RISE OF THE SWARM

The Iron Yard felt like it was holding it's breath. The whole place, usually alive with shouting students and the clang of steel, was suddenly dead quiet, the silence so thick you could almost grab it with your hands. The air pressed down like a storm about to break, every sound muted under the weight of tension. Not a single body moved in the circle or the stands. It was like time itself had frozen, waiting to see what would happen next.

At the center stood two figures who couldn't have been more different. Alistair burned with fury, literal waves of heat radiating off his skin like he was a furnace about to explode. His fists were clenched, his teeth gritted, and the space around him shimmered with violent energy. Opposite him, Fenrir stood loose, relaxed, like a predator waiting for the right second to pounce. He looked calm, but not in a lazy way. It was the kind of calm that meant danger, like the silence before a wolf attacked. At his side crouched two giant wolf shapes, their bodies made of glowing blue light, semi-transparent and flickering like fire caught in ice. Their low, rumbling growls were too deep to hear clearly, but you felt it vibrating through your ribs.

Watching from the edge of the yard was Combat Master Korbin, arms folded over her leather armor. Her face didn't give away anything, not fear, not pride, not warning. She didn't shout instructions or step in to stop it. She just stood there like a statue, eyes sharp as a hawk's. That quiet from her was worse then if she'd screamed.

Liam slid back onto the cold stone bench, chest pounding, hands sweaty. The air in his lungs felt too thin. He leaned toward Leo and whispered, "Who even is that guy?" He jerked his head at the Beastkin but didn't dare raise his voice higher.

Leo finally pulled his eyes away from the circle, though not for long. His spectacles were slipping down again and he shoved them up his nose with a finger. "That's Fenrir," he whispered, almost reverent, like saying the name too loud would summon lightning. "He's already a kind of legend. No one even knows where he came from exactly, but the rumors people say he's from one of the big northern Beast Clans. The real old bloodlines, the ones who've kept to ancient rites and traditions for centuries. They don't mix with outsiders much. But he never shows a clan mark or brags about his heritage. He acts like he wants to hide it, but you can't really hide something like that."

Leo pointed at the wolves circling their master, eyes glowing bright. "Those aren't temporary summons. They're permanent, semi-sentient spirit companions. That's not beginner magic, Liam. That's old legacy magic. Real heavy stuff. Not even the Scions have things like that unless they're the absolute top-tier bloodlines with heirlooms and ancient training. He might not be the strongest person in the Academy, but he's dangerous in a way most aren't. And he hates bullies. If Alistair thought this was a smart idea… he's about to regret it."

Liam swallowed, throat dry. The heat rolling off Alistair was enough to sting even from the benches.

Then, like a rope snapping, the fight started. No one called for it. It just… began.

Alistair lunged first, because of course he did. He wanted to crush Fenrir fast, prove himself stronger, silence anyone who'd dare laugh at him. He screamed a raw sound and hurled both palms forward. Fire surged out like a tidal wave, hot enough to make the front rows gasp and shield their faces. This wasn't safe training magic. It was deadly.

Fenrir didn't even blink. One wolf leapt in front of him, mouth opening wide like a bottomless pit. The fire vanished inside, sucked up in one terrifying gulp. For a moment the wolf glowed orange from within, its body a furnace of light, then it dimmed back to steady blue. It puffed a few sparks like a burp, dismissive, almost mocking.

Gasps broke from the crowd. A couple students laughed nervously. Alistair's eyes widened, then burned hotter than his flames. His face went bright red.

"You mutt!" he shrieked, voice cracking. Rage made his gestures sharper this time. He slammed his hands together, pulled them apart, and a whip of molten rock snapped into existence, glowing bright like a vein of lava ripped straight from the earth. It cracked through the air with a sound like stone shattering.

Fenrir's smirk faded at last. This wasn't some classroom spell; this was dangerous. He crouched low, his wolves spreading wide. The whip lashed out, gouging a long smoking trench through the sand where he'd stood a heartbeat earlier. The next strike went low for his legs, and he vaulted up, body twisting in an almost effortless leap.

Alistair grinned he'd planned for this. While Fenrir hung in the air, he shot his free hand forward. A fist-sized bolt of pure white fire ripped across the space toward Fenrir's chest, so bright it hurt to look at.

Liam's breath caught hard. This wasn't training anymore. This could kill.

And then he moved, not his body, but his will. Panic and instinct guided him. He remembered Merlin's words: pull, don't push. He pictured a tiny vacuum right in the fireball's path, a hole in the world sucking magic out.

Cold shivered through his stomach. The spell flickered, dimmed, its path stuttering for a fraction of a second.

Fenrir seized the chance. His body twisted unnaturally, rolling midair. Instead of hitting his chest, the bolt scorched his arm. He landed rough, shoulder first, teeth gritted, but alive. He pressed his hand over the smoking wound, eyes already blazing with focus. His gaze flicked past Alistair straight at Liam.

Alistair blinked in confusion, then roared, refusing to stop. His whip lashed out again and again, driving Fenrir back, ripping through sand. Fenrir rolled away, wolves darting in but forced back into mist with every strike, reforming weaker each time.

It became a brutal dance. Alistair poured power in wild bursts, laughing harsh and cruel every time Fenrir staggered. Fenrir's golden eyes stayed sharp, studying, waiting. His chest rose and fell hard, sweat streaking down his temples. He was bleeding, injured, but still calculating.

Then he acted. Instead of dodging, he surged forward. The whip seared his side, the smell of burned cloth sharp in the air, but he powered inside Alistair's reach. The mage's grin shattered into fear.

Fenrir clapped his hands. His wolves fused together, swirling blue fire shaping into a massive dire wolf that towered above them. Its glowing body filled the circle with raw, ancient power. It opened its jaws and released a roar, silent yet thunderous. The air warped, a shockwave slamming into Alistair like a wall of stone.

His whip vanished instantly. He was hurled off his feet, landing with a painful crash, sliding across sand until he lay crumpled, gasping.

The dire wolf split back into two smaller forms, sitting calmly on either side of him, eyes glowing down at his broken body.

Silence crushed the yard.

Then, slow and deliberate sound filled the fieldClap. Clap. Clap.

Master Korbin unfolded her arms. Her voice was flat as iron. "Adequate. Conjuration steady. Control under pressure acceptable. Tactical adaptation effective." Her gaze turned, cold as winter, on Alistair. He struggled to rise, sand stuck to his sweaty face. "Power without discipline is nothing. You are sloppy, predictable, and weak. A disappointment."

Each word hammered into him. Students whispered, exchanged glances, the whole yard buzzing now. Alistair's humiliation was complete.

"Everyone else pair up!" Korbin barked, her shout slicing the tension. "Deflection drills! Anyone still staring runs laps til sundown!"

The spell was broken. Students scrambled, grabbing weapons, muttering, pretending like they hadn't just witnessed a war.

Fenrir waved a hand, his wolves fading to mist. His steps were slow, pain obvious, but steady. He walked past Liam's bench, golden eyes locking onto him. Nothing was said, but Liam could tell, he knew something had interfered.

Liam's stomach dropped.

Alistair staggered up with help, then shoved his lackey aside violently. His face twisted with rage and shame. His eyes burned into Fenrir's back, then slid, sharp and poisonous, until they locked on Liam. Fury coiled there, clear as day, this isn't over.

Liam clenched his fists, knuckles white, trying to hide the tremble. The strange cold inside him had faded, leaving dread heavy in its place. He had just made a dangerous enemy, and worse, Alistair had the strength and pride to make sure revenge came.

Across the yard, Fenrir leaned against a post while a girl with water affinity gently healed his burns with cool streams. He had strength, allies, a place.

Liam had none of that. Only an unstable, frightening power, a headmaster who looked at him like a puzzle, a ghost teacher who spoke in riddles, and now a vengeful fire mage with a bruised ego.

But, he replayed that moment. The flicker, the tiny pull, the way he'd actually changed something. He wasn't only a bystander anymore. He'd acted.