A Clash of Wills
The training grounds were humming with raw magic—crackling sparks from unfinished spells lingering in the air, the faint scent of singed fabric and charred earth. The sky overhead was darkening, but the golden glow of the enchanted torches surrounding the combat ring illuminated the faces of eager spectators.
Elara stood at the edge of the dueling platform, gripping her wand tightly. Across from her, Lucien Duskbane watched her with an expression that was equal parts amusement and anticipation.
"I assume you won't need me to go easy on you this time?" Lucien's voice was dripping with condescension.
Elara's lips curled into a smirk. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Master Kain stepped between them, his presence alone enough to make the surrounding students quiet. His dark gaze flickered between them, assessing, before he finally said, "Rules are simple. Duel until I say stop. No permanent injuries—unless you want to suffer the consequences. Understood?"
Lucien gave a lazy nod. Elara simply clenched her wand tighter.
The moment Master Kain dropped his hand, Lucien struck first.
A pulse of shimmering energy shot toward her—fast, calculated. Elara barely dodged, feeling the heat of his spell graze her side.
She retaliated instantly, sending a blast of dark violet energy toward him. Lucien sidestepped effortlessly, his movements like liquid shadow.
"Elara, please," he taunted. "You're making this too easy."
Her irritation spiked. Good. Let him underestimate her.
She flicked her wrist, casting a feint—a streak of silver light aimed at his chest. Lucien countered, effortlessly blocking. But the real attack was the one she had already cast—a sharp telekinetic push directly at his legs.
Lucien's footing faltered.
A small misstep, but enough.
Elara didn't hesitate. She sent another pulse of energy toward him, but this time, he was ready.
The moment her spell left her wand, Lucien vanished.
No—not vanished.
Illusion magic.
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could react, Lucien reappeared behind her, his wand aimed inches from her back.
"Too slow," he whispered.
A powerful force struck her, sending her sprawling across the combat ring.
The crowd gasped. Elara barely had time to roll before Lucien sent another attack, a ribbon of shadowy energy curling toward her throat like a noose.
She barely threw up a shield in time.
But the shield cracked.
Lucien's magic was relentless, overpowering, suffocating.
She gritted her teeth. She wasn't going down like this.
Summoning the last of her strength, she channeled raw energy into a single, concentrated spell—a pulse of force meant to knock Lucien off his feet.
The moment she released it, Lucien's eyes flashed with something close to approval.
Then he vanished again.
Elara's spell hit nothing.
And before she could recover—
Darkness engulfed her.
The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, coughing, her limbs weak, her magic completely drained.
Lucien stood over her, not even winded. His silver eyes gleamed with victory.
Master Kain's voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Enough."
Lucien stepped back, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Better luck next time, Nightshade."
Elara clenched her fists. There would be a next time. And she wouldn't lose.
Summoned to the Professor
After the duel, exhaustion settled into her bones. But she didn't have time to rest
The pain from the duel lingered like a ghost, wrapping around Elara's ribs with each breath. Lucien had been toying with her. That much was clear. The effortless way he had countered her spells, the way he had moved—like a predator toying with wounded prey.
And she had let him win.
Her pride ached almost as much as her body.
Elara dragged herself through the dim corridors of the Academy, her wand clutched tightly in her bruised fingers. The halls were mostly deserted now, save for the occasional flickering of enchanted torches that floated along the walls. She was still fuming when she reached the towering door of Professor Vaelora's study.
Taking a steadying breath, she knocked once.
No answer.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Vaelora had been clear—come to me after the duel. But the silence behind the door was unnatural, thick and pressing, like the quiet before a storm.
Elara hesitated, then pressed her fingers against the wood. The door swung open on its own.
Inside, the air smelled of old parchment and something darker—ozone, like magic lingering after a spell had been cast.
The room was bathed in low, blue light from the enchanted runes that lined the walls. Books stacked impossibly high teetered on their shelves, some floating midair, their pages turning on their own.
And then there was the desk.
At first, Elara thought it was empty. But then, in the shadows, she saw her.
Professor Vaelora stood near the back of the room, her back turned, her white hair shimmering unnaturally.
Elara frowned. "Professor?"
No answer.
She stepped forward, slowly. Something wasn't right.
"Professor, you asked to see me," she tried again, a bit louder this time.
Vaelora shifted at last. But when she turned, her eyes were wrong.
They weren't violet anymore. They were black.
Elara's heart lurched. That wasn't Vaelora.
Her fingers tensed around her wand. She took a cautious step back, every instinct screaming at her to run.
The figure in front of her blinked once. And in that instant—
Vaelora was back.
Her violet eyes flickered with something unreadable as she tilted her head. "You're late."
Elara's breath caught in her throat. Had she imagined it?
That thing she'd just seen—the black eyes, the way the air had thickened with something unnatural—
"What—" she swallowed, her voice steadier than she felt. "What was that?"
Vaelora simply smiled, stepping toward her as if nothing had happened. "Sit."
Elara didn't move.
Vaelora's gaze sharpened. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Elara's fingers tightened around her wand. "What was it?"
For a long moment, Vaelora didn't answer. Then, finally, she murmured, "Something old."
Elara's pulse thrummed. Something old. Something dangerous. And somehow, it had noticed her.
She should have left then. Should have turned on her heel and walked out of that room.
But she didn't.
Instead, she sat. And listened.