Masked By Fate: The Strongest Pretender

Night fell over the Imperial Fate Academy like a silk veil soaked in blood. The scent of scorched mana still lingered over Arena Theta from the earlier trial.

Riven sat beneath a broken archway, flipping a rusted coin between his fingers.

I didn't need to fight. I only needed them to see enough… just enough to keep their eyes off my real hand.

He rolled the coin through his fingers with surgical precision — a minor trick, but one that kept his reflexes sharp.

Then a shadow blocked the moonlight.

"You embarrassed my house."

Riven looked up.

A young noble stood above him, armor polished, crest of the Clawthorn Family glinting on his shoulder. Five others flanked him in tight formation. Mana bristled around them.

"You're the trash from Room 00X," the noble sneered. "You injured my cousin during the exam. He won't cast for weeks."

Riven sighed.

"Your cousin called a beastkin 'garbage' and tried to beat her unconscious."

"He was right to do so. This academy is for nobles, not mongrels and anomalies."

The noble's sword flashed from its sheath.

"Time to correct your mistake."

Riven stood slowly, flipping the coin into the air.

The moment it hit the ground, the noble lunged.

He never made it.

A wall of flame exploded between them — bright, violent, and laced with infernal symbols. The entire stone archway shook as fire curled upward like a living serpent.

"Step one inch closer to that mask boy," a voice snarled, "and I'll roast you inside your enchanted boots."

The noble spun.

Standing atop a broken pillar, arms crossed, horns glinting in the firelight — was a girl with wild red eyes and burning twin-tailed hair.

Her uniform sleeves were scorched. Her boots cracked with molten energy. And her smirk was full of challenge.

Kaela Dravenn.

Race: Demon

Class: Fire Mage

Rank: S-Tier Entry Combatant

Temperament: 9.9/10 unstable

"W-who are you supposed to be?" the noble asked, stepping back.

Kaela leapt down from the pillar, landing in front of Riven.

"The one you should've feared more than the mask."

She pointed her fingers at them — flames danced on her nails.

"You've got three seconds."

The noble hesitated.

Kaela's hair caught fire.

He bolted.

His squad followed without hesitation.

Riven stared at her, unimpressed. "That was… dramatic."

"You're welcome," she huffed, brushing ashes off her sleeves.

"You didn't have to intervene."

"And let a pack of entitled brats gang up on a loner pretending to be weak? Please." She stepped closer. "Besides… I hate masks."

Riven tilted his head. "Then why help me?"

Kaela narrowed her eyes.

"Because I see through you, Riven Morgrave. You pretend to be nothing, but you carry power like it's chained to your bones. That smell? I've only sensed it from warlocks who survived a demon pact."

"And you…" she added, voice softening just a little, "remind me of someone I failed to save."

Silence.

Then she scoffed.

"Don't get any ideas. I'm not interested in you. I just hate nobles more."

"So you burn things to cope?"

"Exactly."

They stood there, firelight flickering between them.

It wasn't the start of friendship.

It was the start of alliance through mutual chaos.