.
The clash escalated. Lira roared and closed in, blades wreathed in fire, each strike a blur of burning steel. Aurelle met her head-on, his wooden sword a blur of brown as it slid and parried against her twin blades in a flurry that drew cheers and gasps alike.
In the second new exchange, Lira managed to lock his wooden sword between her crossed blades, pushing forward with all her strength, the fire along her steel flaring brightly. For a moment, they were locked in a test of raw power, muscles straining. Aurelle's expression tightened, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, he broke the lock and simultaneously drove his shoulder into her guard, sending her stumbling back two steps, her rhythm broken.
The clash ended a moment later when Aurelle twisted from a high parry, disarming her swing and striking a sharp, controlled blow across her ribs with the flat of his wooden sword.
She staggered, the flames around her blades sputtering, but instead of falling back, she thrust her free palm forward and blasted another burst of flame at his feet. He leapt clear, cloak whipping, but she pressed again, relentless, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
And then Aurelle changed.
Gray noticed it immediately—the way his grip shifted, the faint, predatory gleam in his eyes. Aurelle sidestepped a wild thrust, then, without a word, activated something. The air rippled. For a second, Gray swore he saw a faint shimmer around Aurelle's hand, as if raw Vyre itself condensed unnaturally.
Then Aurelle flung it.
The orb of compressed force sailed toward Lira and burst in a sharp, concussive crack that hurt the ears. She threw herself sideways, narrowly avoiding the brunt of the blast, but the shockwave forced her back several paces, dirt kicking up around her.
"What—was that a skill?" someone whispered.
"No," Gray thought, stunned. His instincts told him it wasn't. Skills had a distinct weight, a pull. That had been something else. Raw Vyre, compressed and thrown. The control required aswell as the amount of Vyre was... terrifying.
Lira gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing. "You think you can beat me with tricks?" she spat, flames crawling anew along her blade.
Aurelle didn't answer. He moved again, and this time his strikes pressed harder, sharper. His swordsmanship shifted from patient defense to merciless assault. The wooden sword hammered at Lira's guard with mechanical precision, forcing her back, sparks flying as flame clashed against relentless oak.
Gray's hands clenched. Aurelle was… winning.
But then he noticed something strange. Aurelle shifted his grip, releasing one hand from his weapon. He pressed forward, forcing Lira to parry frantically. And then—his left hand dropped in a downward swing, though empty. No weapon, no visible Vyre. Just the motion.
Yet Lira's eyes widened in shock. She staggered back, clutching her chest as if something invisible had struck her soul.
She stumbled backwards, coughing out blood frantically.
"What…?" Gray blinked. "He...didn't even touch her."
Aurelle did it again. Left arm chopping through the air, empty but weighted with something unseen. Each motion struck something in Lira, not on her body but beneath it. Her flame wavered, her guard faltered, her movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated.
Soul? Gray thought, cold realization crawling up his spine. Is he striking her soul directly? If that was true then...Aurelle was a much bigger threat than he had first imagined. He was monstrous.
'Surely this has gone too far, why hasn't anyone stopped the fight yet?' He looked around but only saw the instructor's eyes glued to the scene. Not saying a single word.
The courtyard too had gone silent silent except for their ragged breaths and the faint hiss of her dying flames.
Lira, desperate, surged forward one last time. Fire roared from her blade as she dashed, a final, all-or-nothing attempt to overwhelm him. Aurelle's stance shifted, his sword ready to meet the charge—
And then he stopped.
The tip of his blade lowered. His arm dropped to his side. His eyes, cold and unreadable, met Lira's.
"I surrender," he said simply.
The instructor blinked. "What? You had her cornered. Why stop now?"
Aurelle shrugged, a gesture of profound indifference. "Because I was going to lose."
The crowd erupted in confused murmurs, disbelief spreading like wildfire. Gray's brows furrowed. That was a lie. He'd been in control, he had Lira on the ropes, her spirit broken by his unseen attacks. Even she knew it, her expression a tight mix of frustration and relief. But she said nothing, only sheathing her twin blade on her back and stepping backwards, her cheeks flushed with exhaustion.
Aurelle turned away, hands sliding into his pockets as if the entire spectacle had been a minor inconvenience. Gray stared after him, deeply unsettled. His swordsmanship, those strange strikes, the compressed Vyre—what game was he playing? What was he hiding?
The instructor cleared his throat, visibly thrown off and dissatisfied. "Enough. Next fight. Gray against the white-haired boy."
Gray's breath hitched. The courtyard quieted again, all eyes turning to him. He stepped forward, trying to steel himself, but a cold weight settled in his chest.
The boy stood across from him, his practice rapier held loosely at his side, his posture deceptively relaxed. His expression was unreadable, calm in a way that made Gray's skin prickle.
The instructor gave the signal.
But nothing happened.
The boy didn't move. Neither did Gray, his muscles coiled like springs.
'I need to play this safely, defensively. Or I will lose instantly.' Gray had seen his skill earlier and it was nothing to scoff at. Being able to go hand to hand with Lira had convinced him enough that he was dangerous.
Furthermore, he had no idea of what his affinity was or what skills he possibly held.
The silence slowly grew oppressive, thick as storm clouds. Gray's pulse hammered in his ears as he forced himself to look, to study the boy's face, to find some hint of his intent.
And then their eyes met.
Gray froze. His breath caught in his throat. The boy's eyes… they were changing. His eyes were white, like he had first seen them. And Slowly, subtly, a deep, luminous violet was swallowing the former colour.
And then the emotion struck him—a tidal wave crashing down, overwhelming every nerve, every thought, every instinct.
Fear.
Raw, suffocating, primordial fear gripped Gray's heart, colder than any ice, heavier than any blow. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle. His mind emptied of everything but the urge to flee. He could not move. He could not breathe. He was utterly, completely paralyzed.