The training arena buzzed with anticipation. Stone pillars rose around the circular ground, tiered seating packed with students eager to witness the first evaluations of the season. The academy always treated these trials as more than tests, they were entertainment, politics, and blood sport rolled into one.
Kael stood among the initiates, his fists clenched at his sides. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, measuring, judging. His heart raced, but he forced his face to remain calm.
"Today, you will show us what you've learned," Elder Veylan's voice boomed across the arena. "Victory will grant prestige. Failure… will mark weakness." His eyes swept the crowd, resting briefly, deliberately, on Kael.
Whispers rippled through the students. Some smirked. Others glanced at Kael with pity.
The first matches began. Students clashed with wooden weapons, spells, and brute force. Sparks flew, bones cracked, and cheers echoed. Every match was a display of pride, and every victor earned both admiration and enemies.
Kael's stomach tightened as names were called, one after another, until finally
"Kael Ardyn. Joren Varric."
A roar erupted from the crowd. Joren, the mountain of muscle from Darius's circle, cracked his knuckles and stepped forward with a grin. "Looks like I get the pleasure of breaking the runt."
Kael forced a breath through his nose, stepping into the arena. His body screamed caution, but the whispers stirred inside him.
"Fight. Adapt. Survive."
The gong sounded.
Joren charged like a bull, his fist swinging wide. Kael ducked instinctively, the blow whistling past his ear. Dust kicked up around them as the crowd roared.
Another swing came, faster this time. Kael blocked with his forearm, pain jolting through his bones. Joren's strength was monstrous, but predictable.
Kael moved with precision, dodging, letting Joren waste energy. Yet each dodge fed the whispers in his veins, urging him to counter, to strike, to taste blood.
Joren laughed, sweat dripping down his face. "Run all you like, rat. You'll break eventually."
Kael's chest burned. He couldn't dodge forever. He had to strike back, carefully.
When Joren lunged again, Kael sidestepped and drove his fist into Joren's ribs. The brute grunted but barely staggered.
The whispers surged. More. Stronger. Take him.
Kael's vision sharpened, his blood pounding in his ears. He felt Joren's movements before they came, his heartbeats echoing inside Kael's chest.
Another punch came. This time Kael caught Joren's wrist mid-swing. His palm burned where their skin met. Crimson light flickered faintly, hidden beneath Kael's sleeve.
Joren froze for half a heartbeat, his strength faltering. Kael seized the chance, driving his knee into Joren's gut. The bigger boy stumbled back, gasping.
The crowd erupted in shock. Kael had landed a clean blow on the academy's strongest brute.
But inside, panic twisted Kael's stomach. He'd felt it—the Genesis reaching out, stealing strength. If anyone had seen the flicker of red light…
Joren snarled, fury twisting his face. He lunged again, wild with rage. Kael braced, ready for the next strike
"Enough!" Elder Veylan's voice cracked like thunder. The gong rang again.
Joren halted, panting, fists still raised.
"The match goes to Kael Ardyn," Veylan declared. His eyes, sharp as daggers, lingered on Kael. Too long. Too knowing.
Whispers spread across the arena. Some students cheered Kael's surprising victory. Others muttered in disbelief. Darius narrowed his eyes, studying Kael with new interest. Lira's silver gaze never left him, cool and calculating. Elara, from the back rows, tilted her head slightly as if confirming some hidden thought.
Kael forced himself to bow respectfully, though his heart thundered. He had won, but at what cost?
As he left the arena, the whispers returned, stronger, hungrier.
"Blood is strength. Power is survival. Take more."
Kael clenched his fists. He couldn't lose control. Not here. Not yet.
But one thing was certain: after today, he could no longer hide in the shadows. His name was on every tongue. His enemies had noticed.