The morning air inside the Academy's halls carried a peculiar heaviness. Not the quiet of routine lessons, nor the hum of spell formations thrumming through the walls. No—this weight came from expectation. From the knowledge that today we weren't facing classmates, but legends only a year ahead of us.
Professor Lysandra Vaelthorne led us forward, her heels striking the stone like a metronome of judgment. Each step echoed through the corridor, measured and sharp, as if daring us to falter. Behind her marched the Apex Class of the First Year—ten names already whispered across campus.
Whispers of prodigies. Whispers of arrogance. Whispers of us.
Yet pride was no shield. Our auras scraped against one another in the narrow hallway, restless, hungry, afraid. It was like being caged with wild beasts before the hunt began. Even the air felt charged, every breath tasting of sparks and mana.
Kael Rivers's fists clenched white around the hilt of his sword. Fire licked faintly across his aura, sparks flickering like embers trying to escape. His excitement was barely leashed, and every few steps his knuckles whitened as if he could already feel the clash to come.
Beside him walked Nymera Dravenholt, steady as steel. Her aura flowed without a ripple, her gaze sharp and unyielding. While Kael burned hot, Nymera was ice-bound discipline, her blade perfectly aligned at her hip. She walked like a knight who had already accepted victory.
And then there was Selene. My sister.
She kept her eyes forward, steps precise, aura trembling faintly beneath her composure. Pride and unease flickered together within her. Once, she had mocked me—believed me beneath her. Now, her mana bowed instinctively before mine. She hated it. I didn't look at her.
Carmila Noctharyn walked only a pace from me. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim corridor, lips curved in a smile that promised nothing good. Her aura brushed against mine like silk and storm, coiling possessively, whispering hunger, obsession. I felt it even when I tried not to.
Behind her strode Seris Eryndor, her icy gaze locked straight ahead. If Carmila's aura was a storm, Seris's was still frost—calm, quiet, but sharpened into a dagger beneath the ice. She walked in silence, but her presence carried the promise of precision and cruelty.
The Aureldane siblings followed.
Lucian sneered openly, his aura jagged, lashing at anyone foolish enough to come too close. Reckless. Bitter. His hatred of me burned as plain as the blade at his hip. He had never forgiven me, and today his chance for vengeance stood only moments away.
Beside him was Evelyne. His sister. And once—my fiancée. Her hands clutched her sword so tightly her knuckles turned white. She did not meet my eyes, but I felt her gaze flicker toward me, heavy with regret and shame. A wound neither of us could ignore.
Theodore Ashbourne adjusted his glasses with one hand, the other tightening on his weapon. His aura lacked the wild intensity of the others, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—spoke volumes. He would not fight with fire or ice. He would fight with thought.
Viviene trailed near him, whispering softly to a glowing mana crystal clutched in her hand. Her aura flickered erratically, unstable. Yet I knew her sword arm was steady—when her focus held. If it held.
Ten of us. Ten prodigies. The First-Year Apex Class.
And today, we would clash not with ordinary students, but with the monsters who had walked this path before us—one year stronger.
The Gate
At last, the gates came into view.
Blacksteel towers engraved with silver runes loomed at the end of the hallway, the weight of restrained destruction thrumming faintly through them. Mana pulsed from their surface, a heartbeat of contained power. These gates weren't ceremonial. They were meant to hold back cataclysms.
Professor Lysandra paused before them. She placed a pale hand against the carved surface. Runes flared to life, glowing like veins of molten light, and with a deep groan, the massive doors began to part.
Heat and pressure hit me at once.
The duel chamber wasn't a simple room. It was a coliseum.
A stadium-sized arena stretched out before us, its polished stone floors scarred with burns, cracks, and gouges from countless battles past. Crystalline orbs floated high above, flooding the chamber with daylight-bright radiance. Rows of seats circled the field like an eternal audience—empty, yet heavy with memory.
And in the center, they waited.
The Second-Year Apex Class.
The Second-Years
Ten figures stood in formation, their auras restrained yet undeniable. They radiated power even while suppressed, their presence pressing down on us like a storm waiting to break.
At their head stood Christine Veynar.
Her platinum hair was bound into a high ponytail, gleaming like steel under the light. Grey eyes, sharp and piercing, swept across the chamber with effortless command. Even suppressed to B-rank, her aura pressed against my throat like the edge of a blade. Rank A—though now disguised. Her presence alone silenced the air.
Beside her was Liam Heart. Dark blue hair framed his calm, unreadable face. His black eyes studied us like a hawk. His aura was compressed so tightly it hummed, a sword vibrating in its sheath. Rank B+, a talent who could stand against groups alone.
And to Christine's right—him.
Raven Lucien.
Blonde hair, sharp green eyes gleaming with arrogance. His smirk cut sharper than his blade, his aura merciless. Once vice president of the Swordsmanship Club,—until Christine stripped him of the title. But not before our own conflict. He had always hated me, believed the spotlight was his by right. Now, his hunger to crush me rekindled, burning hotter than ever.
Behind them, the rest of the Second-Years stood like wolves awaiting blood.
Amara Velorin: tall, spear in hand, scarlet hair blazing. A fortress wrapped around a lance.
Darius Fellhart: broad-shouldered, stocky, his aura heavy as a hammer.
Elandra Myrris: silver hair, lilac eyes, staff resting lightly in her grasp. Calm light, deceptive in its gentleness.
Torven Drael: grounded as stone, brown hair cropped short, aura like bedrock.
Ilyas Verdan: lean, agile, green hair tied back, daggers at his hips. A restless breeze that cut before it was felt.
Mirella Quen: auburn hair, bow in hand, aura strung taut like her arrows.
Kyros Vayne: pale, shadow pooling at his feet, golden eyes glowing faintly beneath grey hair. His aura slithered unnaturally, whispering of darkness.
Ten monsters. Ten legacies.
And we were expected to stand against them.
The Challenge
Christine's gaze swept across our ranks. Her eyes lingered briefly on Kael, Nymera, and finally on me. Her voice rang out, clear as steel.
"I see familiar faces. The Swordsmanship Club has given me glimpses of your talent. But training is one thing. Battle is another."
Her words cut into the silence like a drawn blade.
Then Liam stepped forward. His calm voice carried weight."We will suppress ourselves to B-rank. Otherwise, there would be no duel. Only defeat."
The arrogance wasn't unfounded. It was a simple truth.
Behind me, Kael's aura flared like wildfire at the provocation. Carmila's lips curved in sharper amusement, her aura brushing against mine again, almost purring. Selene's mana trembled harder, and Lucian's killing intent flared openly, daring me to look back at him.
Christine raised her blade in a salute, her aura steady as iron."Let us begin. Prove to us that the First-Year Apex Class deserves its name."
The silence that followed was broken only by the echo of the gates slamming shut behind us.
There was no turning back.