The atmosphere in the Training Pit shifted from a dull murmur to a heavy, expectant silence. Lyra's decision to pair with the "Zero" from Oakhaven wasn't just unusual; it was a spectacle. Lucius and his cronies hovered nearby, their faces twisted in grins of anticipation. They weren't looking for a fight; they were looking for a slaughter.
"Begin!" Master Alicia's voice barked.
Matthew didn't wait. He remembered his father's words—if you aren't strong, you have to be first. He lunged forward, the wooden training sword whistling through the air in a basic overhead strike. It was a move born of desperation and the raw drills he'd practiced in his backyard.
Lyra didn't even move her feet. She tilted her head a fraction of an inch, and the wooden blade passed harmlessly by her ear.
"Too much weight on your front foot," she said coolly.
She countered with a flick of her wrist. The flat of her iron blade slapped Matthew's ribs with the force of a falling log. The air left Matthew's lungs in a pained wheeze, and he stumbled back, his boots dragging through the sand.
"Again," Lyra commanded.
Matthew gritted his teeth, the sting in his side fueling his focus. He moved again, this time trying to channel the "fast" movements he'd seen his father use. He blurred forward, feinting a low sweep before aimining a thrust at her shoulder.
It was a clever move—instinctive and dirty. For a split second, Lyra's copper eyes widened. She had to actually bring her sword up to parry, the clatter of wood against iron ringing out.
But Matthew's inexperience caught up to him. He was so surprised that he had actually forced her to defend that he hesitated. He left his stance wide, his chest open.
Lyra didn't miss the opening. She stepped into his guard, her shoulder slamming into his chest. Matthew hit the sand hard, the world spinning for a moment.
"You have the instincts of a predator," Lyra remarked, standing over him. She wasn't even breathing hard. "But you have the technique of a child. You react to the moment, but you don't plan for the next three."
"I'm not finished," Matthew hissed, pushing himself up. His palms were raw, and his grey tunic was stained with the grit of the pit.
Across the arena, Andre and Andrew watched with bated breath. Andre looked worried, his hand gripping his own practice staff. "She's pushing him too hard," Andre whispered. "He's going to break."
"No," Andrew replied, his eyes narrowed. "Look at him. He's learning."
Matthew lunged a third time. This time, he didn't try to be clever. He simply moved with everything he had. As he closed the distance, the violet spark in his chest flared. The Null Core wasn't something he could control, but in his rage and exhaustion, it began to leak.
The air around Matthew suddenly turned cold—a jagged, biting frost that rushed outward.
Lyra's eyes lit up. "Finally."
She unleashed her mana. A halo of white-hot fire erupted around her blade, the heat so intense it began to turn the sand beneath her feet into glass. She swung a horizontal arc, a wave of flame trailing the steel.
The two forces collided.
Matthew didn't parry the sword; he parried the fire. As the white flame hit the invisible "cold" aura around his wooden sword, the fire didn't explode—it vanished. It was sucked into the wood, extinguished by the vacuum of his core.
But the physical weight of the iron sword was still there.
Matthew's wooden blade shattered into splinters under the sheer force of Lyra's strength. He was sent flying backward, skidding ten feet across the pit before slamming into the stone wall of the arena.
The silence that followed was absolute. Matthew lay in the dirt, his arm shaking, his wooden hilt still gripped in his hand. He had successfully negated the magic of a Rank 4 Fire-User, a feat that should have been impossible.
But he had lost the fight. His body was covered in bruises, his ribs were likely cracked, and he was completely spent.
Master Alicia walked over, looking down at the splinters of the wooden sword. "Negation successful. Combat result: Defeat." She looked at Matthew. "You negated the flame, but you forgot that a sword is still a piece of iron even without its magic. You relied on your core and forgot your feet."
Lyra sheathed her iron sword. The heat vanished instantly. She walked over to Matthew and reached down, offering a hand.
"You're a mess," she said, though there was a glint of genuine respect in her eyes. "You made six fatal mistakes in under two minutes. You overextend, you lose your balance when you feint, and you have no idea how to follow through."
Matthew took her hand, allowing her to pull him up. His legs felt like jelly. "Is that all?" he joked weakly.
"No," Lyra said, her voice dropping so only he could hear. "You also managed to extinguish a Rank 4 Ignis flame. No one has ever done that to me. Not even the instructors."
She turned and walked back toward the Elite line without another word.
Andre and Andrew rushed over, catching Matthew before he could collapse again.
"That was insane!" Andre whispered, his eyes wide behind his goggles. "You almost had her for a second! Then you got hammered, but still—insane!"
"We need to get you to the infirmary," Andrew said, slinging Matthew's arm over his shoulder. "You're bleeding."
Matthew looked back at the pit, at the scorch marks and the shattered wood. He had made a fool of himself, he was covered in dirt, and he had lost. But as he felt the cold, steady hum of the Null Core in his chest, he realized something.
He had survived the strongest first-year in the Academy. He was full of mistakes, but for the first time, he knew exactly what he needed to fix.