**Chapter 3: Unruly Noble**
"Get back here, you filthy little rat!"
The jeering shout carried easily over the expansive training yards situated behind the prestigious Arkoion Academy's main complex. The source was none other than the prestigious institution's most infamous student—Ariston, the hot-tempered scion of House Draconis.
The slender but powerfully built young man of seventeen summers charged across the sun-baked dirt arena with a bullish intensity, his finely chiseled features twisted into an unusually intense glower. Wisps of flame-colored hair whipped from the shoulder-length cavalier style as he raised one tanned, muscular arm.
A fist-sized orb of brilliant golden flames burst into existence, contained only by the subtle fluctuations of Ariston's magic circuits thrumming with his aggravated spiritual essence. With a harsh grunt of exertion, he hurled the superheated projectile straight toward a cluster of younger students fleeing his wrath.
"N-No! Don't—" one of the smaller boys cried out in panic upon spotting the incoming attack.
Yet before the fiery sphere could impact, a shimmering azure barrier sprang up around the group in a half-dome shield conjured through pure mana manipulation. The flamestrike detonated against this arcane defense in a dazzling burst, dispersing into wavering heat ripples.
Striding through the scattered students emerged a young elvish woman, her features both graceful and fiercely resolved. She flicked a stray lock of silky midnight hair over a pointed ear as her glowing azure eyes met Ariston's furious glare with challenging defiance.
"Pick on someone who can actually retaliate for once, you insolent lout!" Calista Arcanium snapped, her petite hand still glowing with mana in preparation for any further aggression. "Or have you finally tired of trouncing talentless rabble and wish to spar with a proper mage?"
A predatory grin creased the young noble's face at her fighting words. Despite being three years his junior, Calista was already gaining a reputation across campus as one of their generation's most formidable prodigies in the arcane disciplines.
"You mouthy little rat," Ariston growled, though there was a calculating look in his eyes now as he sized up Calista's potential. "So protective over your pathetic strays from the lower city hovels. Perhaps you should join them in the wretched pit you crawled from."
Several watching students gasped audibly at his incendiary taunt aimed at one of the elven ambassadorial houses. Yet Calista's expression remained cool and contemptuous.
"Better to crawl than squander my family's proud legacy behaving like a rabid, brainless beast craving any meager scrap of negative attention."
Her rich voice rang with solemn authority far exceeding her modest stature. Subtle as a viper's strike, the mocking undertone in calling Ariston a mere 'beast' provoked his notorious temper even further.
"You'll regret those—"
Whatever furious response he intended was suddenly cut off by a different, far less imposing voice calling out frantically.
"A-Ariston! Please, wait just a moment before—"
A young boy no older than ten came scurrying into view, his oversized patched robe fluttering like a battered cloak in his haste to reach them before violence erupted. Despite his clear distress, the undersized youth moved with remarkable agility to weave through the gaping ring of onlookers.
Yet his urgent words evaporated on his lips when Ariston's towering silhouette fell over him, stealing away whatever meager courage had propelled him forward. The sneer of utter disdain on the larger boy's face spoke louder than any verbal rebuke as he glared down at the pathetic sight.
"You again?" He practically spat the words with such venom it caused the younger lad to flinch back instinctively. "Of all the deluded street lice infesting these hallowed halls, you are most certainly the lowliest worm squirming at my feet, Aelar."
Despite the blistering contempt dripping from Ariston's voice, Aelar couldn't quite suppress a frustrated wince at the cruel barb regarding his parentage and birth status. Though he'd never met his unknown sire, the open shame of his bastard origins haunted Aelar's every step like a relentless phantom—from the constant torment of his peers to the pitying disdain of every stuffy professor.
Yet he rallied his scattered wits enough to raise his bright emerald gaze and implore the towering bully once more.
"Please, Ariston," Aelar pleaded in a soft but insistent tone. "Lord Vanguard issued the open invite for all students seeking enrollment consideration to attend today's demonstration. I-I've more than enough arcane theoretical foundations to—"
A bark of harsh laughter cut him off mid-sentence, with Ariston braying like a mocking mule. He actually had to wipe moisture from his eyes before responding.
"You?" The disbelief in his voice was nearly palpable. "You, a half-breed wretch born from the polluted gutter without even a scrap of noticeable mana essence, actually think they'd consider you for admission?"
Aelar's slender face flushed scarlet at the cruel dismissal, his fingers clenching subconsciously at his fraying sleeves. He opened his mouth to offer a retort...only for the taller boy to reach out with alarming swiftness and grasp a fistful of his dirty hair, wrenching his head back in a display of pure dominance.
"Listen well and listen hard," Ariston growled so only Aelar could hear his fuming words. "There is no place at an institution as hallowed as the Ariston Academy for worthless vermin like—"
"That's enough!" Calista's sharp voice cut through the tension like a rapier. With smooth but decisive steps, the elf maid pressed forward with hands blazing emerald energy until she was practically chest to chest with Ariston. "Release him this instant, knave, before I make you regret further acts of barbarism."
For a tense few breaths, noble and elf traded smoldering looks, neither yielding to the other's heated glare or aura of power. Finally, Ariston tossed Aelar away with a contemptuous snort, ignoring the pitiful squawk of pain from the smaller lad upon hitting the ground hard.
"Mark my words well, you pathetic wretch," the haughty noble snarled over his shoulder at Aelar's crumpled form. "I'll not suffer the indelible shame of calling such a lowborn half-breed my Academy peer. On my honor, I shall ensure your worthless hide never even sniffs the main entrance again!"
With that vehement vow, Ariston turned on his booted heel and stormed off the training grounds, leaving a thick miasma of cruelty and shame lingering in his wake. A handful of his usual toadying lackeys rushed to follow their volatile ringleader as always.
Aelar remained seated on the ground long after their footsteps faded from earshot, his narrow shoulders hunched and jaw painfully clenched to suppress any sounds of distress. Only once the concerned whispers of the crowd had dispersed and Calista rested a consoling hand on his arm did the first tears finally well up and streak down his flushed cheeks.
Even the kindly elven aura of soothing magic she projected over him could not dull the profound sting of Ariston's harsh rejection and his own diminished dreams this day.