Aether is it?

The sparring grounds of Aethercrest Academy were filled with tension, the usually quiet ring now surrounded by a buzzing crowd of students whispering in excitement and disbelief.

Dueling among students wasn't unheard of.

But a first-year challenging a second-year prodigy?

That was something new.

Even more absurd?

The first-year wasn't backing down.

And his name was Vale Lumire.

He stood in the center of the arena, calm and composed, as if the weight of everyone's attention barely registered. His dark uniform clung to his lean frame, twin daggers strapped at his sides—black and silver, newly sharpened.

Across from him stood Lior Caelis, second-year, son of a marquess, wielder of mid-tier elemental aether and ranked as one of the best duelists in his year. Armed with a long spear crackling faintly with fire-aspected aether, Lior twirled it once and let it rest on his shoulder.

"This is your last chance to back out," Lior said, voice smooth but condescending. "You won't win."

Vale rolled one shoulder, cracking his neck. "I'm not here to win."

That drew some confusion from the crowd.

Lior smirked. "Then what are you here for?"

Vale's eyes narrowed slightly, voice steady. "To make you bleed."

A hushed murmur swept through the students. Even the instructor overseeing the duel raised an eyebrow.

Lyra, standing at the front of the crowd, felt her heart stutter.

That wasn't just confidence.

That was certainty.

The Duel BeginsThe signal came from the instructor. A flash of aether light ignited the rune circle beneath their feet—then pulsed outward.

The duel began.

Lior moved first, spear spinning with deceptive grace as he dashed forward. A trail of embers followed behind, the spearhead glowing with fire-aspected aether. His strikes were long, sweeping, fluid.

Vale ducked the first strike, twisted under the second, and deflected the third with a flick of his dagger—barely grazing Lior's shaft to redirect it harmlessly away.

Then Vale slipped into his opponent's blind spot.

Fast.

Too fast for a first-year.

Lior's eyes widened, but he spun with a backstep to regain distance. "You're quick," he muttered.

"I know."

Vale surged forward again. This time, Lior launched a wave of flame along the ground, forcing Vale to leap sideways. He skidded low, using his momentum to spin and hurl one dagger.

Lior blocked it with his spear shaft—but didn't notice the second dagger Vale had already palmed in reverse grip, closing the gap before anyone could blink.

The crowd gasped.

Steel met steel. Sparks flew.

Lior managed to parry, but Vale was on him, relentless.

One strike.

Two.

Four.

Eight.

It was less a duel now and more a dance—one Vale was leading. His daggers were everywhere: cutting, slashing, redirecting. But his movements weren't wild—they were precise, calculated, built around minimizing openings and reading his opponent's intent.

"Not bad for a commoner's son," Lior sneered, retreating. "But tricks won't win you this fight."

Vale's expression remained unreadable.

"I'm not using tricks yet."

Lior Strikes BackWith a growl, Lior stabbed his spear into the ground. A ring of fire erupted around him, forcing Vale to jump back.

Then the second-year channeled more aether, his spear glowing red-hot. He surged forward with a ferocity that forced Vale onto the defensive.

Now he was on the back foot.

Each strike came heavier, angrier. Lior used his height and reach advantage to corner Vale, every slash threatening to overpower him. The flame around the spearhead burst like a whip with every swing, sending searing heat into the air.

Vale grit his teeth, parrying desperately. His footwork narrowed, dodges tighter.

One glancing strike burned across his forearm. Another forced him to drop one dagger.

The crowd roared—half cheering Lior, half too stunned to look away.

Even Lyra bit her lip, her fingers twitching, itching to act.

Then—clang!

Vale's second dagger went flying.

He dropped to one knee, breathing heavy.

Lior laughed. "You're not bad, first-year. But you're done."

He lunged forward, spear aimed at Vale's chest—

—and that's when it happened.

ShadowshiftVale vanished.

Just for a moment.

It wasn't teleportation. It wasn't speed.

It was wrong.

His body blurred, flickered, twisted sideways into a crack of flickering darkness—and then appeared behind Lior.

Too close.

Too fast.

Too inhuman.

Lior barely turned before Vale's hand wrapped around his throat, the flat edge of his dagger resting under his chin.

The entire arena froze.

No one moved.

Not even Lior.

"Yield," Vale said, voice like cold steel. His eyes glowed faintly—not with elemental light, but something darker. Something older.

"You… you used—" Lior choked out.

"I didn't use anything," Vale said. "I adapted."

He stepped back. Released Lior. The flames around them dissipated.

The silence was broken only by the instructor's hesitant voice.

"Point… to Vale Lumire."

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

But they didn't reach Vale.

His hands were shaking. Barely. Almost imperceptibly. The shadow that had wrapped around his body a moment ago was gone—but Lyra saw it.

And she knew.

He'd used something deep within him. Something dangerous.

And something he hadn't yet mastered.