The arena was a cauldron of anticipation, the crowd's cheers echoing off the stone walls. Students from all five houses leaned forward, their eyes glued to the two figures standing in the center of the battlefield—Cyrus Vale and Alin Langer. This was the match everyone had been waiting for, the clash of House Tenebrae's dark prodigy against the finest wizard from House Verdantis.
Alin stood confidently, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. His long purple hair with crimson streaks flowed with the wind that seemed to gather naturally around him. In his hands, glowing red and icy blue flames flickered to life, forming elemental clones on either side of him—one made of fire and the other of ice.
He grinned at Cyrus, taunting. "You know, Vale, everyone's watching. How's it feel, being the underdog?"
Cyrus, eyes glowing red under his hood, remained silent. His stance was calm, controlled—almost eerily so. The air around him shimmered faintly, as if the shadows themselves were coiling in anticipation. But something else stirred in him, a power that had been carefully suppressed.
The arena's bell rang, signaling the start of the battle.
Alin wasted no time. He sent his fire clone hurtling forward, a blazing comet of heat aimed directly at Cyrus. The ice clone followed closely behind, its frost-covered hands ready to freeze anything in its path.
Cyrus moved with precision, his form a blur as he dodged the incoming attacks. The fire clone exploded where Cyrus had stood moments before, sending a wave of heat across the arena. The ice clone swung its frigid arms, but Cyrus stepped into its attack, placing his hand on its chest. His eyes narrowed, and with a whisper of a spell, the clone shattered into pieces, sending shards of ice skidding across the stone floor.
As Alin summoned new clones, his voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking. "Impressive, Vale. You've gotten faster. But speed won't be enough against me."
Cyrus's red eyes locked on Alin. "Speed isn't the only thing you should be worried about."
Alin smirked, sending another volley of fireballs. "Cocky, huh? You think the great Cyrus Vale's invincible?"
Cyrus dodged easily, his movements fluid. "I don't need to be invincible to beat you, Alin."
Alin's smirk faltered for a brief second, but he quickly regained his composure. "Keep talking, Vale. I'm just getting started."
The two exchanged spell after spell, neither gaining the upper hand, but Alin's confidence began to waver. He could feel it—the difference in their abilities. Cyrus was playing with him, holding back. It irritated Alin.
"Fight me seriously!" Alin shouted, frustration creeping into his voice. "What's the point of this if you're going to hold back?"
Cyrus's gaze sharpened. "Careful what you wish for, Alin. You might not like what you see."
Alin hesitated, his gut churning with an unexpected fear. But he couldn't let it show. He had to push through. "You've got big talk, Vale. But it won't save you."
He unleashed another wave of fire and ice, sending his clones charging. Cyrus barely blinked as he destroyed them, his focus shifting entirely to Alin.
Alin's breath hitched. For the first time in this fight, he realized: Cyrus wasn't just strong. He was something else entirely. Something dangerous. And Alin had asked for it.
Cyrus dashed forward, his form a blur as he dodged the incoming attacks. The fire clone exploded where Cyrus had stood moments before, sending a wave of heat across the arena. The ice clone swung its frigid arms, but Cyrus stepped into its attack, placing his hand on its chest. His eyes narrowed, and with a whisper of a spell, the clone shattered into pieces, sending shards of ice skidding across the stone floor.
Alin, unfazed, waved his hand, summoning another set of clones, both now larger and fiercer than before. "Impressive," Alin said, his voice echoing through the arena, though doubt gnawed at him. "But this is just the beginning."
As he sent a swirling vortex of fire toward Cyrus, Alin felt a flicker of unease. The boy's presence was different—almost unsettling. He had faced many opponents, but Cyrus felt like something else entirely, a storm waiting to be unleashed. His flames were fierce, but in the depths of his eyes, Alin saw something darker—raw potential mixed with a flicker of chaos. What am I getting into?
With a quick flick of his hand, Alin summoned a wall of ice to shield himself from the impending wind blast, but as he watched Cyrus's movements—fluid, almost ghostly—he couldn't shake the feeling that this fight was spiraling out of his control. The air around Cyrus shimmered with an energy that felt almost palpable, wrapping around him like a dark aura.
As the ice spears hurtled toward him, Alin quickly cast a barrier of flames, melting the projectiles before they could reach him. But as he saw Cyrus standing there, unyielding and calm, Alin's heart raced. This was more than just a match; this was a test of wills. What if he wasn't strong enough?
The thought sent a jolt of fear through him. Alin had always prided himself on his control, on being the best in his house, but Cyrus was different. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of their clash growing heavier with every passing moment. What if I lose? What if I can't keep up?
Shaking off the fear, Alin focused on the battle, pushing the unease aside. He had to show his strength, had to prove he was worthy of the title of the finest wizard from House Verdantis. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was facing a force far beyond anything he had prepared for.
Alin spun, casting a barrier of flames around him, melting the spears before they could reach him. But in that brief moment, Cyrus was already closing the distance between them. He appeared right in front of Alin, his hand crackling with energy as he sent a pulse of wind magic toward Alin's chest, knocking him back several feet.
The arena gasped in awe as the two combatants exchanged blow for blow. Alin, despite his confidence, seemed caught off guard by Cyrus's sudden mastery over multiple elemental spells. Ice, wind, and fire—all at Cyrus's command, though restrained in their use.
From the stands, the professors watched intently.
Thaddeous leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "I knew the boy had potential, but this... he's displaying a finesse we've never seen from him in class."
Morgath, clearly irritated, crossed his arms. "In class, he barely cast a single proper spell. And here he is, gracefully weaving ice and wind magic like it's second nature."
Zara, the professor of House Verdantis, spoke with measured curiosity. "It's as if he's been holding back. The control he's showing, even with basic spells, is far beyond what I expected. What's he hiding?"
Magnus, who remained silent, watched the fight with keen interest. His old eyes seemed to pierce through the surface of the battle, as if searching for something deeper within Cyrus's actions. He could feel the boy's restraint—there was something darker, more dangerous, that Cyrus wasn't revealing. Yet.
Back in the arena, Alin managed to recover from the wind blast. He dashed forward, sending a stream of fireballs in rapid succession at Cyrus. Cyrus dodged the first few with ease, his body moving like water, but one fireball caught him in the side, sending him skidding across the arena floor. The crowd roared as smoke billowed around Cyrus's figure.
Alin grinned, confident that he had finally landed a solid hit. "Not so fast now, are we?" he called out, his voice taunting.
But as the smoke cleared, Cyrus emerged, his cloak singed but his expression unreadable. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, and something in his demeanor shifted—his movements becoming sharper, more precise. Without a word, Cyrus cast a ring of fire around himself, the flames swirling protectively before shooting outwards in a fiery wave. Alin's clones evaporated into nothing as the fire licked at their edges.
The audience fell silent for a moment as Cyrus and Alin locked eyes, both of them breathing heavily from the intensity of the match. But while Alin seemed more battered, Cyrus looked unfazed, as if the fire in his veins was just beginning to awaken.
Cyrus moved with gracefully, tracking the movements of Alin and his clones. He had encountered clone magic before during his time with the Crow's End, and he could tell that these were no different—predictable if you knew what to look for. If I can get close, a clean hit on Alin will weaken his clones. But as he dodged the attacks, a nagging voice whispered in the back of his mind, tugging at the edges of his focus.
The thrill of battle ignited something darker within him. Each time he summoned his magic, he felt the raw power of the shadows clawing to the surface, urging him to unleash it without restraint. The energy thrummed in his veins, an intoxicating rush that made him feel invincible. He wanted to give in, to let the darkness guide him fully and wipe that smirk off Alin's face once and for all.
But he couldn't. Not yet. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm as he flicked his wand, shattering one of Alin's ice clones. The satisfaction was immediate, but as the fragments scattered, a darker urge flickered in his mind. Was he really just dismantling his opponent's magic, or was he testing how far he could go before losing control?
Cyrus's strategy was clear, but the line between victory and surrendering to that seductive darkness was dangerously thin. He felt the shadows pulsing around him, yearning to break free, to consume everything in their path. With every dodge and strike, he wrestled with the temptation to let loose, to unleash the full extent of his abilities—something he feared would turn him into the very monster he had sworn to avoid.
Alin smirked as he sent his next wave of attacks, but Cyrus pushed the darkness deep down, refusing to let it take the lead. I am not the Bringer of Flames. I am Cyrus Vale. With a surge of determination, he dodged and countered, keeping the shadows at bay, for now. But deep inside, he felt the struggle simmering, the battle was just as much within him as it was against Alin.
He's trying to overwhelm me, but I've seen this before. Cyrus focused, his eyes tracking the real Alin behind the clones. One hit—that's all it would take to dismantle the spellwork holding them together. As Alin's clones closed in, Cyrus surged forward, shattering the icy figure with a single, well-placed strike.
The crowd roared, their excitement growing as the two combatants exchanged attack after attack. Fireballs exploded against the stone arena, sending heatwaves across the stands, while shards of ice and gusts of wind sliced through the air with razor precision.
But just as Cyrus was about to make his move, something else caught his attention. The air changed—thickened. A dark, swirling cloud formed above the arena, its presence almost suffocating. The once-excited buzz of the crowd faltered, replaced with uneasy whispers. "What's happening?"
"Is this part of the match?" "
That cloud... it feels wrong."
A palpable tension spread through the audience as eyes flicked from the arena to the sky. The cheers had died down, replaced by gasps and murmurs of growing fear. The energy in the stadium shifted from the thrill of competition to something much darker.
The ominous black cloud churned above them, growing denser with each passing second. As it swirled, tendrils of darkness seemed to reach down, casting eerie shadows across the arena floor. Panic began to ripple through the crowd.
"Do you feel that?" a student from House Lunaris whispered, his face pale.
"It's like... something's coming."
"Are we safe?" another asked, her voice trembling as she clutched her friend's arm.
Suddenly, the cloud parted, and from its depths descended massive orc warriors, their hulking forms covered in battle-worn armor. Gasps echoed through the stands. Mothers pulled their younger children closer, while the older students exchanged worried glances.
"This isn't part of the tournament!" someone from the crowd shouted, their voice cracking with fear.
The orcs landed with a thunderous impact, their boots smashing into the arena floor like falling boulders. Each of their eyes glowed with an unnatural, eerie light, their weapons gleaming with dark energy. The crowd flinched at the sight, murmurs of confusion and dread sweeping through the stands.
From the higher rows, a professor from House Aurelia rose to her feet. "Everyone, stay calm!" she called out, though the edge in her voice betrayed her own fear. But calm was the last thing anyone could muster.
"They're— They're dark orcs!" a student from Verdantis stammered, his voice shaking.
"Why are there orcs here?!"
From the swirling black mass, more orc warriors descended, their presence heavy and oppressive. Fear spread like wildfire through the spectators, the tension rising as people tried to make sense of what was happening.
"What are they doing? Is this an attack?"
"This has to be a mistake, right?"
"It's not safe! We need to get out of here!"
Eyes darted toward the professors, but even they looked on with unease, their hands gripping their wands tightly as they moved toward the arena's edge. The confusion and fear escalated, the stadium feeling more like a cage than a place of spectacle.
As the orcs spread across the battlefield, Cyrus and Alin halted their fight, their attention drawn to the new threat.
Alin's voice wavered as he glanced at Cyrus, "What is going on?"
Cyrus narrowed his eyes, assessing the situation. Something was wrong—these weren't ordinary orcs. The dark energy surrounding them, the way they moved, and the power emanating from their weapons… this was something far more dangerous.
Cyrus's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong—these weren't ordinary orcs. The dark energy surrounding them, the way they moved, and the power emanating from their weapons… this was something far more dangerous.
The crowd began to murmur in fear, and the professors in the stands stood up in alarm. But before anyone could react, a spell barrier surged to life, encasing the entire arena in a shimmering dome of dark magic. The professors, including Magnus, Thaddeous, and Morgath, stood at the edge of the barrier, their faces tight with concern as they tried to break through—but nothing worked.
"We're trapped," Cyrus muttered, gripping his wand tightly. The lead orc, larger than the rest, stepped forward, his armor adorned with arcane symbols glowing faintly. He wielded a massive, twisted blade that dripped with an unnatural glowing liquid. His voice was a deep, gravelly growl that echoed through the arena.
"We have come for the boy with the mark of fire and lightning."
Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine. They're after me.
Alin, still unaware of who the orc was referring to, glanced over his shoulder at Cyrus, confused. "The boy of fire and lightning? Who the hell is that supposed to be?"
Cyrus remained silent, his expression cold as he assessed the situation. He couldn't afford to reveal too much. Alin didn't need to know that he was the target—not yet.
"Whoever it is," Alin continued, his voice lowering as his fiery and icy clones flickered back to life beside him, "we need to get through this first."
The orcs charged forward without hesitation, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground. Both Cyrus and Alin shifted into action, their wands raised as they prepared for the battle of their lives.
Cyrus darted to the left, summoning a whirlwind of wind magic to scatter the first wave of orcs, sending them crashing against the stone walls. Alin, ever the skilled elemental master, sent fireballs streaking toward the incoming horde, incinerating several orcs in one go.
But more kept coming.
"We're outnumbered," Alin growled as he cast another volley of fire, his clones struggling to hold the line. "This isn't what I signed up for!"
Cyrus remained calm, his mind calculating every move. They're after me. If I can figure out who sent them, maybe I can stop this.
Above them, the professors tried to break the barrier. Thaddeous slammed his hands against the shimmering wall of magic.
"This is madness! We have to break through!" Morgath scowled. "Whoever cast this barrier is no novice. This is dark magic—powerful stuff."
Magnus, though silent, had a look of deep contemplation, his eyes darting between the orcs and Cyrus. He knows, Cyrus thought, catching Magnus's gaze for a brief moment. He knows they're here for me.
In the arena, the lead orc growled again, pointing his blade directly at Cyrus. "You cannot hide from us, child of fire and lightning. Surrender now, or face the wrath of the shadows."
Alin, still oblivious, gritted his teeth. "Who is this kid they keep talking about? Do you know?"
Cyrus kept his focus on the battle, refusing to answer. Instead, he charged forward, his wand glowing as he unleashed a torrent of ice shards at the nearest orc, freezing it in place before shattering it into pieces with a quick blast of fire.
Alin, clearly frustrated, unleashed his full power, summoning a massive wave of fire and ice, his clones mimicking his every move. The orcs were strong, but even they faltered under the intensity of Alin's attack.
"We need to find a way out of here," Cyrus finally said, his voice low and controlled. He wasn't going to let these orcs expose him—not yet.
But the lead orc wasn't finished. His dark magic swirled around him as he began chanting in an ancient tongue. The air grew colder, thicker, as the orc prepared to unleash something terrible.
Cyrus clenched his jaw. If I don't stop him now, everything will be lost.
The air in the arena crackled with tension as the orcs surrounded Cyrus and Alin, their hulking forms casting shadows over the battered stone floor. The crowd had fallen deathly silent, their excitement for the tournament now replaced with palpable fear. The leader of the orcs—towering over the others with a twisted, jagged blade in hand—stepped forward. His breath was visible in the cold air, hot and heavy like the breath of a beast, as he stared down at Cyrus and Alin.
Alin's eyes darted around, his bravado fading as he realized the gravity of the situation. Before he could react, the orc leader surged forward with lightning speed. His massive fist struck Alin hard in the gut with a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of him. Alin's eyes widened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the force of the punch sent him flying across the arena. He crashed into the magical barrier with such impact that the shimmering wall of energy rippled, and then his body slumped lifelessly to the ground, unconscious.
The crowd gasped, the students watching in shock as their strongest contender fell with a single blow.
The orc leader turned his attention to Cyrus, his glowing red eyes locking onto the boy with a menacing glare. His presence was more than just a physical threat; there was something unnatural about him. His armor, adorned with dark arcane symbols, seemed to pulse as if alive, and black veins of energy crawled up his skin, intertwining with the metal like sinister roots. The air around him warped slightly, a ripple of dark energy distorting reality itself. Even the professors, who had seen all manner of magic, exchanged uneasy glances.
"You... the boy with the crimson eyes and hair white as snow," he growled, his voice deep and reverberating like the roll of thunder. His words weren't just a statement—they carried a weight, an ancient power that seeped into the bones of everyone in the arena. His gaze never wavered, his intent clear.
Cyrus clenched his fists, electricity sparking along his arms, weaving between his fingers like serpents ready to strike. His heart raced, but his expression remained cold. He knows who I am... Cyrus thought, every muscle in his body tense. But the sight of the black energy crawling along the orc leader's body sent a shiver through him. This wasn't just any orc—it was something else entirely. He had been careful not to reveal his true strength to anyone at the academy, but now, there was no avoiding it.
"Who summoned you?" Cyrus demanded, his voice low, controlled, but deadly. But even as he spoke, he could feel the malevolent energy radiating from the orc, an ancient, unsettling power that seemed to gnaw at the edges of reality.
The orc leader chuckled, the sound deep and menacing, reverberating with dark magic. His laugh sent chills through the air, silencing the crowd. "You will know soon enough, boy." He raised his blade, and as he did, the black energy coiled around it like a living serpent, hissing and flickering with dark, violent intent. The power emanating from the weapon was unlike anything seen before in the academy—a twisted, pulsating force that seemed to devour the very light around it. Even the professors stiffened at the sight.
As the other orcs began to advance, closing in on Cyrus, the leader's voice echoed one last chilling promise, "Your fate is already sealed."
Electricity continued to crackle around Cyrus's body, his mind racing. I didn't want to reveal this, not yet. His fingers twitched, his body practically humming with power. But I have no choice.
The ground beneath Cyrus began to hum with energy, a faint glow emanating from his body as the lightning around him intensified. Sparks danced in the air, causing the hairs on the orcs' arms to rise as they hesitated, sensing the danger in the air. Cyrus's crimson eyes flared, glowing brighter as he prepared to unleash his hidden abilities.
But just as he was about to make his move, a booming voice echoed through the arena.
"Incendare Verum!"
It was Magnus.
The old wizard stood at the edge of the arena, his arms raised high as he chanted an incantation, his palms pressed firmly against the shimmering barrier. The air around Magnus crackled with magic as his voice grew louder, the words filled with power. The barrier—once impenetrable—shuddered violently before shattering into thousands of fragments, the shards of magic dissolving into the air like fading stars.
The moment the barrier shattered, Magnus stepped forward with a commanding presence, his deep robes billowing around him like shadows. Thaddeous, Morgath, Zara, and the other professors followed closely behind, their wands drawn, but it was Magnus who held the arena's attention. His gaze was piercing, assessing the orc leader with a practiced calm that belied his years of battle experience.
The orcs faltered, their snarls muted by the heavy silence that accompanied Magnus's approach. Even the largest of them seemed to hesitate, their weapons twitching as if unsure whether to strike.
Magnus raised a single hand, the power radiating from him palpable even from the farthest reaches of the stands. His voice was deep, steady, and layered with an authority that sent a ripple through the crowd. "Enough!" he commanded, his tone more than just a warning—it was a statement of absolute control.
His sharp gaze locked onto the orc leader, reading him as one might read an ancient, cursed text. "You will not harm my students. Not while I stand here."
The orc leader, towering and bristling with dark energy, sneered, his lip curling in disdain. But he did not strike. There was something in Magnus's eyes—something that told him this was no ordinary wizard. His glowing red eyes shifted uneasily between Magnus and Cyrus. "This is not over," he growled, though a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. "The boy of fire and lightning will not escape his fate."
Magnus's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "I know what power you serve," he said quietly, his voice only audible to those closest to him. "It will not find what it seeks here." The orc leader's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the crowd's collective breath hitched. There was tension in the air, as if another battle might break out at any moment. But the orc stepped back, still sneering, and motioned for his warriors to retreat.
Cyrus stood still, his body still humming with residual electricity, though the professors' presence calmed the immediate danger. He breathed deeply, pulling back the raw power surging through him. The tension in his chest had eased, but only slightly. Who are they? he thought. And why are they after me?
Magnus, though still outwardly calm, allowed a small pause as he regarded Cyrus. There was a storm brewing behind the wizard's steady gaze—a quiet intensity that spoke of deep knowledge and an understanding of the stakes far beyond what anyone else knew.
Turning his attention back to the retreating orcs, Magnus muttered under his breath, his tone just low enough for Thaddeous to hear. "If they seek the boy, then this goes beyond the academy. We may have to prepare for far worse than this."
Magnus remained steadfast, his eyes never leaving the orc leader. "Leave this place, or face the wrath of Ebonspire's full power."
The orc leader sneered but knew better than to challenge the combined force of the academy's most powerful wizards. With a final glance at Cyrus, his red eyes burning with promise, he raised his hand, signaling to his warriors. One by one, the orcs stepped back, retreating into the shadows from where they had come. The black cloud above the arena swirled ominously, hesitating as if it were reluctant to leave, before slowly dissipating into nothingness. The lingering scent of smoke and something darker—something ancient—clung to the air, unsettling the crowd.
Though the immediate threat was gone, the tension in the arena didn't break. Whispers rose among the spectators, a murmur of fear and confusion rippling through the stands.
"Did they really just leave?"
"That can't be it… Can it?"
"This feels wrong… like they'll be back."
A chill hung over the arena despite the dispersing clouds, a collective shiver running through the crowd as if they all sensed the same unspoken truth: this was no victory. The orcs' retreat felt too controlled, too deliberate. There was a weight to their departure, like a promise unfulfilled. It was not over, only delayed.
Even the professors exchanged uneasy glances, their hands still gripping their wands as they stood at the edges of the arena, watching the last of the dark magic fade. Magnus remained still, his gaze distant, as though he could still feel the presence of the enemy lingering in the air. A quiet dread crept into his bones—this was just the first ripple of a far greater storm.
The crowd was silent, their excitement snuffed out, replaced by an uneasy calm. Some students cast worried glances at Cyrus, while others whispered among themselves, their voices barely audible but filled with fear. A few of the younger students huddled together, their wide eyes searching the skies as if expecting the cloud to return.
Magnus turned to Cyrus, his expression stern but not unkind. "You're safe now, Cyrus." But there was something deeper in his tone, something that hinted at concern beyond just this moment.
A strange tension filled the air as Magnus studied Cyrus once more, his eyes narrowing slightly as though connecting the dots of something unsaid. Does he know? Cyrus wondered, feeling the intensity of the old wizard's gaze. Did Magnus suspect that he was the one the orcs had been hunting—the boy with the mark of fire and lightning?
The silence between them was charged, almost tangible, before Magnus finally spoke again. "But we have much to discuss," he said, his tone deliberate, leaving no doubt that the conversation would be more than just about the fight.
Cyrus nodded, though his mind raced. Did Magnus know more about him than he let on? The weight of everything crashed down on him—his classmates' stares, the professors' watchful eyes—but more than all of that, it was Magnus's piercing gaze that unsettled him the most, as if the wizard could see the storm that raged beneath his calm exterior. Yet, there was no accusation in Magnus's look—just a silent acknowledgment of something neither of them was ready to voice.