"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," Cyran inwardly cursed, "how can he cast magic? I have never heard of any elves that have awakened to the gift. I thought magicians had died out!" His surprise had to wait as dodging the inferno that continued to strike at him took all of his concentration. Explosion after explosion littered the arena, leaving the surrounding crowds stunned in amazement. Amazed at the fact that they were witnessing real life magic and also that there was someone who had awakened to magic in their village.
As Cyran evaded certain fiery death, he noticed his senses becoming sharper, more attuned to where the magic was coming from. He found that without looking, he intuitively moved in directions which found him escape the crimson blasts unscathed. Breaking through a plume of smoke, Cyran felt his footing slide out from under him leaving him flat on his back. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was feeling cold and upon getting up did he see the ground beneath him had a layer on thin ice around it, the sheen slowly melting away due to the heat of the arena.
"Fire and ice magic? This isn't my day at all." Cyran groaned to himself. He knew he had to close the distance between the two. Thren was casually strolling the arena, lashing elemental magic towards Cyran. The other end of Thren's spear now had a blue glow to it with frost slowly snaking up the shaft. Cyran dashed towards Thren, shortswords poised and lunged in to find his blades turned aside by a spear which deftly whirled towrds him in a counter strike. Cyran ducked the strike and shot a leg out to sweep his opponent. Thren was caught unaware, surprised as his back slammed against the floor. Rolling away from Cyran, he saw the tip of the spear flash sending another fireball towards him.
Another sensation troubled Cyran's arms, as though he should move them. "I haven't died so far, I can only trust the tournament safety measures and give this a try," Cyran thought as he brought his arm up and slashed at the fireball hurtling towards him. The fireball was cleaved in two, giving birth to two smaller and less potent fireballs that struck the ground behind Cyran on either side. On the other side of the attack, Thren had regained his footing and the look on his face told him that he did not expect to see his magic cut. Cyran did not expect it to work either.
Gasps from the crowd rippled the arena, even Galaeron raised an eyebrow. A few of the wardens behind him leaned forward to get a proper look at the boy who had just cut magic. In the glory days of the elves, fighting against magicians meant that being able to cut through their magic was the bread and butter of being able to fight on equal ground with people possessing gifts that the elves sorely lacked. The decline of the elven race also saw the rarity of this ability increase. Aside from Virion, there were few others that could successfully perform this feat. And none of those currently resided in the Sylvarran Forest.
"Impressive. But I am afraid I need you to lose here," Thren said before conjuring darts of ice that took a circular formation behind him. One by one in quick succession, they darted toward Cyran who charged ahead. Crushing the icicles in mid air with the flat of his sword, Cyran closed in on Thren slashing at him. His strike was stopped and repelled by Thren's spear before whirling around for another strike. The two combatants fiercely traded blows with Cyran slowly gaining the upper hand. Being unable to cast his magic at such close range, Thren had only his mastery of the spear to rely on though its reach made it more of a hindrance against someone with twin swords.
Cyran continued to press Thren who began to step backwards as he defended each strike. Finally seeing an opportunity, Cyran thrust his blade forward hitting only air. "A feint?!" Cyrans cries out as Thren leans back and simultaneously swings his spear hitting Cyran in the chest sending him sprawling across the arena floor. Pain webs across his torso as he rolls across the ground to spring back to his feet, once again facing his opponent who had regained his distance.
Thren once again conjured multiple fireballs when Cyran could hear an audible cracking sound. A few fireballs went out whilst the rest started to sputter. Thren looked down at his spear before turning to Galaeron in the stands. "I forfeit," he announced calmly, disarming his spell and turning to leave the stage. The sudden change of attitude left Cyran speechless, yet he stepped forward to bar Thren's path.
"Why?" he asked, confused. The fight was intense, the atmosphere electric and Cyran had been pushed into the unknown yet for that he felt he had grown somewhat. Evolved almost. He needed to know why it had ended. Thren just simply planted his spear in the ground next to him.
"I wanted to defeat you. I wanted to win this tournament. But there are some prices I am not willing to pay to get what I want." Thren said, resuming his march past Cyran who seemed even more confused by his answer.
"What price? Why did he want to win so badly?" Cyran mused before Galaeron took his position and announced the results of the match.
"What a turn of events! A flash of fire and a flurry of ice yet an unexpected ending. We have our finalist, Cyran Arthelius! He will be put through to the grand final that is to take place in a few days time so that we may rebuild the arena and prepare it. Cyran Arthelius is set to fight Rydel Forrora."
Cyran's stomach flipped, "what?!" he raged. He could not believe that he would have made it to the final. He did not seem all that skilled to Cyran so perhaps it was his families influence and bribery that had secured his place. Either way, Cyran knew he had best to tread on the path of caution. He couldn't let arrogance cost him a talented mentor. He headed home to think about the earlier events of the match and to process what he had witnessed. Magic. Actual magic. From the stories that his father used to tell him of his adventuring days. Seeing grand fissures erupt from the ground, icicles the size of people flung around and fire being manipulated in ways most unnatural. Cyran's trepidation for his next match was soon overshadowed by childish excitement.
Arriving home Cyran regaled his parents about his last match against Thren when his father leaned back in his chair, a surprised look on his face. "Sounds to me son like young Thren isn't in fact a magician but the owner of a magical weapon. And a strong one to boot," he said.
"Magical weapon? As in a weapon that can cast magic?" Cyran replied.
"Yes, see we elves rarely awaken to the gift of magic so some of our race have managed to forge weapons or tools to act as conductors to attract certain elements. You may not be attuned to mana to perform spells but that doesn't mean that you do not possess any. Conductors are rare and extremely tough to forge yet powerful in their design." Virion explained.
"That would make sense as to why he forfeited right after a crack appeared in his spear. Perhaps he overloaded the spear with too many spells in quick succession?" Cyran asked.
"Looks like you inherited your fathers intelligence as well as his dashing good looks," Virion boomed as he slapped Cyran's back. "But as devilishly handsome as you are, son, you're going to need some rest. We have a busy few days ahead and you'll not get much spare time."