Dawn bled over the spires of Aetherion Academy. The bells tolled six times, their low chime vibrating through stone and bone. In the dorm of Obsidian Hall, the candidates stirred awake.
Kaelith rose silently. The cuts across his arms had already sealed, but the ache of burned lifespan clung like ice in his veins. Lyra was still curled on her bed, hair a dark halo on the pillow. He watched her for a heartbeat, then turned to the window.
Outside, students moved like streams of color across the training fields, their uniforms trimmed in gold, silver, or black depending on rank. Instructors patrolled with hawk-like gazes.
A rune shimmered into being above his desk.
> [Mandatory Training: Combat Fundamentals – Arena Omega]
[Time: 0700]
[Penalty for tardiness: Immediate Expulsion]
Kaelith closed it and began dressing in the standard-issue combat uniform — black, lined with muted silver runes. Lyra stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"You're up early," she murmured.
"We're late if we're not early," he said.
She nodded, rising. Her uniform clung awkwardly to her slender frame, the runes flickering faintly. "I hate how it feels like it's watching me," she whispered.
"It is watching you," Kaelith replied. "Everything here is."
They left the dorm and stepped into the crisp morning air. The academy grounds were alive with movement. Students marched toward training arenas carved directly into the blackstone cliffs. Statues of long-dead archmages loomed above them, eyes glowing faintly.
As they neared Arena Omega, the crowd thickened. It was a circular pit sunken into the ground, ringed with seats. A shimmering dome of energy arched overhead. Instructors stood along the edges, their robes trailing like shadows. Floating glyphs projected the names of each candidate.
A tall, severe-looking instructor stepped forward. His hair was iron-gray, his eyes like flint.
"I am Instructor Varik Drel," he announced, voice carrying easily. "You survived the entrance test. Now you will prove whether you deserve to stay. Today, you fight. Not beasts. Each other."
A ripple of unease swept through the candidates.
"Rules are simple," Varik continued. "Win by incapacitation, surrender, or ring-out. Kill if you must — we will not interfere. Weaklings will be expelled."
Kaelith's expression didn't flicker. Lyra's fingers tightened around her sleeve.
Varik's gaze swept the crowd, then landed on Kaelith. "You. Rank fifteen. Step forward."
The murmur of voices swelled. Kaelith moved down into the arena, boots striking stone. The barrier shimmered behind him as he crossed into its field.
Varik turned his head. "Draven Altair. Rank seven. You will face him."
The crowd hissed with anticipation. Draven vaulted into the pit, his noble crest flashing like a blade. His eyes locked on Kaelith's with cold fury.
"So it's you," Draven said softly. "The commoner who dared."
Kaelith didn't respond.
A floating panel appeared between them.
> [Arena Match – Begin on Signal]
Varik raised his hand, then dropped it.
Draven moved first, a blur of speed. His hand flared with crimson sigils as he struck, sending a spear of burning force toward Kaelith.
Kaelith slid aside, the heat licking his arm. He activated Shadow Step, vanishing in a streak of darkness, reappearing behind Draven. His dagger of condensed void energy hissed as it formed.
Draven spun, blocking with a conjured shield. The clash cracked like thunder. Sparks of red and black danced between them.
"You fight like a street rat," Draven sneered. "No form. No honor."
Kaelith's eyes narrowed. "I fight to live."
He drove forward, dagger flashing. Draven parried, then unleashed a shockwave that threw Kaelith back across the arena. Dust rose. The crowd roared.
> "He's stronger," Nyxion whispered in Kaelith's mind. "But not smarter. Break him."
Kaelith pushed up, teeth gritted. His NP counter flickered.
> [Negative Points Available: 315]
[Activate Wrath Surge: 150 NP – Warning: Lifespan Cost 5 Years]
His thumb hovered over the option. Five more years burned… could he afford it?
Across the arena, Draven's sigils burned brighter. He raised both hands, weaving a spell of lethal power. The air trembled. Lyra shouted something from the stands, but Kaelith couldn't hear.
Nyxion's voice coiled, sweet and venomous.
> "Choose. Burn yourself now — or fall before him. What will it be, Kaelith?"
The crimson spell swelled, about to strike. Kaelith's eyes glinted black as his decision crystallized—
The dome above them cracked faintly, as if something massive pressed from outside. For an instant, Kaelith felt a cold, alien gaze slide across the arena — the same he'd felt last night.
Draven's spell fired.