Extra's POV: I am the Sixteenth Son

Lysandra rolled her shoulders and gripped her wrist tight. The electric buzz in the air kept pulling at her thoughts, but she made herself breathe slow and steady.

Her first time in the Vault.

Her first real match.

She looked over at the platform where Ares and her other classmates stood watching. Ethan was there too, arms crossed.

They were going to see her win. She'd make sure of it.

She lifted her hand up high.

Small bolts of lightning jumped between her fingers, then spread out like tiny fireworks. The mana felt slippery in her grip, but she forced it to dance anyway. Not perfect—just pure will. Bright sparks shot from her palm in a flashy arc that lit up half the ring.

"Show off much?" she muttered to herself, but couldn't help grinning.

The Zibrax had other ideas. It twitched once and vanished into thin air, then popped up right behind her like some annoying magic trick.

Before she could even turn around—

Zap. A sharp sting hit her calf.

"Ow!" Lysandra spun around fast and shot a lightning bolt where the thing had been. It missed by a mile. She tried again. Another miss.

She twisted her wrist and let loose a rapid burst of energy, wild and flickering, pretty to look at but totally out of control. The whole ring lit up with purple threads. Her technique looked amazing, but it was like trying to catch fish with a net full of holes.

The Zibrax just buzzed straight through all the chaos, dodging her attacks like it was playing some kind of game.

Then, another hit. This time it got her in the side, and it burned.

"Damn it!"

She swung both hands through the air, lightning crackling everywhere, but her control went completely haywire. One stream of energy snapped back and whipped across her own shoulder like a hot rope.

"Ow, ow, ow!" She danced on her toes, shaking her stinging shoulder. "Okay, that was not supposed to happen."

The Zibrax seemed to crackle with what could only be described as laughter. If lightning bugs could laugh, anyway.

Lysandra stumbled back, breathing hard and feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She could feel eyes on her from the platform.

This creature wasn't stronger than her. She knew that much. It was just smarter. Faster. And here she was, throwing lightning around like confetti at a party.

She wiped sweat from her forehead and muttered under her breath, "Fine. Let's try something else."

She closed her eyes for just a moment.

Then everything changed.

Her hand dropped to her side. The leftover sparks fizzled out like dying candles. Something cool crept into her palm, not comfortable, not controlled.

Raw water mana, barely holding together.

She coaxed it upward slowly, not trying to make some fancy spell, just letting it flow. The energy felt cold and sluggish as it curled through the air like a lazy snake.

The Zibrax noticed right away.

It shot toward her like a bullet made of lightning, buzzing with electric fury.

She didn't run. Didn't strike a dramatic pose.

She just raised her arm and let the water go.

It hit the Zibrax dead center.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, chaos.

The creature went crazy in midair as the water soaked through its electric body. Sparks flew everywhere, then suddenly collapsed inward like a dying firework. The Zibrax exploded in a flash of white and green steam, with little lightning bolts dancing across the stone floor before fading away.

Then silence.

Lysandra stood alone in the ring, steam rising from her sleeve. Her shoulder still stung from her own lightning, and she was pretty sure she'd have a bruise on her calf tomorrow.

No cheers from the crowd.

No applause.

Just quiet.

She looked over at the platform. Ares watched her with that unreadable expression he always wore, the rest of her class too. Ethan didn't clap or smile. He just said in his flat, cold voice:

"You fought your element. Then you fought the echo. One of those worked."

Lysandra turned back to face the empty ring, sweat dripping from her forehead, jaw tight with determination.

She didn't smile or raise her fist in victory.

But her eyes said it all: I won.

And this time, it wasn't just about showing off.

– – –

The moment the echo disappeared in that cloud of steam, Lysandra stood still in the center of the ring. Her arms hung at her sides, her face set in hard lines. Her victory wasn't pretty, but it belonged to her.

Ares said nothing.

He didn't need to say anything.

She was breathing hard, trying to look tough, but he could tell she was hurt. She kept putting more weight on her left foot, and every time she breathed out, there was a tiny wince she thought nobody would notice. He noticed everything.

He'd seen this exact thing before, in the old stories about young fighters who had more talent than sense. She was gifted, no question about that. More than most people ever would be. But being talented didn't make you smart about fighting.

Getting knocked around a few times, that's what made you smart.

Her lightning had been impressive to watch, sure, but completely useless in an actual fight. She'd been putting on a show instead of trying to win. All flash, no punch. And that clever little Zibrax hadn't even been trying hard. It had just played with her, dodged her attacks, gave her a few zaps, and watched her get more and more frustrated.

She only started winning when she stopped trying to look like some legendary warrior and started fighting like one.

Water, her second element. Messy and barely controlled. It had moved more like thick soup than a proper spell. But the second she called on it, everything in the ring changed. Even the Zibrax felt it.

The creature had actually paused for a moment.

That pause came from pure instinct. The Zibrax's instincts, Lysandra's instincts, even the ancient magic built into the ring itself.

Ares filed that observation away in his mind, saying nothing out loud.

Water was the perfect weapon against lightning echoes, but only if you used it with a calm mind instead of a bruised ego.

He looked past Lysandra toward the stone pillar where more echo cores waited to be chosen for the next fight.

His face showed nothing.

But inside, he made a note worth remembering: Lysandra didn't break under pressure. She bent, learned, and adapted.

In a place like the Cradle, that kind of flexibility was rarer than any magical talent.

– – –

A/N – Was it fire or mid? Don't just vanish—powerstone, comment, review. Let me feel your presence.