Chapter 7: The First Test
The arena buzzed with anticipation as students and instructors filled the stands. The towering walls of stone, etched with ancient enchantments, shimmered faintly in the morning light, absorbing the noise from the crowd like the belly of a great beast. Aeron stood at the edge of the stone platform that served as the battleground, his heartbeat steady despite the excitement surrounding him.
Opposite him, his first opponent emerged—Tyran, a broad-shouldered student with a reputation for being a bruiser. His reddish-brown hair and scar-riddled face gave the impression of someone well-acquainted with brawls. Tyran twirled a mace in one hand, the weapon bristling with tiny shards of embedded crystals that glowed faintly with latent fire magic.
"A bad match-up for him," one spectator muttered. "Tyran's strength lies in overpowering opponents. Who does this new guy think he is, challenging him without magic?"
Aeron barely registered the whispers from the crowd. He wasn't here to impress anyone. Each step he took down the stone stairs leading to the arena floor felt deliberate, a reminder of why he had entered the tournament. To push himself. To see where his limits lay—and to surpass them.
The headmaster's voice thundered over the crowd. "The rules are simple: no killing, no outside interference, and victory is achieved by surrender or knockout. Fights must remain within the boundaries of the arena. Fighters, ready yourselves!"
Tyran laughed, his tone more mocking than amused. "No weapon, no magic? You've already lost."
Aeron didn't respond. His calm gaze only seemed to irritate Tyran further.
"Begin!" the headmaster bellowed, his hand slicing downward to signal the start.
Tyran moved first, charging with surprising speed for someone his size. He swung the mace in a wide arc, aiming to knock Aeron down with the sheer force of his blow. Aeron sidestepped at the last second, the weapon sailing harmlessly past him and slamming into the ground with a resounding crack. Dust and fragments of stone flew into the air.
Aeron moved like flowing water, slipping under Tyran's guard. His fist shot out, driving into the other boy's ribs with enough precision to make Tyran stumble back. Before Tyran could recover, Aeron stepped in close again, using his smaller frame to weave around Tyran's lumbering swings.
Tyran growled. "Stay still!"
He gripped the mace tighter, raising it overhead to smash downward in a vertical blow. Aeron shifted forward, placing himself just under Tyran's attack range, and hooked his leg behind Tyran's knee in a sweeping motion. Tyran collapsed to one knee, momentarily stunned.
For the first time, Aeron spoke. "Your strength means little if you can't land a hit."
That earned a laugh from the crowd. Tyran's face flushed with rage, and fire ignited along his mace, licking upward like a serpent. The crowd murmured; it seemed Tyran had abandoned the pretense of fighting purely with physical strength.
"Ah," Aeron muttered to himself, eyeing the weapon warily. "Here comes the magic."
Tyran surged forward, his mace glowing with furious intensity as he swung it horizontally. Aeron ducked, feeling the searing heat pass above him. He shifted his momentum into a roll and sprang to his feet behind Tyran, delivering a kick that sent him stumbling forward.
"Still too slow," Aeron said, his voice carrying easily to the stands. He knew Tyran wouldn't fall to goading alone, but if he made the larger fighter angry enough, it might force reckless mistakes.
Tyran roared, pivoting mid-step and swinging again with wild abandon. Aeron darted back, avoiding the strike with the barest of movements, and let Tyran's momentum carry him forward. Before the larger student could recover, Aeron closed the distance and landed an open-palmed strike to Tyran's solar plexus. The sound of air being forced from his lungs was unmistakable, and Tyran's weapon clattered to the ground.
To his credit, Tyran didn't quit. He lunged with bare fists, his sheer size and brute determination almost landing a hit on Aeron. Almost. Aeron shifted to the side and grabbed Tyran's arm, using the momentum to flip him over and onto the ground with a heavy thud.
The arena fell silent, the crowd holding its collective breath. Tyran lay on his back, gasping for air, unable to rise. Aeron's calm steps broke the quiet as he moved toward his downed opponent and offered a hand.
Tyran stared at it for a moment before scowling and slapping it away, forcing himself to stand unassisted.
"Winner: Aeron Drakenhart!" The headmaster's declaration echoed across the arena, triggering a roar of applause and cheers.
Aeron nodded respectfully toward Tyran before leaving the ring, heading toward the stands where Jinx waited. She wasn't cheering like the rest of the audience, though her eyes shone with curiosity and excitement. Perched on her head were her crystal goggles, humming softly as they captured and analyzed magical energy.
"That was… unexpected," Jinx said when Aeron reached her, her voice laced with intrigue. "Your movement isn't like anyone else I've studied here." She pulled out her notebook, frantically scribbling notes. "The efficiency. The way you limited unnecessary actions. I need to figure out how to make gadgets that complement this style…"
"Is that all I am to you? A moving experiment?" Aeron teased, though he didn't expect an answer. Jinx's focus was already buried in her notebook again.
He settled into his seat, turning his attention back to the arena, where the next fighters were being called. But inwardly, he felt satisfied. The first challenge was behind him, and already, he was finding room for growth.