Over the Xiaxoan Blues, the sun hung overhead to cast high, warm light upon a garden courtyard lushly filled with flowers, where Tyrs, Mynta, and Larin stood. It was a still place, heavy with the scent of Starfruit Sage and Redwhisper trees-but it wouldn't stay that way for much longer.
For days, they had been diving deep into the mysteries of Sinlung, working to dismantle and understand the ancient spell. The effort called for precision and patience: a delicate dance between logic and instinct. Now Tyrs was impatient.
"Nephew," she said, with eyes glinting at the challenge, "you've shown signs of breakthrough. You must be as powerful as a real magi. Let's see what you can do."
Larin smirked, stretching out his shoulders. "Are you sure you want to do this, Aunt Tyrs? You are overestimating me."
She laughed, drawing her weapons with a fluid motion. Her twin glaives were unlike anything in the empire—shaped like the petals of a Hibiscus flower, each blade thin and deceptively delicate, but honed to a deadly edge. The hilts glimmered with Xiaxoan runes, alive with enchantments that thrummed softly.
"Come on," she said, spinning one glaive before leveling it at Larin. "Show me what you've learned."
The match began with a crackle of energy. Larin darted to the side, his feet almost not touching the ground as he unleashed a barrage of spell-shards—glowing fragments of concentrated mana that spiralled like falling stars. They streaked toward Tyrs, each one capable of piercing stone.
Tyrs twirled her glaives, blades moving so fast they formed a shimmering shield. The spell-shards collided with her defense and shattered into harmless motes of light.
"Not bad," she remarked, lunging forward with incredible speed. She struck low, aiming for his legs, her glaives moving with surgical precision.
Larin barely evaded, the wind from her swing brushing his ankles. He retaliated with a pulse of Sinlung energy, his hands forming a circular rune that glowed green before erupting in a shockwave.
Tyrs slid back, absorbing the blast with a shield of compressed air. "You're holding back," she teased.
"I'm being respectful," Larin shot back, grinning.
"Don't be," she snapped, striking again, this time launching a series of razor-thin energy arcs that hummed with deadly sharpness.
Their duel raged on, each moment more intense than the last. Larin conjured an orb of [Gravitic Flux]—a spell that manipulated localized gravity—sending it toward Tyrs. The air around her grew heavy, distorting her movements as if she were moving through syrup.
But Tyrs was no novice. She bent her wrist, and [Petal Refrain], it exploded outward in a cascade of spectral copies that split from the glaives and danced around her in a spiral, cutting through the thick gravity to shatter its grip.
"Beautiful," Larin breathed, admiring the control even as he wove his next strike.
He crafted [Needle Rain], a storm of needles filled with mana and thinner than a single strand of hair. They shimmered with malevolent intent to seek out all the open lines in her defense.
Tyrs countered with [Wind Blossom Shield], swirling wall of petals and wind dancing around the needles and forcing them back into place. The air filled with sparks of mana as the courtyard erupted in a clash of their wills.
The battle had dragged on for near an hour. Every twitch of a limb represented a class; every casting posed a challenge. Larin huffed and strived for lungfuls of air, tightened his concentration razor-sharp on focus: opposing Tyrs's relentless ability now with new, found determination.
And then suddenly, around them, darkness comes bursting up as if a sudden blinding of light that, taken by surprise together.
Mynta's voice cut through haze. "That's enough. It is my turn".
As the light cleared, Tyrs and Larin found themselves bound by verdant vines, their limbs tangled in thick, magical greenery. Mynta stood with a mischievous grin, her hand raised in a gesture of control. "You were too slow to notice the weave," she teased. "Rest now, nephew. I'll heal you up."
A wave of her hand sent a flurry of golden beams into Larin's body. Each one struck a pressure point, easing the tension from his muscles and restoring his stamina. He felt the magic flow through him, tingling at the edges of his perception, and he let it work rather than resist.
"Better?" Mynta asked as the vines released him.
"Much," Larin replied, flexing his arms. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
Their match was different. Mynta focused entirely on magic. She stood rooted in place, a calm yet imposing figure, as she conjured layers of defensive wards.
"Let's see how well you've learned to read a fight," she said.
Retaliation, Larin flung up a cast [Shardflow], streams of liquid mana which, hardening in flight into jagged spikes, shot at Mynta's shield, breaking splintered, but exploding into bursts of blinding light as they hit and shattered upon it.
"That's quite the trick," she said, blinking hard, reweaving the fibers of her shield.
Larin retaliated with [Ripple Surge], a spell to undermine barriers by slipping through cracks in mana structures. Thin tendrils of energy wriggled toward Mynta's wards, probing for weaknesses.
Mynta responded to that by casting [Verdant Coil], sealing every gap by closing the edges of her barrier with thick vines, tightening them. The tendrils hissed and dissipated against the greenery.
"You'll need to be faster than that," she taunted.
"I'm working on it," Larin grunted.
The battle grew more complex. They each layered spells upon spells, testing the limits of precision and endurance. Larin cast *Mirror Lance*, a projectile that split into reflections, each one striking from different angles.
Mynta deflected most with [Fractured Blossom], a spell that made her shield explode into defensive shards, but one lance grazed her shoulder, dissipating in a burst of sparks.
"Almost got you," Larin said, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Almost isn't enough," Mynta said, holding up both hands. She invoked [Binding Roots], a creeping spell that insinuated itself into the ground beneath Larin's feet. He felt the faint tug of the earth, the tendrils of magic encircling his legs. He pushed back with [Ether Spark], igniting the air with a dome of flames that churned the roots and sent the shockwave outward. "Almost dying and almost alive are two different things completely."
They hurled spells at one another, always pushing the boundary of imagination and willpower. Half-an-hour passed by, until their mana almost depleted but willpower didn't. Now, Mynta slowly stood up, wearing a smile as if satisfied about something. "You are quite stronger, Larin. Though remember-power can only be just half of any battle. One's mind alone wins the battles." Larin nodded, struggling for breaths. "I will remember.".
As the sun dipped in the sky, the trio stood together, weary but invigorated. This was the way of their people : never bowing to power. The mysteries of Sinlung lay ahead, and they would uncover them together.