---
The Chancellor's cloak swept behind him like trailing shadows as he exited the great hall. The doors boomed shut, leaving a vacuum of silence—broken instantly by Lyra.
"Oh. My. Stars!" she squealed, grabbing Vane's sleeve. "You didn't tell me you were on first-name basis with the Chancellor! Or—or that you knew the werewolf! Or that he knew you! Or—"
"I have no relationship with the werewolf," Vane said flatly. "And I don't intend on having one. Chancellor's orders or not."
Oscar sighed approvingly in his head.
["Honestly? Reasonable. Though it might be hard to circumvent the Chancellor's orders in his own school."]
Vane ignored him.
The instructor slammed his staff on the floor.
"Students! Attention."
The hall quieted at once.
"You will all proceed to the School's Combat Arena," he announced. "You will be called in order of seating, and each of you may challenge any student of your choice from within your year. That is, you may challenge any student in this room. The arena is divided into red and blue sections. Students who have fought will proceed to the blue section and will not be permitted to fight a second time."
Students exchanged nervous looks.
"These results will determine your rank," the instructor continued. "From S to E-rank. The higher your rank, the better your future at Valeria will be."
He stepped back.
A wave of murmuring swallowed the hall.
Lyra tugged on her hair anxiously.
"This is bad. I need at least a C-rank. But who do I fight? Who—"
She glanced at Vane.
Immediately decided not to.
Right when she was about to lose it, someone stepped up beside her.
"Hey."
She turned.
A boy with dark blue-black hair stood behind her, carrying a long wooden staff strapped across his back. His uniform was the plain temporary black, and he had no beast armor on.
"I'm Rubin Matthews," he said softly, offering a hand. "Want to fight me?"
Lyra blinked.
She had learned never to underestimate anyone here—but the choice was between fighting this polite, soft-spoken staff-guy... or fighting Vane.
Yeah. Easy choice.
"Lyra," she said, shaking his hand.
A horn blared overhead.
"Students! Line up in an orderly fashion and get ready to moves"
The instructor's voice rang clear. "Magic combat is permitted. Beast weapons are also permitted. The best Healers are ready to tend to serious injuries. I will personally intervene before death occurs."
A shimmering doorway unfurled behind him—runic symbols circling its edges.
Students filed through it and as Vane passed through, the Great Hall disappeared behind him.
---
THE ARENA
They emerged into a colossal arena. It seemed to be made from white stone like the ones of old but the walls hummed with dormant magic. Red seats glowed on the left. Blue on the right.
The first years flooded in. Vane, Lyra, and Rubin found seats early, avoiding the chaos of territorial bickering.
"So," Rubin asked, looking at Vane, "who are you fighting?"
Lyra blinked—realizing nobody had challenged Vane and Vane hadn't left his seat either so he couldn't have challenged anyone.
"I'm not fighting," Vane said casually.
"Why?" she demanded.
"The instructor never said it was compulsory. And I see no reason to waste time."
"But you'll get an E-rank!"
He shrugged.
"As long as I graduate, I don't care about my rank."
Oscar hummed approvingly.
["Are you finally starting to think reasonably?"]
"No, it's just that no one here is worth my time" Vane added.
["Except one."] Oscar teased.
Vane chose to ignore that.
---
The first fighter was an earth elementalist and it was almost obvious as he stomped into the arena—muscular, thick-armed, skin flecked with stone dust. Opposite him, a lean speed mage with lightning-blue boots and jittery fingers cracked his knuckles.
The instructor snapped his fingers.
"Begin!"
The earth mage slammed his fists down.
The ground rippled.
A wall of stone erupted upward like a breaking wave.
The speed mage vanished in a blur, skidding sideways across the arena. He darted around the hurling rocks, vaulting over a rising spike of earth.
The crowd roared.
The speed mage zig-zagged so fast his outline blurred. He shot toward the earth mage—
—who smirked, raised both arms, and caused the ground beneath the speed mage's feet to liquify.
He dropped straight into a pit of soft earth.
Before he could recover, the earth mage hardened the pit into a stone coffin.
"Winner—Harold Flint," the instructor announced.
Cheers exploded from the crowd as the speed mage was carted out by a squad of healers, having broken his leg.
---
The evaluation went on and fight after fight took place until Rubin was called next.
He walked down calmly, staff in hand.
"Lyra Ainsworth," he called.
Lyra unsheathed twin daggers—sleek silver with runic etchings Vane definitely had not noticed before.
I'm a blink she was gone, reappearing in the arena.
"Spatial magic..." someone whispered as the crowd buzzed excitedly.
"Overhyped," someone else scoffed.
The instructor raised his arm.
"Begin!"
Rubin swung his staff.
Three arcs of fire roared toward Lyra.
She vanished.
Reappeared behind them.
Vanished again.
Then again.
Three after-images spread—flickering illusions of her movement.
The crowd gasped.
Rubin spun, flaming staff sweeping in a wide arc.
The after-images burst apart in fiery smoke.
But Lyra appeared behind him, cold steel crossing lightly at his throat.
Rubin froze.
"Winner—Lyra Ainsworth!"
Vane watched Lyra teleport to the blue section of the arena and Rubin was sent back for a compulsory check-up
As the next fighters were called, someone slid into Lyra's seat.
"That seat is tak—"
He stopped.
It was him.
"You," Vane said sharply.
"Me," Kiren replied casually.
"What are you doing here?"
Kiren smirked. "Your friend was so busy fighting and you looked lonely."
"Look, mutt—" Vane snapped. "I don't care what the Chancellor said. I'm not babysitting you."
Kiren laughed—a low, smooth sound.
"Relax. I don't need a babysitter."
He nodded toward the ring.
"Your friend fought...interesting for a human."
Vane didn't answer.
"So," Kiren asked, "who are you fighting?"
"I'm not participating." He said.
"And you?"
Kiren rested his chin on his knuckles.
"There's no one here worth my time."
A pause.
"Oh—" he said lightly. "Looks like the next fight is ending."
Vane looked down. Yet another student was walking toward the blue side, victorious.
Kiren suddenly stood, stretching.
"Well," he said, "it's almost time."
Vane frowned.
"Time for what?"
"My match, of course."
"I thought you said no one was worth your time."
"No one is... except one."
The last words dropped to little more than a growl.
Kiren looked back his eyes glowing. Predatory.
Vane felt his stomach twist.
"Maybe he's talking about someone else," he muttered as Kiren walked off, his casual nonchalance returned.
Oscar snorted.
["Yeah. Is the sky is made of marshmallows too?"]
The arena quieted.
Several fights passed.
Then—
"Kiren Redvel," the instructor called.
Kiren stepped onto the battlefield.
The instructor asked, "Who do you challenge?"
Kiren lifted one hand—
—and pointed directly at Vane.
"Him. Vane Drayton ."
Murmurs rippled through the stadium. Ranging from;
"Who?" To,
"I pity this 'Vane' guy?"
"He'll get eaten alive!"
"No way they're letting the beast fight?"
Oscar sighed.
["Well, trouble came. How will you respond?"]
Vane rose slowly.
A grin—sharp, wicked—pulled at his mouth.
"I'll make him regret this," Vane said softly.
---