Chapter 4 – The Sparkless Duel
The morning sun blazed through the stained-glass windows of the Spellcraft Hall, painting the marble floor in shifting colors. Karl shifted uncomfortably on the long wooden bench, wedged between two students whose robes brushed against his shoulders like deliberate reminders that he didn't belong.
Professor Ravel, a wiry man with a hooked nose and robes trimmed in silver, stalked the dais at the front of the room. His voice carried with sharp precision.
"Magic is not trickery. It is discipline. The channeling of will into form. Without discipline, you are nothing but sparks in the wind—useless and extinguished."
Students nodded, scribbling notes. Karl doodled stick figures in the margin of his parchment. One of them had biceps as big as its head.
Professor Ravel's eyes swept the room like blades. "Draven," he snapped suddenly.
Karl's quill froze. "Uh, yes, Professor?"
Ravel sneered. "Tell me. What is the principle of Arcane Transference?"
Karl blinked. "…Transfer… arcane… things?"
Snickers rippled across the room. Damien's laugh rang the loudest, sharp and cruel.
Professor Ravel's lip curled. "Wrong. Transference is the foundation of spellcasting. Without it, there is no channel, no spark, no magic. And you—" his eyes narrowed, glittering with disdain, "—you have no spark to begin with. Perhaps you should ask your muscles to answer next time."
The class erupted in laughter. Karl forced a grin, though heat burned up his neck. He leaned back, crossing his arms, and muttered just loud enough for Damien to hear: "At least my muscles don't whine when I drop my wand."
Damien's smirk vanished.
---
By afternoon, the first-year students gathered in the Dueling Hall, a vast chamber lined with enchanted mirrors that reflected not only bodies but flickers of future moves, each one hazy and distorted. The floor bore scorch marks from countless battles past.
Mistress Elowen stood at the center, her emerald robes swaying as she spoke.
"Dueling is not for glory. It is for survival. Magic must bend faster than your enemy's will. You will face one another, not to destroy, but to test the edges of your control."
Pairs of students stepped forward. Wands flashed, spells hissed, the air crackling with energy. Sparks ricocheted off the mirrors, illusions of fire and lightning scattering like broken glass.
Karl stood at the edge, watching. Every duel was a reminder of what he lacked. Fireballs, water whips, gusts of wind—he had nothing but fists.
His gut twisted. Maybe Damien was right. Maybe he didn't belong here.
"Next," Mistress Elowen called. Her gaze swept the line of waiting students. "Damien Veylor. Karl Draven."
The blood drained from Karl's face. Of course.
Damien strutted to the center of the hall, wand twirling in his fingers like a blade. "Finally," he drawled. "I get to put the circus act down."
Karl forced a grin, stepping forward. "Careful. I've been working on my juggling."
The students crowded close, eager for spectacle. Bets whispered through the crowd—how long Karl would last, how humiliating it would be.
Mistress Elowen's voice cut through the noise. "Begin."
---
Damien struck first. A bolt of crimson fire hissed across the floor, fast as lightning.
Karl dove aside, the heat licking his arm. He hit the ground in a roll, came up to his feet, and barely dodged a second blast. Sparks seared the stone where he'd been standing.
"Run, Draven!" Damien taunted. "That's all you can do!"
Karl's chest heaved, heart hammering. His instincts screamed at him to close the distance, to grab Damien and end it. But every time he moved forward, another volley of fire forced him back.
The crowd jeered.
"Come on, muscle-boy!"
"Lift the floor next!"
Karl's jaw clenched. He couldn't just dodge forever. He needed to think.
He glanced around the hall. Mirrors lined the walls, each one reflecting fragments of the duel. Not just reflections—predictions, hazy and distorted. One mirror showed Damien aiming left when in reality he struck right. Another showed Karl ducking when he had stood tall. The illusions weren't perfect—but they were close.
Karl's eyes narrowed. If I can read them…
The next firebolt blazed toward him. He watched the mirrors, not Damien. In one, Damien's arm angled higher than the real one. That meant the real strike was lower. Karl lunged, the fire searing past his shoulder harmlessly.
The crowd gasped.
Karl grinned. "Thanks for the hints, shiny walls."
Damien's face darkened. "Lucky."
But it wasn't luck. Karl began to move with purpose, dodging each blast by inches, using the mirrors to read what came next. Every step brought him closer.
Damien's attacks grew frantic, his smirk twisting into a snarl. "Stay down!" he shouted, unleashing a torrent of flame that roared across the hall.
Karl braced, heart pounding. He sprinted straight into the blaze, eyes locked on the mirrors. At the last second, he veered right, the fire licking past him. He closed the distance in three strides, raised his arm, and slammed his fist into Damien's chest—not hard enough to break bone, but enough to knock him sprawling.
Damien hit the floor with a grunt, wand clattering away.
Silence.
Karl stood over him, chest heaving, fists clenched. He turned to the stunned crowd. "Guess muscles can answer questions."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then cheers erupted. Not everyone—some still sneered, some glared—but enough voices rose to shake the hall.
Mistress Elowen's expression was unreadable. She lifted a hand, silencing the room. "Enough. The duel is decided. Karl Draven has demonstrated adaptability. Magic is more than sparks—it is will, sharpened into action. Class dismissed."
The students filed out, buzzing with whispers.
Damien pushed himself up, face red with fury. His voice was low, venomous. "You humiliated me. You'll regret it."
Karl smirked, though his knuckles throbbed. "Get in line."
---
That night, Karl sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his bruised fist. He could still feel the heat of Damien's fire, still hear the whisper of the storm in the sky.
A curse.
Or maybe… a weapon.
There was a knock at his door. He looked up as Lira slipped inside, clutching her ever-present stack of books.
"That was reckless," she said softly. "But brilliant."
Karl chuckled. "I'll take reckless and brilliant over sparkless any day."
She set her books down, her expression serious. "You need to be careful, Karl. That shadow in the sky—it wasn't random. The Void King doesn't just notice people. He marks them."
Karl's stomach tightened. "So what, I'm on his list now?"
"Yes," she whispered. "And if he's watching you… then everyone here is in danger."
Karl leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Great. Day two and I've already made enemies, dueled the headmaster's grandson, and got cursed by a shadow king." He cracked a grin. "Academy life's really something."
But deep inside, beneath the jokes, the fire burned hotter. If the Void King wanted him, then Karl Draven would give him a fight he'd never forget.