POV: Cain

  Two days passed since the day I stopped being a glorified stick-swinger and became a glorified magic-wielding stick-swinger. The bruises were healing, the soreness becoming part of my daily aesthetic. I was halfway convinced Luna was building me into a weapon of war, and I was also halfway okay with it — mostly because the food at the academy was still criminally good.

  But today… today started with something rare: Professor Dawnspark gave me a compliment.

  I know. I was as shocked as anyone.

  Elemental Manifestation Css – Morning

  We were back in the floating-tile temple of elemental suffering, all students arranged in circles with assigned elemental focuses.

  Me? I was firmly in the Wind Circle — not because I chose it, but because my immortal drill sergeant decided that’s what I was, and frankly I wasn’t brave enough to argue.

  I stood in the middle, eyes closed, breathing as Luna had taught me — in through the nose, channel to the diaphragm, pull mana into the core, hold, and—

  "Veylun’shara enorith.”

  A perfect spiral of compressed wind danced from my palm, not too wide, not too scattered, just strong enough to rustle the hair of the elf next to me and send some smug noble’s practice scrolls flying like confetti.

  Professor Elrin Dawnspark narrowed his eyes.

  “Hmm. Controlled. Stable. Unexpected,” he said, which in elven-speak was practically a standing ovation.

  I offered a dry smirk. “Careful, Professor. Heap more praise like that and I’ll start thinking you like me.”

  That earned me a brief side-eye… and a barely noticeable twitch of the lips. From Dawnspark, that was practically a hug.

  Unfortunately, someone else didn’t enjoy the show.

  He was everything you’d expect from a fire-aligned noble.

  Tall. Golden-haired. Smelled like perfume and entitlement. His uniform was clean in a way that offended me on a spiritual level.

  Lorran Vaircrest.

  A third-born noble son from one of the mid-tier Etheran houses — the kind who wore his insignia like a threat and smiled like he owned the floor he walked on.

  He’d been watching me since the css started. I assumed he just liked my hair. Apparently, it was something worse.

  When we got to Combat Etiquette, he raised his hand.

  “Professor Bravestone,” he said, in that practiced drawl nobles use when they’re trying to sound like they’re not about to ruin your day, “I would like to challenge the elf-blood to a training duel.”

  Silence. Every eye turned to me.

  I blinked. “...Elf-blood? Wow. That’s original. Did you come up with that after you failed naming your pet?”

  Professor Bravestone raised a brow. “Cain. Duel request. Accept or decline?”

  I gnced at Luna.

  She stood with arms crossed, leaning against the wall with the elegance of a murder goddess. Then — a slow, single nod.

  “Sure,” I said, stretching. “Why not? I’ve been meaning to roast something anyway.”

  Lorran grinned. “You won’t like fire when it’s in your face.”

  “Wasn’t a fan when it was on my dinner pte either.”

  The Arena – Duel Grounds

  The dueling circle was a stone ptform surrounded by enchantments and magical sigils. Protective barriers flickered into pce as students gathered around the edges like vultures with gossip to devour.

  Lorran stepped forward, swirling fire in his palm like it was an accessory.

  Red core. Fire attribute. And trained.

  Transtion: I was about to be fmbéed if I wasn’t careful.

  Professor Bravestone’s booming voice cut across the arena. “Formal spar. No lethal force. End on surrender, knockout, or judgment call. Begin!”

  Lorran went first.

  Big mistake.

  He unched a sweeping wave of fire toward me like he thought this was some heroic fantasy duel. It looked impressive — until I sidestepped with wind-assisted speed and let it fly right past.

  “Nice fire. Did your daddy give you that too?”

  He snarled and threw two smaller fireballs. I ducked under the first, twirled with wind-guided movement to avoid the second, and fired off a low-tier wind slice that clipped his leg.

  Not deep. Just enough to annoy.

  We danced — he with wide fire arcs, me with focused wind jabs. He had raw power. I had Luna’s merciless training and a personality built on sarcasm and spite.

  Lorran’s cloak was singed. My shirt was missing a sleeve. At one point, we both nded shots that would’ve knocked out lesser students.

  And after a final, mutual spell collision that sent smoke swirling across the arena…

  “Draw,” Professor Bravestone called.

  The crowd murmured. Nobles scoffed. Commoners grinned.

  I just walked past Lorran, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and whispered, “Hot stuff. Next time try aiming.”

  Later That Day: The Hell Begins Again

  “You were sloppy,” Luna said ftly.

  “I didn’t die.”

  “You will. If you keep pausing to make jokes mid-battle.”

  I rubbed my aching arm. “Sarcasm is my only defense mechanism, woman.”

  “Then I’ll teach you a better one.”

  She handed me a sword — long, curved slightly, finely weighted. Elegant and deadly.

  “My style,” she said. “Wind-forged bde work. You’ll learn to strike like the gale. Fast. Silent. Lethal.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “It’s not.”

  She was right.

  It wasn’t.

  By the time the moon was high, I had cuts on my cuts, my hands were blistered, and I was fairly certain my soul had left my body at least twice.

  POV: Selene

  In the quiet of her dorm room, Selene carefully penned the test update to House Elyndor.

  Subject Cain William participated in a sanctioned duel with Lorran Vaircrest of Ethera. Result: draw. Notable: high-speed evasion techniques, use of improvised wind magic tactics, emotional detachment, strategic sarcasm. Continued magical training under Spirit Luna observed. Also: is extremely annoying.

  She paused, then added under her breath, “And still too charming for his own good.”

  The letter vanished in a puff of golden light — whisked away by enchanted communication scroll.