The morning after the duel dawned brighter than most, but within the hallowed halls of the Academy, the air was anything but ordinary.
Ash Vale sat at his desk near the back of the classroom, head lowered as though intent on his notes, though his quill had yet to scratch a single word. Around him, voices buzzed like restless hornets.
"Did you see how he dodged that serpent strike? No commoner should be able to move like that."
"They say Caius Serpentis nearly awakened his bloodline. Even a half-formed Naga Moros would have ended anyone else!"
"Still… he lost. And to Vale of all people."
"Don't forget — Caius was laughing at the end. Laughing! What sort of noble loses and then smiles?"
Every sentence carried weight, some admiring, others doubtful, still more dripping with envy. It was clear the duel had shaken the academy's unspoken hierarchy. Nobles accustomed to reverence now wrestled with the reality of a commoner standing on equal footing.
Ash let the murmurs wash over him without raising his head. Each word reminded him of the clash — the searing magic, Caius's relentless pressure, the strange pulse within his own veins that had guided his final strike. He exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts.
From across the aisle, Caius Serpentis sat upright, his presence calm, his silvery eyes half-lidded yet sharp. Whispers surrounded him as well, but none dared speak too loudly near him. For all his loss, he carried himself with the same haughty poise of his lineage — if anything, the duel had made him appear more formidable in the eyes of his peers.
Then the air shifted.
The door opened, and with it came a deliberate scuff of boots. Darius Redthorne — tall, broad-shouldered, his crimson hair tied neatly back — strode inside with a smirk that was half-sneer. His gaze swept the room, bypassed Caius entirely, and locked onto Ash like a hawk spotting prey.
"Well, well," Darius drawled, his voice pitched just enough to command attention. "The hero of yesterday graces us with his humble presence. Tell me, Vale — how does it feel to be the talk of the academy for stealing a victory you barely earned?"
A hush fell instantly.
Ash finally raised his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but the silence pressed tight around him.
"Barely earned?" Ash's voice was calm, almost too calm. "Strange… I don't recall Caius complaining about my victory. If the one who fought me accepts it, why should a bystander's opinion matter?"
The jab struck true. Snickers and stifled laughs rippled through the room. Darius's smirk faltered, the flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks.
"You dare—" he began, but Caius's low chuckle cut him off.
"Enough, Redthorne." Caius's tone carried authority that silenced the room more effectively than any shout. "I fought Vale with all I had. He stood his ground, and he won. If you take issue with that, then perhaps you should be the one to challenge him."
The implication hung heavy. Darius stiffened, but his jaw clenched shut. No amount of arrogance could make him blind to the fact that Caius himself had acknowledged Ash.
The lecturer entered then, ending the standoff with the scraping of chairs and hurried shuffling of papers. Yet even as lessons began, the charged atmosphere lingered.
---
By midday, the tension carried itself into the dining hall.
Long rows of tables stretched beneath glittering chandeliers, the chatter of hundreds of students mingling with the clink of cutlery. Ash entered quietly, tray in hand, and felt the weight of eyes upon him once more. Some gazes burned with curiosity, others with disdain.
Whispers followed him, though more subdued than in the classroom.
"There he is…"
"Is he really just a commoner?"
"Caius himself congratulated him…"
Ash moved steadily, ignoring them, until Caius stepped forward from the opposite side of the hall. The noble's presence parted the crowd as naturally as the tide, and he walked with an easy confidence until he reached Ash.
Without hesitation, Caius extended his hand.
"Well fought, Vale," he said, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "You've earned my respect. I'll say it again — it was an honor."
The hall stilled. Nobles exchanged glances, some shocked, others unsettled. A Serpentis, heir to a bloodline whispered of in legends, openly acknowledging a commoner?
Ash clasped his hand firmly, meeting his gaze. "And you mine."
The exchange seemed to tilt the entire hall. The faintest spark of a smile touched Caius's lips before he released his grip.
From a corner, Darius Redthorne watched with simmering eyes, his fork digging into the table until it screeched.
---
The day wound down into evening, and Ash found himself summoned along with Caius to the principal's office.
Archmage Thalos Greyveil awaited them behind a vast oak desk, the air scented faintly of old parchment and incense. His white hair framed a face lined not by age, but by wisdom.
"You've both given the academy much to talk about," Greyveil said, his voice slow, deliberate. "Such duels are rare, rarer still when they reveal strength beyond expectation. Ash Vale… you've shaken assumptions that have stood here for generations. And you, Caius Serpentis, have shown a grace in defeat that few of your peers could match."
The principal's eyes gleamed, sharp as a hawk's. "But strength draws eyes — allies, yes, but also enemies. Remember that."
Caius inclined his head respectfully. "I understand, Archmage."
Ash nodded, the words sinking deep.
Greyveil's gaze lingered on them both, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Perhaps this rivalry will shape you both into something greater than you realize. I will be watching."
When they left the office, the sun had dipped low, casting long golden shadows across the courtyard. For a brief moment, Ash and Caius walked side by side in silence.
Then Caius spoke, voice quiet but firm. "Vale, I meant what I said. From this day on, consider me both rival… and friend."
Ash glanced at him, then allowed himself a rare smile. "Then I'll hold you to that."
And as the evening bells tolled across the academy, the bond between commoner and noble — born of fire, forged in duel — began its first steps toward a path neither could yet imagine.