The crisp morning air carried an electric tension as students gathered in the Academy's central arena, now reinforced with shimmering arcane barriers. Proctors lined the edges, and from an elevated chamber above the field, a group of instructors and the principal observed the proceedings.
Vincent stood near the edge of the crowd, his sharp eyes scanning the arena while Eleanor fidgeted beside him.
"You'll be fine," Vincent said softly, his tone uncharacteristically reassuring. "Trust your instincts."
She glanced at him, surprised by the rare encouragement, and gave a small smile. "Thanks, Vincent. You always know what to say."
Before he could reply, the booming voice of Archmage Darius, the Headmaster of the renowned academy, resonated across the arena.
"Attention, initiates!"
All heads turned to the raised platform where Darius stood, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs. "Your practical exam will test your ability to apply magic in combat. Each of you will face one of the Academy's instructors. The goal is not simply to win, but to demonstrate adaptability, strategy, and resilience. Be prepared to be pushed to your limits."
The students exchanged nervous glances. Facing a seasoned instructor was no small challenge, but Vincent's expression remained calm.
Proctors began calling names. Students filed into the arena one by one, some emerging triumphant and others defeated but determined.
Eleanor's name was called.
She looked at Vincent, her hands trembling slightly.
"You'll do well," Vincent said, meeting her gaze with a rare softness. "Stay focused."
Her shoulders squared as she nodded and walked into the arena. Vincent watched as she faced off against a middle-aged instructor wielding a staff. Eleanor held her ground admirably, countering the instructor's attacks with swift, defensive spells. Though she ultimately lost, she walked out with her head held high.
"You were good," Vincent said as she rejoined him, his voice carrying a note of pride.
"Thanks," she said, smiling brightly. "Your turn now. Show them what you can do."
When his name was called, the crowd fell silent. Vincent strode into the arena with measured steps, exuding an air of quiet confidence. His opponent stood at the far end: a tall, broad-shouldered instructor clad in dark armor, wielding a longsword crackling with electricity.
"Vincent Astor," the instructor said, his voice deep. "Let's see if your reputation is earned."
Vincent drew his own blade, a silver longsword inscribed with faint runes. He inclined his head slightly. "Let's begin."
The instructor moved first, closing the gap with alarming speed. Vincent parried the opening strike, sparks flying as their blades clashed. He countered with a precise thrust, but the instructor deflected it effortlessly.
The duel escalated, each exchange faster and more brutal than the last. Vincent's movements were calculated, his strikes deliberate, but the instructor's experience was undeniable. Soon, Vincent was forced into a defensive stance, his arms aching from the relentless blows.
"You're holding back," the instructor said, his tone almost mocking. "This isn't a dance, Astor."
Vincent gritted his teeth. He was being overwhelmed. His mind raced for a solution.
Vysindra's Oath: Hellfire.
The words surfaced unbidden in his mind. He hesitated briefly, then closed his eyes, silently chanting the incantation.
Activate.
The air around him ignited, a fiery aura exploding outward. Gasps erupted from the crowd as flames licked up his blade, transforming it into a weapon of searing fire. His eyes glowed faintly as he surged forward, his movements imbued with an unnatural intensity.
The instructor faltered, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Vincent struck with precision, forcing him back step by step.
With a final, flaming arc, Vincent's blade clashed against the instructor's. The resulting shockwave extinguished the flames and sent both combatants skidding apart.
The arena fell silent.
---
Observation Room
The instructors watched the scene unfold from the elevated chamber.
"What is that magic?" one asked, leaning closer to the glass. "That's Hellfire, isn't it? But… how? Vincent Astor never displayed an affinity for fire."
"It's not just fire," another said, frowning. "That spell It requires a connection to something… beyond ordinary magic. When did he learn this?"
A third instructor shook his head. "The Astor family's magic has always leaned toward precision and control, but this? This is raw, destructive power. The boy couldn't even conjure a flame last year."
Archmage Darius remained silent, his golden eyes fixed on the scene below.
Finally, one of the instructors turned to him. "Principal, do you think this is… inherited? Something dormant in the Astor bloodline?"
Darius's lips curved into a faint smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the boy has found his own path. Either way, it's… interesting."
The room fell quiet as they continued to observe, their curiosity growing with each passing moment.
---
Arena
As Vincent stepped out of the arena, the fiery aura dissipating, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Did you see that?"
"He used fire magic… no, something stronger."
"I thought he couldn't use fire at all!"
Vincent ignored the whispers, his face calm. But as he reached the sidelines, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his chest. He staggered slightly, clutching his side.
"Vincent!" Eleanor was at his side in an instant, her expression panicked. "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, though his face was pale, and his arm injured. The magic had taken more out of him than he'd expected.
"You're not fine," she insisted, supporting him. "You're burning up."
He shook his head, forcing himself to stand straighter. "It's just the aftereffects. I'll recover."
Eleanor frowned but didn't press further. Instead, she walked with him to a quieter corner of the arena, her concern evident.
"You shouldn't push yourself like that," she said softly.
Vincent glanced at her, his usual cold exterior cracking just enough to show a flicker of warmth. "Sometimes, it's necessary."
Her eyes softened, and she nodded, though worry lingered in her expression.
As the next match began, Vincent leaned against the wall, his thoughts racing. The power he had used felt both alien and natural, as if it had always been a part of him, waiting to be awakened.
Whatever its origin, he knew one thing for certain: it was dangerous. And mastering it would be the key to surviving the Academy—and the world beyond.
--