The duel erupted on the central platform of the sky island, its rune-etched stone pulsing under Darius's boots, the sprawling expanse alive with elemental energy. Floating boulders drifted in the mana-charged air, their surfaces glowing with runes, while stone circles and fiery rings crackled in the distance, the cliffs' prismatic light casting wild patterns across the arena. The wind howled, a restless force swirling around Darius, his lighter training robes—blue wind motifs shimmering—flapping as he summoned Zephyr.

His body shimmered, taking on its wind-form, non-mana attacks destined to pass through, his form a blur of gusts and light. With a sharp breath, he unleashed Wind Surge, a forceful blast of compressed air that roared forward, tearing at the platform's edges, the island's winds amplifying its fury. The gusts howled, kicking up clouds of dust, the runes flaring brilliant white as the mana-charged air vibrated with power. Darius's heart pounded, his focus razor-sharp, the lessons from Study of Air guiding his precision—Sylph's chaotic rhythm shaping his mana into a slicing current. The attack was a spectacle, the platform rumbling under the force, the air thick with ozone and the sting of raw mana.

Ignatus stood unfazed, his youthful-old frame poised, sleek robes with elemental runes glinting in the island's light. With a subtle shift, barely a flicker of his hand, he redirected the Wind Surge with a countercurrent of air, the gust scattering harmlessly into the sky, boulders wobbling in its wake. His gray eyes, sharp as polished stone, tracked Darius without a hint of strain, his movements fluid and effortless, centuries of mastery woven into every step. The platform steadied, the runes dimming briefly, the air humming as Ignatus sidestepped, his presence commanding the arena without a single spell cast.

Darius's chest heaved, his mind racing, reflecting on Study of Fire's illusions—Valthor's lessons on bending light. He adapted on the fly, weaving a faint heat shimmer into his next Wind Surge, the air warping to mask its path, the blast slicing toward Ignatus with deceptive angles. The island's winds roared, amplifying the attack, the runes flaring again as the platform shook, cracks spiderwebbing under the gust's force. Darius's efforts were flashy, his mana pouring out in a relentless storm, each surge a testament to his growth, the arena alive with the spectacle of his wind magic.

Undeterred, Ignatus glided aside, his form a blur, the shimmer failing to fool him as he deflected the surge with a casual tilt of his head, the wind dissipating into a harmless breeze. The floating boulders spun slightly, their runes pulsing, the island's mana humming louder, as if mocking Darius's efforts. Gritting his teeth, Darius pushed harder, summoning Anemoi Shades. Wind-spirit clones materialized, their translucent forms darting like specters, untouchable by mana-targeting spells. He directed them with a whirlwind barrage, each clone unleashing slicing gusts that tore through the air, the platform trembling as the winds howled, slashing currents carving shallow grooves into the stone.

The island reacted, its fiery rings sparking, cliffs glowing brighter, the air thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth. Darius wove in Study of Earth's stability, anchoring his clones' gusts with grounded mana, the winds striking with heavier force, boulders tumbling in the chaotic currents. His Zephyr form danced between the clones, a blur of wind and light, launching Tempest Blade—a razor-sharp wind slash that screamed toward Ignatus, the arena quaking, runes blazing like miniature suns.

Ignatus countered effortlessly, an earth barrier rising from the platform with a flick of his wrist, the Tempest Blade shattering against it in a spray of sparks and wind. The barrier crumbled as quickly as it formed, his movements precise, his sleek robes barely stirring as he sidestepped the clones' barrage, their gusts slicing past him, harmlessly raking the air. The island's mana surged, platforms shifting, fiery rings flaring, the cliffs' runes casting wild shadows as Darius pushed his limits.

His breath came in sharp gasps, his mana straining, but his ambition burned brighter, fueled by Study of Water's fluid adaptability. He shifted tactics, his Anemoi Shades swirling into a Wind's Fury barrage—a relentless storm of slicing gusts, each clone weaving through the air, their attacks converging on Ignatus from multiple angles. The platform cracked under the pressure, the wind's roar deafening, the arena a maelstrom of swirling mana and dust, the floating boulders spinning wildly, their runes pulsing in chaotic rhythm. Darius's wind magic was a spectacle, the island shaking with his power, the air tearing apart as his clones danced, their gusts slashing with relentless precision, a testament to his growth and daring.

Yet Ignatus remained untouchable, his form a blur as he wove through the storm, redirecting gusts with subtle air shifts, his centuries of mastery rendering Darius's barrage ineffective. The platform steadied, the runes dimming slightly, the boulders settling as Ignatus moved with unyielding calm, his gray eyes tracking every move, his sleek robes glinting in the island's light. Darius's heart sank, the gap in their power undeniable, but he refused to falter, his wind magic surging with one final push.

He unleashed a massive Heaven's Tempest, a towering wind storm that engulfed the arena, his Anemoi Shades spiraling within, their slicing gusts amplified by the tempest's fury. The island roared, platforms trembling, fiery rings blazing, cliffs glowing with blinding light, the air thick with mana and the scent of scorched stone. Darius's Zephyr form darted through the storm, guiding the clones, their attacks a dazzling display of wind's freedom, the tempest tearing at the arena, the runes flaring like a beacon. His body burned with effort, his mana near its limit, the island's reaction—shaking platforms, tumbling boulders—a mirror to his all-out assault, his ambition to impress Ignatus driving every gust.

The sky island roared with elemental fury, the central platform trembling under the force of Darius's wind magic, its rune-etched stone glowing white-hot, the air thick with the sharp sting of ozone and scorched earth. The floating boulders spun wildly, their runes pulsing erratically, while the fiery rings in the distance crackled, and the cliffs' prismatic light cast chaotic shadows across the arena. Darius's training robes—blue wind motifs shimmering—flapped wildly in the maelstrom, his Zephyr form a blur of wind and light, non-mana attacks destined to pass through him. His Anemoi Shades, wind-spirit clones untouchable by mana-targeting spells, swirled within the storm, their slicing gusts tearing at the air, the island's mana surging in response. His heart pounded, the lessons from Study of Air, Water, Fire, and Earth fueling his creativity, his determination to prove himself to Ignatus pushing him beyond his limits.

Darius unleashed Heaven's Tempest, a massive wind storm that engulfed the arena, a howling vortex of raw power that shook the platform to its core. His clones multiplied, their forms darting like specters, each unleashing Wind's Fury—a barrage of slicing gusts that screamed through the air, carving grooves into the stone, the runes blazing like miniature suns. He wove in Tempest Blade, a razor-sharp wind slash, amplifying the storm's chaos, the winds converging on Ignatus from every angle. The island reacted violently, platforms cracking, boulders tumbling into the tempest, their runes flaring as the air roared with mana. Darius's internal monologue surged with determination, the wind's freedom embodying his ambition, his body trembling as he poured every ounce of mana into the assault. He blended Study of Earth's stability, anchoring his clones' gusts for heavier impact, and Study of Fire's illusions, weaving faint heat shimmers to mask the slashes' paths. The arena was a spectacle, the storm's howl deafening, the cliffs' light pulsing in sync with his mana, his attack a dazzling display of wind's destructive power, his ambition to match Ignatus's mastery driving each gust.

Ignatus remained a shadow in the storm, his youthful-old form a blur, his sleek robes with elemental runes glinting untouched. He dodged seamlessly, sidestepping Wind's Fury with a subtle lean, the tempest's slashes parting around him like water around stone. His gray eyes tracked every move, his presence unshaken, centuries of elemental mastery rendering Darius's storm ineffective. The platform steadied under his control, the boulders slowing, the runes dimming slightly as he wove through the clones' barrage, his movements fluid and effortless. Darius's heart sank, the gap in their power undeniable, but he refused to yield, his mana burning low, his Zephyr form flickering. He summoned one final attack, Storm's Wrath—a destructive wind spell from his arsenal, a spiraling vortex of shredding gusts that tore at the arena, the platform fracturing, fiery rings blazing, cliffs glowing blindingly. His Anemoi Shades surged within, their slashes converging in a chaotic whirlwind, the air screaming with power, the island shaking as if on the verge of collapse, Darius's full-out effort a testament to his growth, his ambition unyielding despite the strain.

Ignatus moved like a phantom, untouched, his form slipping through the Storm's Wrath with impossible speed. The tempest dissipated, the clones fading, the platform's cracks halting as his presence calmed the island's mana. Darius staggered, his Zephyr form collapsing, his breath ragged, mana spent. Ignatus stepped forward, his hand glowing with concentrated mana, a raw, shimmering force that pulsed with overwhelming power. With blinding speed, he struck—a single, non-magical blow, his hand slamming into Darius's chest, the force like a thunderclap, shaking the platform and cratering the stone beneath. Darius crashed to the ground, winded, pain radiating through his body, the island's hum fading to a low throb. Ignatus stood over him, his sleek robes barely stirred, his gray eyes sharp but softened with a trace of care. "You'll need to be broken down and built up to stand a chance," he said, his tone disappointed yet firm, a mentor's resolve underpinning his words. Darius lay there, his chest heaving, his resolve flickering amid the pain, the island's runes dimming, the air stilling.

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