Seraphina Ashford's Perspective
Instructor Seraphina Ashford stood at the edge of the training field, her sharp gaze sweeping over the assembled students. The murmur of their voices filled the air, anticipation and nervous energy palpable. She crossed her arms, her posture exuding the kind of authority earned through decades of battle.
Her eyes settled on the two students preparing to duel: Noah Grey, the quiet, observant commoner who had shown promise in his entrance exam, and Lyra Aetherial, a noble whose family name was synonymous with power and precision.
Lyra thinks this will be an easy win, Seraphina thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. She could read the noble girl like a book. Confidence radiated from Lyra's every movement—from the slight tilt of her chin to the smirk tugging at her lips. Yet Seraphina knew all too well that overconfidence could be a double-edged sword.
Noah, on the other hand, was calm. Too calm, Seraphina noted, her interest piqued. He carried himself with a quiet assurance that belied his supposed inexperience. His expression betrayed nothing, but his stance—subtle, balanced, deliberate—hinted at a depth she rarely saw in first-year students.
As the duel began, Seraphina's attention sharpened. She wasn't here just to oversee the match. Her purpose was to observe, to evaluate, and to guide these young aspirants to become more than what they thought possible.
When Lyra unleashed her first flurry of arrows, enhanced by her wind magic, Seraphina felt a surge of admiration for the girl's skill. The arrows curved with precision, each one aimed to corner Noah into a defensive position. Yet Noah moved with uncanny precision. He didn't just dodge; he anticipated.
He's reading her, Seraphina realized, her brow furrowing. Noah's use of psychokinesis was subtle but masterful. He bent the trajectory of Lyra's arrows, deflecting them with almost invisible force. To the untrained eye, it might seem like luck. To Seraphina, it was raw talent.
Lyra's frustration was evident. Her movements grew sharper, more aggressive, as she launched wind slashes that rippled through the air. Noah countered with controlled strikes of his wooden sword, using his psychokinesis to amplify his reach and precision. It was a clash of discipline against determination, intellect against instinct.
When Lyra finally unleashed her full athleticism—darting, leaping, and weaving through the air with her wind magic—Seraphina couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. She's pushing herself, Seraphina thought. Good. She needs this.
But it was Noah who impressed her most. He met Lyra's assault with unwavering focus, countering each move with ingenuity and precision. When he disarmed her with a well-timed strike, followed by a deft use of psychokinesis, Seraphina felt a rare flicker of satisfaction.
As Lyra stumbled back, her bow clattering to the ground, Noah held his stance, sword poised but not threatening. The duel was over.
Lyra's shoulders heaved, her expression a mixture of disbelief and simmering determination. Seraphina stepped forward, her voice cutting through the silence. "A good duel. Both of you demonstrated skill and resilience. Lyra, your athleticism and magic control are exceptional. Noah, your adaptability and composure were commendable. Learn from this experience."
As the students murmured amongst themselves, Seraphina's gaze lingered on Lyra. She saw the frustration in the girl's eyes, the quiet vow burning within. Good, Seraphina thought. Use that fire, girl. It'll take you far.
Lyra Aetherial's Perspective
Lyra clenched her fists as she approached the training field. She had spent years preparing for moments like this. Training sessions with her siblings had been grueling, designed to mold her into a warrior worthy of the Aetherial name. She had faced tougher opponents than this commoner boy.
Noah Grey, she thought, barely sparing him a glance as they took their positions. He looked unremarkable, standing there with his wooden sword and his calm, neutral expression. This won't take long.
When the duel began, Lyra wasted no time. She drew her bow with practiced ease, her wind magic enhancing the speed and trajectory of her arrows. Each shot was a calculated move to corner her opponent. Yet, to her growing annoyance, Noah avoided them with an almost infuriating grace.
What is he doing? she thought, her frustration mounting as arrow after arrow missed its mark. Her wind magic allowed her to redirect the arrows mid-flight, but even that seemed ineffective. It was as if he could see her intentions before she acted.
Lyra switched tactics, summoning a gust of wind to propel herself into the air. From above, she rained down a series of wind slashes, each one slicing through the air with lethal precision. Noah met her attacks head-on, his movements fluid and deliberate. His wooden sword moved with a precision that seemed unnatural, almost as if guided by an unseen force.
Her frustration boiled over. She pushed herself harder, leaping, dodging, and weaving through the air with her wind magic. Her family had taught her to never hold back, to fight with everything she had. Yet no matter how much effort she poured into her attacks, Noah countered with unyielding calm.
When her bow was finally knocked from her hands, Lyra's heart sank. She landed on the ground, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. She had lost. To a commoner.
The voices of her siblings echoed in her mind, their expectations heavy on her shoulders. How could I lose? she thought, her fists clenching at her sides.
She looked up at Noah, who stood with his wooden sword lowered, his expression unreadable. For a moment, their eyes met. She saw no mockery there, no gloating. Just calm, measured observation.
As the duel concluded, Lyra felt a fire ignite within her chest. She would not let this defeat define her. She would train harder, push herself further. She would surpass him.
Her gaze lingered on Noah as he returned to the sidelines, her jaw tightening with resolve. "Next time," she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling with determination. "Next time, I will win."