The secluded chamber deep within one of Ebonspire's hidden wings was an ideal space for training, its design clearly intended for serious combat. The circular pit, carved out of rough stone, was lined with dirt that softened each step. High above, towering walls seemed to hum with latent magic, absorbing the energies unleashed within their bounds. The air was thick with an eerie quiet, broken only by the flicker of iron sconces holding strange, blue flames that cast dancing shadows across the ground.
Cyrus stood at one end of the pit, his dark cloak lightly fluttering as the faint currents in the chamber stirred. His eyes were locked on his two sparring partners. Across from him, Dale had shed his usual laid-back attitude, his face set in determination as wisps of wind energy flickered around his hands. His southern charm was gone, replaced by a readiness that made him look like a different person entirely.
To the side, lounging lazily against the stone wall, Finnian spun his wand between his fingers with a detached, almost bored expression. His green hair glinted in the dim light, and his golden piercings caught the glow from the flames overhead. He looked as if he wasn't taking any of this seriously, his body language loose, indifferent—but Cyrus knew better. There was a razor-sharp awareness hidden beneath Finnian's nonchalance, a readiness that suggested he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Alright, show me what you've got," Finnian called out with a yawn, barely glancing up from his wand as he lazily gestured toward Dale. "You go first. I'll let you wear him out a bit before I step in."
Dale rolled his eyes but smirked, his hands already sparking with energy. "Don't worry about me, partner. I'll do more than tire him out." His drawl was still there, but it was laced with confidence, the kind that came with knowing he had the power to back it up.
Standing off to the side, Gareth Blackthorn watched with an intensity that belied his quiet demeanor. His injured arm, still bound in fresh bandages, hung at his side, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Every flicker of magic, every shift in stance—Gareth saw it all. "You're hesitating, Vale," Gareth called out, his voice cool but cutting through the air like a blade. "Your movements are clean, but you're holding back. You can't afford that in the tournament."
Cyrus felt Gareth's words hang in the air, adding a weight to each motion. It wasn't criticism, but a reminder. Gareth knew. He wasn't fooled by the restrained flames or the quick dodges. His words weren't just advice—they were pressure. He was pushing Cyrus, challenging him to slip, to show his true power.
Teef, sitting cross-legged beside the pit, wasn't as vocal as Gareth, but his eyes were just as focused. He leaned forward slightly, his wide eyes tracking the subtle shifts in Cyrus's movements. "The way he dodges... it's not just reflex," Teef muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Gareth to hear. "It's like he knows exactly where the wind's going to hit, almost before Dale even casts."
Gareth nodded, his gaze never leaving the pit. "You're right. He's anticipating every move. It's not just luck or skill—it's something more."
Teef's eyes narrowed as he continued to observe. "And that fire... it's too controlled. He's pulling back on purpose."
Gareth glanced at Teef, impressed by his perceptiveness. "You catch on quick, Teef. Keep watching. There's more to Vale than he's letting on."
As Dale's attacks grew fiercer, Gareth crossed his arms, his expression still unreadable but his mind turning over the possibilities. "The tournament won't allow for hesitation," he said, loud enough for Cyrus to hear. "You need to show your true strength before someone forces it out of you."
Cyrus felt Gareth's words like a challenge. He had to tread carefully—any slip could expose more than he intended.
Cyrus inhaled deeply, his fists tightening at his sides. "No lightning today," he reminded himself, repeating the mantra that had become all too familiar. His true powers had to remain hidden—he couldn't afford to raise suspicion, not yet. Fire would suffice for now, just enough to blend in, to show he belonged among them without drawing too much attention.
Dale made the first move, thrusting his wand forward with a determined flick. A gust of wind surged from his hand, swirling into a small tornado that spiraled toward Cyrus, kicking up dirt in its wake. The air around them crackled with energy as the wind roared through the chamber.
Cyrus moved fluidly, sidestepping the attack with practiced ease. His feet barely touched the ground as he danced away from the whirlwind, the swirling debris unable to touch him. His eyes never left Dale, focused and calm, as he assessed his sparring partner's power.
"Nice try," Cyrus said coolly, his voice steady. He planted his feet firmly, feeling the solid earth beneath him, and raised one hand. With a swift motion, a controlled flame flickered to life in his palm. It was small, restrained—just enough to test Dale's reflexes. He tossed the flame forward, watching as it cut through the air.
Dale grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge. With a smooth spin, he summoned another gust of wind, dispersing the flame effortlessly. The fire sizzled out, leaving only the faint smell of smoke hanging in the air. "You'll have to do better than that, Vale!" Dale called, his voice full of playful confidence.
From the sidelines, Finnian lounged against the stone wall, barely paying attention. He twirled his wand between his fingers, a bored expression on his face. "Come on, boys, this is barely entertaining," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Is this what passes for fire magic these days?"
Cyrus's eyes flickered toward Finnian for the briefest moment, but he quickly refocused on Dale. "You want more? Fine."
Another gust of wind tore through the pit, and Cyrus moved with it, dodging the attack with effortless grace. He didn't rely on his magic, choosing instead to showcase his agility, his body weaving through the gusts of wind like a shadow. Fire sparked at his fingertips, but he kept it tightly controlled, releasing only short bursts toward Dale. His movements were sharp and calculated, designed to provoke but not overwhelm.
On the sidelines, Gareth Blackthorn watched with quiet intensity, his sharp gaze following every move Cyrus made. Though his face remained impassive, there was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Cyrus was clearly skilled, but there was something deliberate in the way he held back, something Gareth couldn't quite put his finger on.
Teef, perched on a bench nearby, leaned forward, his wide eyes fixed on the sparring match. "Cyrus is so fast," he murmured, impressed by the smooth precision of Cyrus's movements.
Frustration flashed across Dale's face. He gathered more energy, unleashing a stronger gust of wind that tore through the pit with a roar. The force of it sent a cloud of dust billowing into the air, obscuring the space between them.
Cyrus braced himself, his body tensing as the wind barreled toward him. The ground shifted beneath his feet, but he held firm, the fire at his fingertips sparking brighter. He narrowed his eyes, feeling the challenge rise within him.
"Alright, let's step it up," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
In an instant, Cyrus summoned flames into both hands, twin fires dancing along his fingers like they were an extension of him. With a swift, controlled motion, he hurled the flames toward Dale, the fire slicing cleanly through the swirling gusts of wind with a precision that was hard to miss. The flames weren't overwhelming but packed enough force to make Dale take a step back, eyes widening slightly.
Dale, still grinning, swept his hand across the air, summoning another gust that effortlessly deflected the flames. "There we go, that's more like it!"
Before Dale could mount another attack, Cyrus moved. His body became a blur, darting toward Dale with a speed that left little time to react. Cyrus ducked beneath Dale's next strike, his form slipping just below the arc of wind. With a low, calculated sweep of his leg, he knocked Dale off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt.
Dale hit the dirt, but in true fashion, he quickly recovered, pushing himself up with a grin that was half admiration, half challenge.
"You're quicker than I thought," Dale admitted, brushing off his pants. "But let's see how you handle this!"
Without warning, Dale unleashed a powerful blast of wind, this one lower and designed to take Cyrus's legs out from under him. But Cyrus anticipated it. He leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding the gust by mere inches. Twisting mid-air, he landed smoothly on his feet, his movement as fluid as water in motion.
"Impressive," Finnian's voice drawled from the sidelines, his tone as flat and disinterested as ever. "You've got good reflexes, Vale. But I wonder..." He spun his wand between his fingers, as if bored. "...how you'd do against something a little more... tricky."
Before Cyrus could react, the shadows in the pit began to stir, writhing and twisting like serpents. Dark tendrils snaked up from the ground, reaching toward Cyrus's ankles and wrists, attempting to bind him in place.
Without hesitation, Cyrus ignited flames in both hands, using the heat to burn away the creeping shadows. The tendrils hissed and recoiled, retreating from the fire's touch. Cyrus's eyes narrowed, keeping his flames controlled, careful not to let them flare too brightly. He couldn't afford to reveal his true power just yet.
From the sidelines, Gareth's eyes widened, a brief flash of shock crossing his face. His gaze locked onto Cyrus, who was conjuring flames without the use of his wand. Gareth, a seasoned fourth-year student, knew well that such mastery—summoning fire with nothing but sheer will—was far from typical. He had seen powerful students before, but they always used a wand to channel their magic. To see Cyrus casually manipulating fire this way… it was something else entirely.
"Shadow magic," Cyrus muttered under his breath, recognizing the technique Finnian was using. "Of course."
Gareth's expression quickly shifted from surprise to intrigue. His injured arm, wrapped tightly in bandages, hung at his side as he leaned forward slightly, watching Cyrus more intently now. He had always suspected there was more to this new student, but this... this was beyond what he had anticipated. No wand, yet flawless control over elemental magic.
Meanwhile, Finnian stood lazily at the edge of the pit, his posture relaxed, though his eyes now gleamed with interest. "Whoa there," he called out, raising his hands in mock surrender as Cyrus broke free from the last of the shadow tendrils. "I wasn't actually trying. Just testing you."
The shadows slithered back into the ground, disappearing as Finnian smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction he had drawn from Cyrus. Despite his laid-back attitude, there was a sharpness in his gaze now, as if he, too, had realized something more about his opponent.
"Not using a wand, Vale?" Finnian asked, his voice low but amused. "That's rare."
Cyrus said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly toward Finnian before returning to a more neutral expression. He couldn't afford to draw attention to it, not now. His mind raced as he calculated the limits of what he had shown so far—enough to make an impression but not enough to reveal everything.
Gareth's expression hardened, though a trace of respect flickered behind his eyes. He clapped his hands slowly, cutting through the tension that had built in the room. "Enough. That's enough for today." His voice carried authority, but there was a newfound curiosity in the way he spoke. "I've seen enough to understand where your strengths lie."
Cyrus exhaled, relieved that the session had ended before his powers could be fully exposed. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, casting a brief glance at Finnian, who had already leaned back against the wall, his wand tucked away like he hadn't just summoned dark magic with ease.
Dale stretched his arms, a wide grin splitting his face. "Not bad, not bad. Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"
As the training session wound down, the other students began to trickle out of the dirt pit, their chatter fading into the distance. Dale and Teef exchanged a few lighthearted jabs as they left, laughing about their near misses and how they'd fared against Cyrus's sharp, nimble moves. But Finnian lingered, still leaning casually against the stone wall, his wand twirling lazily between his fingers. His disinterested posture didn't fool Cyrus; there was a sharpness to Finnian's gaze that hadn't left him all session.
Cyrus took a moment to steady his breathing before approaching. He knew there was more to Finnian than the slacker reputation he carried, and the way he'd used shadow magic with such ease had only confirmed that suspicion. As Cyrus neared, Finn glanced up, the same lazy smirk on his face, though his eyes flickered with a deeper interest.
"Not bad, Vale," Finnian drawled, his tone dripping with that easy, laid-back demeanor. "You've got some real moves. I don't think I've seen anyone at the academy handle themselves quite like that... especially without using a wand."
Cyrus kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give too much away. "I just do what I can."
Finnian raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Cyrus as if he were sizing him up. Then, with a fluid motion, he pushed himself off the wall, standing to his full height. "You can call me Finn," he said, dismissing the formalities with a casual wave of his hand. "'Finnian' makes me sound like one of those stuffy fourth-years, and I've never been a fan of all that."
Cyrus nodded slightly. "Finn, then." He leaned against the wall beside him, allowing a brief silence to pass between them before speaking again. "You're pretty good yourself. Shadow magic isn't exactly common around here."
Finn let out a soft, lazy laugh, his green hair falling over his eyes as he tilted his head back. "Yeah, well, it's a bit of a niche. Keeps people on their toes. But enough about me." His gaze flicked back to Cyrus, sharper now, the smirk on his lips fading into something more curious. "I've been watching you, Vale. Not many people can dodge like you do, and even fewer can keep their fire that controlled. Most students would've let it blow out of proportion by now."
Cyrus felt a slight tension rise in his chest. Finn's words were probing, though they were wrapped in a casual tone. He was no fool—Finn was testing the waters, seeing how much Cyrus would reveal about himself. Cyrus met his gaze evenly, keeping his voice calm and measured. "Thanks. But I'm just here to learn, like everyone else."
Finn chuckled softly, the sound almost dismissive, but there was a glint in his eyes that said he wasn't buying it. "Right," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement. "Just like everyone else."
The two of them stood there in silence for a moment, watching as the last of the students disappeared through the exit. The eerie blue flames in the sconces cast long shadows that twisted and flickered along the stone walls. The quiet of the chamber pressed in, but Finn's presence, with his casual yet calculated demeanor, made it anything but peaceful.
Finn twirled his wand one final time before tucking it into his cloak, the motion smooth and almost too casual. He leaned back against the wall with his usual nonchalance, though something had shifted in the air between them. His expression, normally bored and lazy, took on a sharper edge, but he didn't drop his playful tone entirely.
"You've got some moves, Vale," Finn said, his voice light but with a hint of something more calculated underneath. "But you're holding back. Almost like you're saving something for later." He tilted his head, watching Cyrus carefully. "That's smart. Always good to keep a few cards up your sleeve."
Cyrus shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "You too," he replied, noting the way Finn had used shadow magic with ease but hadn't pushed it too far. "I'd say the same about you. You're good with those shadows, but you didn't seem all that... invested."
Finn chuckled softly, the sound lazy but laced with a hint of something darker. "Yeah, well, it's not always about showing off," he said, his eyes flicking toward the far wall, as if distracted. "Some things are better kept... quiet. At least until it matters."
Cyrus glanced at him, sensing the subtle shift in Finn's tone. "And when does it matter?" he asked, his voice calm, but with a slight edge of curiosity.
Finn smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "The tournament's coming up. That's when it'll matter. But there's something you should know." He paused, his expression growing more serious, though he kept his tone light. "There's someone you'll need to watch out for."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow, still calm but now genuinely curious. "Who?"
Finn didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on the wall for a moment before he looked back at Cyrus. "His name's Calypso Thornlock." Finn's voice had lost its usual lightness, his eyes darkening slightly. "My older brother."
Cyrus blinked, taken aback by the revelation. "Your brother? From another academy?"
Finn gave a curt nod, the familiar smirk nowhere to be found now. His expression was cold, and his tone had lost its usual playfulness. "Yeah, my brother. He's a year older than me and already made a name for himself at the Academy of Obsidian Flame. He's not just any student, Vale. He's... a prodigy, if you want to put a label on it. And stronger than just about anyone here."
Cyrus frowned, considering the weight of that word. Prodigy. It wasn't something thrown around lightly. "And his affinity?"
Finn's lips curled into a bitter, almost mocking smile. "Fire. But not just any fire. He controls it like it's an extension of himself. He can twist it, shape it, make it dance to his will. It's unsettling how good he is. He's been the favorite since we were kids. Always has been."
The bitterness in Finn's voice was impossible to miss, and Cyrus felt the tension in the words. He had heard about sibling rivalries before, but this ran deeper. "So, he's the golden child of the family?" Cyrus asked, already knowing the answer.
Finn scoffed, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Always has been. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, it was always 'Calypso this' and 'Calypso that.' I'd only get noticed when they were comparing me to him—and trust me, I never measured up in their eyes."
For a moment, the usual carefree mask Finn wore had fallen away, revealing something far more complicated. The tension, the frustration, it all pointed to years of living in the shadow of his brother.
"But you're strong too," Cyrus found himself saying, and even he was surprised by the honesty of the statement. "Your shadow magic... it's impressive."
Finn shrugged, but a flicker of gratitude crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. "Doesn't matter to them. Shadows aren't as flashy as fire, and Calypso's the star of the show. The guy's a walking legend at his academy. And I'll admit, as much as I hate it, he's good. Really good. The kind of person who won't hesitate to crush anyone who stands in his way."
Cyrus felt the weight of those words settle in his chest. If Calypso Thornlock was as powerful as Finn claimed, then the tournament had just gotten a lot more dangerous. Facing off against a fire-wielder with prodigy-level talent could force Cyrus to reveal more of his own powers than he was willing to show.
"So why warn me?" Cyrus asked, his eyes locked on Finn.
Finn gave a lazy shrug, but his eyes were sharp with intent. "Because I don't like Calypso. And if there's anyone who might wipe that smug grin off his face, I'm betting it's you." His lips curled into a smirk, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Besides, I've got a feeling you're not as 'ordinary' as you're pretending to be, Vale."
Cyrus didn't reply right away, letting Finn's words hang in the air between them. The tension between the Thornlock brothers was palpable, but it was more than that. This wasn't just a warning; it was a challenge.
"I'll keep that in mind," Cyrus finally said, his voice steady, though his mind was already racing with the implications. The tournament wasn't going to be as straightforward as he had initially thought.
Finn pushed off the wall with a lazy stretch, glancing toward the exit. "Good. Just don't let him see you coming, Vale. That's how you'll beat him."
With that, Finn turned, his usual smirk firmly back in place as he made his way toward the door. "See you around, Vale. Don't get burned."
Cyrus stood still, watching Finnian disappear into the shadows of the corridor. The casual warning hung in the air, but beneath it, Cyrus felt the weight of something deeper. Wipe the smug grin off Calypso's face? The idea felt... wrong. The mission from Crow's End was already fraught with danger, and now he was being dragged into a new rivalry with a prodigy who wielded fire like it was second nature. Was that even a fight he could win?
A flicker of doubt crossed Cyrus's mind. What if Finn was wrong? What if Calypso was too strong?
Cyrus clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn't here to get caught up in academy politics, yet here he was—his name now linked to this so-called "prodigy." But the real question was, why was Finn pushing him toward this? Was this warning genuine, or was it a trap? A distraction?
A slow, creeping thought wormed its way into his mind. What if this tournament was the perfect opportunity? What if beating Calypso could give him the edge he needed? A chance to assert himself, to prove that Crow's End had sent him here for more than just infiltration?
But at what cost? To go up against someone like Calypso would mean drawing attention—using more power than he'd ever revealed. And if he slipped, if he miscalculated, it wouldn't just be the academy that learned his secrets. Crow's End was always watching. Always judging.
"I'll keep that in mind," Cyrus finally muttered, his voice more conflicted than steady. But in truth, he wasn't sure which part he'd keep in mind—the opportunity or the threat.
As he turned away, his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The tournament was no longer just about survival. It was a proving ground, a battlefield where he'd have to balance staying hidden with showing just enough strength to stay relevant. One wrong step, and he'd be exposed. But one right step, and he might gain more than just the title of champion.
He inhaled sharply, his mind settling. This isn't just a fight—it's a test. And not just for the academy.