The sun hung high above the courtyard, its rays glinting off the polished stone of the arena floor.
A warm breeze stirred the red and gold banners lining the walls — the colors of Eidaleon Academy's crest, but today, they felt like fire and pride made flesh.
Dean Seraphyne leaned against the railing above the crowd, arms crossed, crimson cape fluttering behind her.
She was in her late thirties, but she look just like someone who is in their twenties. Her red hair, slightly tousled from the wind, framed a face both sharp and elegant — high cheekbones, faint laugh lines around her mouth, and gold-flecked eyes that didn't miss much.
There was a faint scar across the bridge of her nose, old and well-healed, like the kind you only get from real battle.
Beautiful, yes — but not in the soft, polished way of noble court ladies. The presence she radiates is very fiery and chaotic, seemingly ready to explode at any moment.
Her uniform was custom — crisp black with dark red accents, marked with flame-inscribed gold on the shoulders and cuffs.
The fire affinity around her was faint but ever-present, the warmth in the air slightly heavier wherever she stood.
A hushed wave passed through the crowd as people realized who stood above them.
"Wait… that's the dean," someone whispered from the Seniors section.
"She hasn't shown up for this event in three years," another murmured.
"Is she really that powerful?"
"She led a siege by herself during the Eastern Rebellion…"
Especially among the senior years, there was a noticeable shift — backs straightening, whispers cut short. Several of the instructors behind Seraphyne exchanged glances.
Whatever casual tone the students expected from today was gone now.
If the academy was going to showoff its elite, then we better show them why those students wore platinum uniform.
Seraphyne smirked as she scanned the crowd.
All eyes were on the twelve students lined at the edge of the arena. The Platinum Class.
She wasn't an easy woman to impress — and she didn't care for quiet approval or polite applause.
If someone earned her respect, they'd know it because she'd say so, loud enough for half the Empire to hear. If they didn't, she'd say that too.
She'd never been fond of cowards. Especially ones wrapped in silk.
Her boots clinked faintly against the railing as she shifted her stance. A dozen instructors stood behind her, including Ardan and Lira.
She stepped forward.
Her voice rang out, clear and sharp.
"Today, the rest of the academy will witness why these twelve students were the only one in platinum class. You've heard the rumors. Broken resonance crystals. Defeated duelists. Power beyond the norm."
"Well, here's your chance to see if those rumors are true."
Her words crackled like the heat rising from the stone. No pretense. No flair.
"Each of these students will face a challenger from the other class."
"This is not for your entertainment. This is a reminder. Power is not a gift. It's pressure. Discipline. Control."
She turned slightly, gaze sweeping across the mass of uniforms — from the wide-eyed Bronze students to the sharp-lined Gold representatives.
"If you bleed here, good. If you lose, better. But don't you dare forget the reason you entered these halls."
She let the words hang, then gave a nod toward Ardan.
"Begin."
____
The first match was loud.
Seraphyne didn't even need to look to know who stepped forward.
Zephyr Arkwyn.
He strutted into the ring like he owned it, flame already coiling around his arms.
His opponent was no slouch: a Low D-Tier aura martialist, confident and fast with a volcanic reinforcement technique — was met with a grin and a spark of challenge.
Seraphyne narrowed her eyes.
Zephyr didn't hide his power. He broadcasted it like a challenge.
Typical Arkwyn bloodline behavior. Still… he had the bite to back it up.
The match opened with a full-force clash.
No testing, no circling. Zephyr charged through his opponent's flame wall, aura flaring like a firestorm. His footwork was reckless — but his domain was relentless.
A burst of flame collided mid-air — then twisted, snapped, and caved around her shield.
She flew back and landed on her back hard. She groan before passing out because of impact.
Zephyr didn't celebrate. He just rolled his shoulders and walked back to the line.
Seraphyne watched him return, heat shimmering around his back.
"Too wasteful," Seraphyne muttered. "But forceful. He'll be a battlefield problem someday."
____
Next came Elandra Voss.
The arena dimmed slightly — not from magic, but the shift in presence.
The crowd murmured as her opponent stepped out — a low D tier caster with wide-range mist spells.
Dangerous in theory, but Seraphyne already knew how this would go.
Elandra didn't need wide openings.
She made them.
Her shadow-venom mana came in tendrils — not in showy waves, but precise lashes that poisoned the very footing. The match turned into a ghost hunt.
The Silver student tripped over a root that hadn't been there a moment before.
Then a spike of dark toxin erupted from the ground and tagged his leg.
Fast-acting paralysis. Very little pain. She was efficient.
"Cunning," Seraphyne said aloud.
Behind her, Instructor Lira raised a brow. "She reminds me of a younger you."
Seraphyne snorted. "Please. I'd crushed his ribs."
Lira didn't reply — just adjusted her collar with a discreet sweat on her back.
Elandra returned to the line without expression, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the air as her spells unraveled.
____
Then came the quiet one.
Draven Thorne.
He didn't look like much. Just another tall, sharp-eyed boy with muted colors and plain armor. His sword was basic, his aura barely visible.
But Seraphyne paid closer attention to the way he walked.
He didn't make a sound.
His opponent — a Low D-Tier with speed enhancement — opened with feints and evasive steps. It almost looked like he had the upper hand.
The first few exchanges had the crowd murmuring, impressed by the blur of movement.
But Seraphyne just leaned her chin against her hand.
"Any moment now."
And then it came.
A feint. A slight pivot. A draw-cut too fast to see.
One line across the chestplate. One sharp crack of aura.
The Gold student dropped his weapons, stunned.
Draven didn't smirk or say a word. He simply bowed and walked back to the others.
Seraphyne let out a quiet breath.
"Precise. No wasted energy."
She liked that one.
___
Three matches down.
None of them had disappointed.
Not every duel was explosive, but none in the side of platinum class ended in defeat.
Earlier that hour:
Karell Aven, a mid-ranged wind user from the north, dismantled a Peak E-Tier archer with pinpoint slicing gusts that shattered the challenger's bow mid-draw.
Vaelen Dros, all heavy fists and earth mana, flattened a Gold Class aura-tank with one ground-pulse slam.
Even the youngest Platinum student, little Alia with her A-Tier healing affinity, managed to outpace and disarm a Peak E-Tier staff user by disrupting spell channels mid-cast.
Every Platinum student won. Some took a minute. Others, ten seconds.
But Seraphyne still hadn't seen what she came here for.
She glanced across the arena, eyes locking onto the last two who hadn't fought.
Selene Rhiannon. The Ice Prodigy.
And just beside her, seated with arms loosely crossed…
Caelum Virellian.
A remnant of that family.