Raiden Alaric

The moment Gerald's hand dropped, Fenris moved.

Not the calculated advance I'd seen from the other instructors. This was predatory instinct unleashed, a blur of motion that closed the distance between us in three fluid strides.

His claws swept toward my ribs in a diagonal slash that would have opened me up if I'd been standing there to receive it. I flowed backward, just far enough to let the strike pass, and immediately stepped back in. My palm shot toward his exposed side, aura pulsing through my arm to reinforce the strike.

Fenris twisted mid-motion, his tail whipping around to catch my wrist and deflect the blow. The contact sent a shock up my arm, not painful, just surprising. I'd never fought someone who used their tail as an active weapon.

Filing that away.

He spun with the deflection, bringing his other hand around in a backhand that I ducked under. But as I came up, his knee was already there, driving toward my chest.

I caught it on my forearms, absorbing the impact, and used the contact to pivot around his supporting leg. As I moved, I grabbed his ankle and tried to sweep him.

Fenris laughed, actually laughed, as he hopped over my sweep and landed in a perfect crouch.

"Better!" he called out, his grin showing those sharp canine teeth. "But you're still thinking like you're fighting a human!"

He proved his point immediately.

Instead of standing back up normally, he launched himself forward from the crouch, staying low to the ground. His claws raked toward my legs while his other hand aimed for my torso. A simultaneous high-low attack that forced me to choose which one to block.

I chose neither.

I jumped, pulling my knees up to clear the low strike while twisting to let the high one pass beneath me. But Fenris was already adjusting. His tail swept up toward me mid-air, and I had to slap it away with both hands to avoid getting caught.

The moment my feet touched down, he was on me again.

Claw strike to the left. I leaned right. Elbow toward my head. I ducked. Knee toward my ribs. I pivoted away. But each movement felt like I was half a step behind his rhythm.

That's when I realized what was happening.

He was fighting like an apex predator. Every strike flowed into the next without pause, each attack designed to herd me toward the next one. He wasn't trying to land one perfect hit; he was setting up a sequence that would inevitably corner me.

Smart.

Time to adapt.

Fenris came at me with another diagonal claw strike. I stepped back to avoid it, then watched for what came next, the spinning backhand, right on schedule.

But instead of ducking under it this time, I stepped forward into his guard and caught his wrist mid-swing. His eyes widened in surprise as I used his own momentum to pull him off balance, then drove my knee toward his exposed ribs.

He twisted away, but not fast enough. My knee clipped his side, and I heard him grunt with satisfaction rather than pain.

"Now you're learning!" he said, his tail lashing with excitement. "But can you keep up?"

He stepped up the pace.

Suddenly, he wasn't following patterns anymore. Pure improvisation. Claw, elbow, tail swipe, knee, all flowing together in combinations I couldn't predict. His movements became more animalistic, more primal.

I had to abandon technique and rely on pure instinct.

Duck. Weave. Block. Counter. My aura flowed through my body, reinforcing wherever the next impact would land. But I was constantly on the defensive now, barely keeping up with his barrage.

That's when I felt it, the familiar warmth spreading through my limbs.

My origin was working overtime, analyzing every movement he made, breaking down his fighting style in real-time. But more than that, it was adapting my own movements to match his rhythm.

Something deeper than technique was awakening in me. I stopped thinking like a martial artist and started thinking like a hunter.

My stance lowered, weight distributed on the balls of my feet like a cat ready to pounce. Instead of standing upright and trading blows, I began to circle Fenris, looking for weaknesses, testing his reactions. My movements became predatory, each step deliberate, each shift in position calculated to set up the next attack.

My strikes transformed completely. I began to attack in sequences designed to herd Fenris where I wanted him, just like he'd been doing to me. A feint to the left to make him shift his guard, then immediately pressing right to exploit the opening.

My aura responded to this shift, flowing differently through my body. When I spotted an opening, my aura would concentrate in my striking limb before I'd even consciously decided to attack. When Fenris pressed forward, it would flow to my legs, preparing me to evade or reposition.

Most importantly, I started thinking several moves ahead, not in the calculated way of a chess player, but in the instinctive way of a predator.

Fenris noticed immediately. His grin widened, but there was something different in his eyes now, recognition. His ears perked forward, and his own stance shifted to mirror mine.

As if my transformation had triggered something in him, Fenris began to fight differently too. This was no longer instructor versus student, this was predator versus predator, each recognizing the other as a true threat.

We clashed in the center of the circle, but now our exchanges had a different quality. We moved like apex hunters testing each other's territory, each looking for signs of weakness while simultaneously demonstrating our own lethality.

I found myself using techniques I'd never been taught, movements that felt ancient and instinctive. My fingers curved slightly, like claws. My head tilted to track Fenris's movements with predatory focus.

My aura began to pulse in a rhythm that matched my heartbeat. When my pulse quickened with the thrill of the hunt, my aura responded by flowing faster, making my reactions sharper.

But Fenris wasn't done teaching me yet.

He suddenly dropped to all fours and came at me like a true wolf, moving with inhuman speed and coordination. His claws found purchase on the mat as he bounded toward me in a pattern that my human brain wasn't wired to predict.

I barely managed to leap over his first pass, but he was already turning, using his momentum to spin into a spinning tail strike that caught me in the ribs and sent me staggering.

Before I could recover, he was upright again, pressing his attack with renewed ferocity. Now his movements incorporated that four-legged mobility, dropping low to attack my legs, then springing up to target my head.

This is insane, I thought, blocking a claw strike that seemed to come from three directions at once. And I love every second of it.

The crowd around us had gone from cheering to stunned silence. Even the other instructors were watching intently, recognizing that this had evolved beyond a simple test into something extraordinary.

The pace became absolutely relentless. We moved around the circle in a deadly dance, neither able to gain a decisive advantage. Every opening I created, Fenris covered. Every trap he set, I escaped by the narrowest margin.

My lungs began to burn from the sustained intensity. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my shoulders and forearms started to ache from the constant aura output and movement. But the predatory high kept me going, even as exhaustion began to creep in around the edges.

Sixty seconds passed in what felt like both an eternity and an instant.

A sharp tone echoed through the chamber.

"Time!" Gerald called out.

Neither of us stopped immediately. We were locked in an exchange, my fist driving toward his ribs while his claws swept toward my neck. Both strikes landed simultaneously, stopping just short of actual contact as we recognized the end signal.

We froze like that for a moment, both breathing hard, both grinning like maniacs.

My lungs burned from the sustained intensity, and I could feel the familiar ache spreading through my shoulders and forearms. Sweat dripped from my forehead, and my legs trembled slightly from the constant movement and aura output. The predatory high was still there, but underneath it, exhaustion was starting to creep in.

Still, I couldn't stop grinning.

Then Fenris started laughing. Deep, rolling laughter that filled the entire chamber.

"Outstanding!" he said, stepping back slowly. "One minute of pure combat, and you held your ground against me while I'm wearing this." He gestured to his bind around his wrist. "That's... that's genuinely impressive, kid."

I started laughing first, partly from the rush of adrenaline, partly from the sheer exhilaration of the fight. Fenris joined in immediately, his deep laughter mixing with mine.

The crowd erupted. Cheers, applause, and shouts of amazement filled the air. But there was also an undercurrent of disbelief. Examinees weren't supposed to fight instructors to a standstill.

Then again, it was only a minute. #68 went the full 3 minutes.

Gerald was staring at his tablet, then at us, then back at his tablet. "That's... unprecedented," he muttered. "The system doesn't even have a classification for this."

As our laughter died down, Fenris walked over and extended his hand. When I took it, he pulled me into a brief, fierce embrace. I was grateful for the support, my legs were more unsteady than I'd realized.

"That," he said quietly, so only I could hear, "was the best hunt I've had in years. We pushed each other to the limit."

I grinned back at him, though I had to focus to keep my voice steady. "That was incredible. Haven't had a fight like that since my last session with Chronos."

The adrenaline was starting to fade, and with it came the full weight of what I'd just put my body through. My aura felt drained, like a reservoir that had been running on fumes for the last thirty seconds of the fight. I could maintain my composure, but I was definitely feeling it.

"Impressive work," he continued, his eyes bright with satisfaction. "You held your own against a restrained Blue Rank for a full minute. That's no small feat." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You've got real potential, kid. If you're ever in the area after you graduate, look me up. I'd be happy to spar with you anytime—without the restraints next time."

I couldn't help but grin wider at that. "I'll hold you to that."

As we fully separated, Fenris glanced over at #68, who had walked up. "Same goes for you," he called out with a grin. "That performance earlier was solid. Always enjoy a good challenge."

Before leaving, Fenris reached into a small pouch on his belt and tossed something to each of us. I caught mine instinctively, a small, amber-colored pill.

"Recovery pills," he said with a grin. "Should help with the fatigue. Consider it a warrior's courtesy."

I examined the pill briefly. It had a faint, medicinal smell but seemed safe enough. #68 was already swallowing his, so I followed suit. Within moments, I could feel some of the ache in my muscles beginning to ease, and my aura felt less drained.

"Not bad," #68 said quietly, rolling his shoulders experimentally.

Gerald began calling the next examinee forward to face their assigned instructor, #68, and I stepped back to watch the remaining tests. I noticed he was watching me for a second. He was watching with that same intense focus I recognized, but there was something different in his expression now. He was sizing me up, recalculating.

Gerald was still staring at his tablet, muttering under his breath. "I'll have to consult with the board about scoring this one. A mutual standstill after the full minute... there's literally no precedent." He looked up at the observation galleries where the academy ambassadors were watching. "And that's not even accounting for the fact that you fought all five instructors instead of the standard single match. The ambassadors are going to want to review this personally."

Fenris chuckled. "Put down whatever the highest score is. The kid earned it."

As the scoreboard flickered, trying to process the unprecedented result, Gerald began calling the next examinee forward to face their assigned instructor. I made my way back to my little corner. Despite my controlled steps, the sustained intensity caused a slight tremor in my calves. #68 followed of course. We didn't say anything at first, just stood side by side watching the next match begin. I used the time to steady my breathing and let my aura settle back into a more sustainable pattern. I just let the pill work it's magic.

Finally, he spoke quietly, without taking his eyes off the current fight.

"That was something else," he said simply.

I glanced at him sideways, wiping some lingering sweat from my forehead. "Thanks."

He was quiet for a moment, then added, "You made that look way harder than it needed to be."

"Says the guy who scored lower than me," I shot back with a tired grin.

"Fair point," he chuckled. "Though I wasn't trying to reinvent combat mid-fight. Also, I lasted two more minutes than you."

We laughed.

The final examinations continued around us, but my mind was already racing ahead to what came next. The aptitude tests were complete, which meant academy placement was just around the corner.

After the last examinee finished their sparring match, Gerald stepped to the center of the chamber with his tablet in hand. The room gradually quieted as people noticed his positioning.

"All examinations are now complete," he announced, his voice carrying easily across the space. "Final results are being compiled and will be displayed momentarily."

The large monitor above the arena flickered to life, cycling through loading screens before settling on a comprehensive leaderboard. Names, numbers, and scores filled the display in neat columns, ranked from highest to lowest overall performance.

FINAL RANKINGS - APTITUDE TEST BATCH #03-821 - GROUP 420

#69 – Overall Score: 97.3 – Platinum Tier

#68 – Overall Score: 95.8 – Platinum Tier

#44 – Overall Score: 92.1 – Gold Tier

#17 – Overall Score: 91.6 – Gold Tier

#12 – Overall Score: 90.2 – Gold Tier

#34 – Overall Score: 89.9 – Silver Tier

#02 – Overall Score: 89.7 – Silver Tier

#90 – Overall Score: 88.4 – Silver Tier

#156 – Overall Score: 87.2 – Silver Tier

#78 – Overall Score: 86.9 – Silver Tier

Nice

The moment the scores solidified on the screen, chaos erupted.

Examinees swarmed toward both me and #68 like we were celebrities who'd just walked into a crowd. The questions came from every direction, overlapping and competing for attention.

"How did you manage a Platinum score?!"

"What was it like fighting all five instructors?!"

"Are you sponsored by a sect already?!"

"That technique you used against the speed instructor—where did you learn that?!"

"Is there an academy you already have in mind?"

I tried to edge toward the exit, but the crowd moved with me. Someone grabbed my arm to get my attention. Another person was trying to take a picture with their communication device. The noise was becoming overwhelming.

"69!"

The voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Everyone went silent instantly, heads turning toward the source.

#68 stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, that familiar intense look in his eyes. But this time, there was something different about his posture. More formal. Like he was about to make an official declaration.

"Would you humor me with a spar?"

The silence stretched. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room shifting between us, waiting for my response.

A grin spread across my face, not the polite smile I'd been giving the crowd, but something far more genuine and predatory.

"I thought you'd never ask."

From across the chamber, I heard Fenris's distinctive laugh. The instructors had been observing from the sidelines, but now they were walking over with obvious interest.

"Now this should be interesting," Marcus said, crossing his arms. "The top two going at it."

Sylvan nodded, his pointed ears twitching with curiosity. "I want to see how their styles match up."

Thora cracked her knuckles. "Been wondering about this since the strength test."

Vera moved with that flowing grace, already positioning herself for the best viewing angle. "A clash between two Platinum performers? This is unprecedented."

Gerald looked up from his tablet, clearly torn between protocol and curiosity. The five instructors turned to him with expectant expressions.

"Is there an available sparring room?" Fenris asked.

Gerald's fingers flew across his tablet, checking schedules. After a moment, he shook his head. "Everything's booked for the next batch of examinees." He paused, then looked up with a slight grin. "But... I can give you five minutes in Chamber Three before the next group arrives."

"Five minutes?" I asked.

#68's eyes gleamed. "More than enough."

The crowd of examinees followed us as Gerald led the way through reinforced corridors toward Chamber Three. The anticipation was electric, people were whispering, making last-minute bets, and jockeying for the best viewing positions.

When the doors to Chamber Three slid open, I couldn't help but appreciate the setup.

The sparring chamber was impressive, a large, multi-level space with observation galleries rising on three sides. In the center, a raised platform marked by blue and orange boundaries served as the main fighting area. The flooring looked reinforced, designed to handle serious impacts. Orange accent lighting ran along the edges and up the walls, giving the entire space a modern, professional feel.

What really caught my attention were the galleries. Multiple levels of viewing areas with reinforced glass barriers, perfect for spectators to watch without getting caught in the crossfire. The examinees quickly filed up the stairs to claim spots along the railings.

The instructors positioned themselves at the gallery closest to the fighting platform, arms crossed, expressions focused. Even they seemed genuinely curious about how this would play out.

Gerald activated a timer display on the wall. "Five minutes on the clock. Standard sparring rules, no permanent damage, yield when called, best two out of three. The timer starts when you both step onto the platform."

#68 and I walked to opposite edges of the raised fighting area. The platform itself was larger than the circles we'd fought in during the tests, maybe thirty feet across, giving us room to really move.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the effects of Fenris's recovery pill still working through my system. My aura felt stable, my muscles loose and ready.

Across from me, #68 was doing the same preparation, his chrome yellow aura beginning to shimmer faintly around his frame.

The crowd in the galleries had gone quiet. Waiting.

I stepped onto the platform. He did the same.

The timer began counting down from five minutes.

As we finished our stretching, I looked up at him. "Before we begin... do you have a name? I figured it would be better than just calling you 68 all the time."

He paused, thinking it over, then nodded. "Aaron."

I couldn't help but smirk. The slight hesitation, the way he'd had to think about it, that definitely wasn't his real name. But I wasn't going to call him out on it. We all had our secrets.

"Aaron it is," I said, settling into a loose stance. "I'm Raiden," I said without hesitation.

Gerald stepped to the edge of the platform, raising his hand. "Standard sparring rules apply. Best two out of three. No permanent damage, yield when called, match ends when time runs out or someone yields." He looked between us. "Ready?"

"Actually," I said, raising a hand. "Can we adjust the rules?"

Gerald paused, eyebrow raised. "How so?"

Aaron stepped forward, seeming to understand where I was going. "Points for lethal strikes or pins only. Clean hits that would be decisive in a real fight."

"More interesting that way," I added with a grin.

Gerald looked between us, then shrugged. "Your match. Lethal strikes and pins count as points. Best two out of three." He looked up at the instructors in the gallery, who all nodded their approval, if anything, they looked more interested.

"Ready now?" Gerald asked.

We both nodded.

"Proelium," I said, bowing. "Let this contest sharpen us both."

Aaron bowed in response. "Proelium," he replied. "May we both find worthy challenge."

The timer began counting down from five minutes.

The moment Gerald's hand dropped, we both moved.

Aaron came at me with clean, measured strikes, a straight punch followed by a quick combination. His form was solid, his footwork precise, but there was something off about his rhythm. It felt like he was translating movements from one style into another, adapting on the fly.

I slipped his first punch and countered with a palm strike toward his ribs. He deflected it smoothly, but I caught the way his wrist moved. There was muscle memory there for something else. Something longer. Definitely a weapon fighter.

We circled each other briefly before engaging again. Aaron threw a series of strikes that flowed well together, but I could see the gaps. His hand-to-hand was excellent, but it wasn't natural. His hand-to-hand combat was learned and practiced, but it lacked the naturalness of his aura control.

I started testing him, probing his defenses with quick jabs and low kicks. Each exchange told me more about how he moved, how he thought, and where his instincts led him. And something else too, something I couldn't quite put my finger on but felt familiar.

There was an ease to fighting him I hadn't expected. Not because he was easy to beat, but because we seemed to read each other naturally. When he feinted left, I was already moving right. When I shifted my weight, he adjusted his stance automatically. It was like sparring with someone who spoke the same language.

Weird.

Aaron launched into a more aggressive combination, pressing forward with strikes aimed at my head and torso. I weaved through them, feeling that strange sense of synchronization again. There was something about the way he fought, not the techniques, but the spirit behind them, that felt...right.

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I caught his next punch, redirected it, and stepped into his guard. My shoulder connected with his chest, and I used his momentum against him, sweeping his legs while driving him down. We hit the mat hard, with me landing on top in a solid pin, my forearm across his throat, my weight controlling his hips.

Aaron looked up at me for a second, then started laughing. Not frustrated or embarrassed, genuine amusement, like he'd just figured out a joke.

"Good read," he said, his grin fading as he looked up at me from the mat.

I rolled off him and offered a hand up, but he didn't take it immediately. Instead, he studied my face for a moment, something shifting in his expression.

"I need to apologize," he said finally, his voice more serious than I'd heard it all day.

I blinked, confused. "For what?"

He ignored my outstretched hand and rolled to his feet on his own, brushing off his tracksuit. Without explanation, he walked toward the weapon racks along the chamber wall.

The crowd in the galleries went quiet, sensing the change in atmosphere.

"I severely underestimated you," he called over his shoulder as he approached the weapons. "I thought I could probably match you if I tried something new, but clearly I let my ego get the better of me."

He stopped at the weapon rack and picked up a pair of reinforced wrist guards, turning to toss them to me. They landed at my feet with a metallic clatter.

I looked down at them, then back up at him, confused. "What are these for?"

"Trust me," he said simply, then turned back to the rack.

His hand hovered over several weapons before settling on a longsword. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, everything changed.

The way he lifted it, the way it settled in his grip, the casual test swing he made, it was like watching someone pick up an extension of their own body. The blade moved through the air with perfect control, no wasted motion, every angle precise.

Goosebumps ran up my arms.

This was what he'd been holding back. This was his real fighting style.

I bent down and picked up the wrist guards, understanding flooding through me as I strapped them on. If he was going to fight with a sword, I was going to need some protection.

He turned back toward me; the sword held loosely at his side, and his entire demeanor had transformed. Gone was the friendly competitor from moments before. In his place stood someone who moved with the quiet confidence of a master swordsman.

He walked back to the center of the platform and raised the blade, pointing it directly at me. His stance shifted into something that looked both elegant and deadly, sword angled perfectly, feet positioned for maximum mobility, his whole body aligned behind the weapon.

"My name is Sol," he said, his voice carrying a weight it hadn't before. "Sol Apollo."

The formality of the moment, the way he held himself, the gravity in his voice, I understood immediately. This wasn't just an introduction. This was an acknowledgment between warriors, a sign of respect that demanded an equal response.

I straightened, meeting his eyes directly, and pressed my fist into my open palm before giving a respectful bow.

"Raiden Alaric," I replied, my voice matching his serious tone.

Sol returned the bow, never taking his eyes off mine, the sword still held in perfect position. When we both straightened, there was an understanding between us that hadn't existed before. We were no longer just competitors. We were warriors honoring each other with our true names and full capabilities.

Gerald stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. "Round two. Same rules apply. Ready?"

We both nodded.

"Begin!"

The moment Gerald's signal dropped, Sol moved.

Not the measured approach from before. This was fluid, predatory motion, like watching water flow uphill. His sword came alive in his hands, cutting through the air in patterns that seemed to bend light around the blade.

I barely managed to dodge the first strike, his blade whistling past my ear close enough that I felt the displacement of air. I rolled left, came up, and immediately had to duck under a horizontal slash that would have taken my head off.

This is insane.

Sol wasn't just skilled with a sword, he was artistry in motion. Every cut flowed into the next, every step positioned him for three different follow-ups. His blade sang through the air with techniques I'd never seen before, strikes that seemed to come from impossible angles.

I tried to close distance, get inside his reach where the sword would be less effective. Sol read my intention before I'd even committed to it. His blade reversed direction mid-swing, the pommel driving toward my ribs. I twisted away, but his footwork carried him with me, keeping perfect spacing.

A thrust toward my chest. I deflected it with my wrist guard, sparks flying from the contact. The force of the blow numbed my entire arm. Sol spun with the deflection, his blade coming around in a wide arc that forced me to backpedal frantically.

He pressed his advantage immediately. A diagonal cut that I barely avoided. A rapid series of thrusts that kept me moving, never letting me plant my feet. Each strike was precise, controlled, but devastatingly powerful.

I caught one thrust on both wrist guards, crossing them to stop the blade's point from reaching my chest. Sol didn't fight the block, instead, he used it as a pivot point, spinning the blade in a complex pattern that ended with the flat of his sword slamming into my shoulder.

I staggered but stayed upright. Sol was already moving, his next attack coming from a completely different angle.

Focus. Read the patterns. Find the rhythm.

But there was no pattern. Every technique flowed into something new, something I hadn't seen before. His sword work was like watching someone speak in a language I didn't know, beautiful and deadly and completely foreign.

I managed to slip past one of his strikes and got close enough to throw a punch. My fist connected with his ribs, and I felt him shift with the impact. But even as he absorbed the hit, his sword was moving, the blade coming around in a tight arc toward my side.

I threw myself backward, feeling the steel pass inches from my stomach.

Sol smiled. Not the friendly grin from before, but something sharper. More focused.

"Better," he said, never stopping his advance.

The fight became a deadly dance. Sol's blade carved patterns in the air around me, each strike forcing me to move, to adapt, to find new ways to survive. I used everything I had, the speed techniques I'd learned from Sylvan, the power applications from Thora, the unpredictable movement patterns from Vera.

None of it was enough.

Sol anticipated everything. When I tried speed, he was already positioned to counter. When I tried power, he redirected my force and used it against me. When I tried to be unpredictable, he adapted with fluid grace that made it look effortless.

But something else was happening too. That strange feeling of connection I'd experienced in the first round was growing stronger. Despite the intensity, despite the fact that he was systematically dismantling my defenses, there was still that sense of fighting someone who understood me.

Our auras began to resonate in a way I'd never experienced before. His chrome yellow and my deep blue started to harmonize, creating patterns in the air between us that were beautiful and terrifying.

I could feel his intentions before he moved. Not enough to counter them, but enough to survive them. And somehow, I got the sense that he could feel mine too.

The crowd in the galleries had gone completely silent, watching this exchange with the same intensity as the instructors. Even they seemed to recognize that something extraordinary was happening.

Sol's attacks became more complex, chaining techniques together in sequences that pushed my defensive abilities to their absolute limit. A feint high, real attack low, followed by a spinning cut that I had to roll under. A thrust that became a slash that became a pommel strike that I barely deflected.

I was giving everything I had, using every technique I'd ever learned, and it still wasn't enough. Sol was fighting at a level that was simply beyond me.

But I wasn't yielding. Even as his blade found its way past my defenses more and more often, even as the strikes I couldn't fully avoid began to accumulate, I kept fighting. Not because I thought I could win, but because this felt right in a way I couldn't explain.

Sol's expression had changed too. The focused smile was gone, replaced by something more intense. More genuine. Like he was discovering something about himself in this fight.

"You're incredible," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of steel cutting air. "I've never fought anyone like you."

Before I could respond, he launched into his most devastating combination yet.

A rising cut that forced me to lean back. A horizontal slash that made me duck. The impact of a diagonal strike on my crossed wrist guards sent shockwaves up my arms.

And then, as I struggled to recover from that block, Sol's blade came around in a perfect arc, the flat of the sword connecting with my torso with tremendous force.

The world exploded into motion.

I felt my feet leave the platform as the aura-enhanced impact launched me backward. The air rushed past me as I flew through space, completely out of control. I sailed clear over the edge of the fighting area, past the lower galleries where spectators scrambled to get out of the way, their shouts echoing as they dove aside.

I crashed into the reinforced wall with a bone-jarring impact that knocked the wind from my lungs, then slumped down to the floor in a heap.

For a moment, I just lay there against the wall, staring across the chamber at the platform, trying to remember how to breathe. My aura flickered weakly around me, exhausted from the intense battle.

Sol had won.

Then I started laughing.

Not bitter or frustrated laughter, pure, uncontrolled joy. I laughed like I'd just discovered something incredible, which I guess I had.

"That was awesome!" I called out from across the chamber, my voice echoing off the walls. "I want more! I want to see more!"

Sol lowered his sword, and I could see him grinning from all the way over here. That genuine smile was back, the one that felt familiar in a way I couldn't explain.

"Thirty seconds left on the clock!" Gerald announced, checking his tablet.

I pushed myself off the wall, my legs still shaky, but my excitement overriding everything else. Sol raised his sword again, settling back into that perfect stance. We looked at each other across the distance, and somehow, without any discussion, we both knew what came next.

"START!" we shouted in unison.

I sprinted back toward the platform while Sol moved to meet me. We crashed together at the edge of the fighting area, and immediately I could tell something had changed. My body was already adapting to his sword work, my origin working overtime to process everything I'd absorbed in that devastating second round.

His first strike, a diagonal cut I'd seen before, I slipped past it with inches to spare. His follow-up thrust, I deflected with my wrist guard, the timing perfect. A horizontal slash that would have caught me earlier. I ducked under while staying in close range.

Sol's eyes lit up as he realized what was happening. I was learning. Fast.

"Better!" he said, pressing his attack with renewed intensity.

But now I was matching him, move for move. Every technique he'd shown me, every pattern I'd memorized while getting systematically dismantled, it was all coming together. My aura flowed more smoothly, responding to his rhythm, finding the gaps in his seemingly perfect defense.

And that feeling was back. Stronger than ever.

Fighting Sol didn't feel like fighting an opponent. It felt like dancing with someone who knew all the same steps. Our auras weren't just resonating anymore. As one, they moved together, parts of the same whole.

This was what I'd been searching for without knowing it. Not just a good fight, not just someone who could challenge me, but someone who understood fighting the same way I did. Someone who felt that same joy in the perfect exchange, that same thrill in pushing each other beyond what either could achieve alone.

Sol felt it too. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his smile grew wider with each exchange. This wasn't just a test or a competition anymore, this was recognition.

We spiraled around each other, attacks and counters flowing seamlessly together. His sword work and my hand-to-hand creating a rhythm that felt ancient and natural. Like we'd done this a thousand times before.

I managed to get inside his guard and drove a palm strike toward his chest. At the exact same moment, his blade angled toward my throat, both strikes perfectly timed for lethal impact.

"TIME!"

We froze. Both attacks stopped mere inches from their targets. The wind from our movements gusted around us, ruffling our hair as we stared at each other.

The chamber was completely silent. Even Gerald seemed stunned by what he'd just witnessed.

Sol and I stayed frozen for another heartbeat, both breathing hard, both grinning like idiots.

"Draw," Gerald finally managed to say.

The silence shattered.

The crowd in the galleries exploded into cheers, applause, and shouts that echoed off the chamber walls. People were on their feet, some whistling, others calling out our numbers. The instructors were clapping with genuine appreciation, their expressions showing they'd witnessed something rare.

Sol and I lowered our weapons simultaneously, never breaking eye contact. We walked toward each other, meeting in the center of the platform.

Without a word, Sol extended his fist. I bumped it with mine, then we grabbed each other's hands in a solid dap, pulling into a brief embrace that felt more like greeting an old friend than ending a fight.

"That," Sol said, his voice barely audible over the cheering crowd, "was exactly what I needed."

I grinned, still catching my breath. "Same here. I've never fought anyone who—"

"Understood," he finished, and somehow I knew that was exactly what I'd been trying to say.

We separated, both still smiling, both knowing that something had changed. This hadn't just been a test or a competition, lit had been recognition. We'd found each other.

Now you, I could call a friend.

As the cheering began to die down and people started filing out of the galleries, Sol and I walked toward the edge of the platform toward the weapon rack to return what we borrowed. Gerald was making notes on his tablet, shaking his head with what looked like amused disbelief.

"That was something else," Sol said, rolling his shoulders. "I should probably return this." He gestured to the sword still in his hand.

I was about to respond when it hit me.

Killing intent. Sharp, focused, and absolutely lethal.

But this time it wasn't a subtle leak or accidental bleed, this was active, directed, and coming fast.

My instincts took over before my mind could process what was happening. I spun around, my hand shooting up to catch something moving toward me. My fingers wrapped around a wrist, stopping a strike mere inches from my back.

Renith's face was twisted with rage, a training dagger gripped in his caught hand. He must have grabbed it from the weapon rack when no one was looking.

But I wasn't the only one who'd reacted.

Sol's sword was pressed against Renith's throat, the blade steady and precise. His chrome yellow aura flickered dangerously around the steel, and his expression had gone completely cold.

"Drop it," Sol said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of authority that brooked no argument.

Renith's eyes darted between us, his face flushed with fury and humiliation. The dagger trembled in his grip, but he didn't let go.

"You think you're so special," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Both of you. But you're nothing. I'm a high elf—my bloodline, my heritage, my natural superiority. I shouldn't be ranked below common rabble like you."

The chamber had gone dead silent. Every eye was on us, the celebration completely forgotten.

I felt it again, another pulse of killing intent, this one coming from a different direction.

But Sol was already moving. His sword swept away from Renith's throat and aimed directly at the second high elf who'd been with Renith during the first exam. The one with the same sharp features and noble bearing, now standing near the weapon racks with his hand hovering over a blade.

"Don't," Sol said simply, his voice carrying the kind of finality that made smart people reconsider their choices.

The second high elf froze, his hand still reaching toward the weapons.

"Enough."

The dark elf from earlier, the one who'd shut down Renith's complaints about his ranking, stepped forward from the crowd. His silver hair caught the chamber's lighting as he moved with that fluid grace typical of his kind, but there was steel in his expression.

"This is pathetic, even for you two," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His eyes fixed on both high elves with obvious disgust. "You're going to attack someone because your precious egos can't handle being outclassed?"

Renith's grip on the dagger tightened. "Stay out of this, dark blood. This doesn't concern your kind."

The dark elf's expression went ice cold.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the chamber as all five instructors descended from the galleries. Their faces were masks of absolute fury, not the controlled anger of disappointed teachers, but the icy rage of professionals who'd just witnessed something unforgivable.

Fenris reached us first, his predatory features twisted into a snarl that showed every one of his sharp teeth. "You worthless little whelps," he growled, his voice carrying a menace that made the temperature in the room seem to drop. "Attempted murder on A.A. grounds?"

Marcus, Sylvan, Thora, and Vera formed a circle around us, their combined presence suffocating. These weren't just instructors anymore, they were Blue Rank Ascendants whose authority had been violated in the worst possible way.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" Thora's voice was deadly quiet, her usual boisterous nature completely gone. "This isn't some academy squabble. This is a capital crime."

Vera's bark-like skin seemed to darken with her anger. "Attempted assassination on sanctified grounds. The Sentinels will be very interested in this."

Gerald stepped forward, his tablet glowing as he finished whatever he'd been typing. "Security has been alerted," he announced, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "Sentinel response teams are en route. Estimated arrival: three minutes."

Sylvan's pointed ears were laid back flat against his skull, his usually melodic voice sharp with disgust. "Twenty years I've been testing candidates. Twenty years, and I've never seen something this stupid."

The second high elf's hand jerked away from the weapon rack like it had burned him. His face had gone pale as the reality of the situation sank in.

Renith was still holding the dagger, but his expression had shifted from rage to something approaching panic as he looked around at the circle of furious Blue Rank instructors.

I released his wrist and stepped back, letting my hands fall to my sides. The instructors were here now. They'd handle this if Renith was stupid enough to try anything else.

But that would be giving him too much credit.

The moment I let go, Renith lunged forward with the dagger, desperation overriding what little sense he had left.

He made it maybe two inches before he stopped completely.

All five instructors moved in perfect synchronization. I watched as they reached up and tapped the bases of their wrists simultaneously. The aura binds that had been restraining them throughout the day shimmered once, then fell to the floor with metallic clinks.

The change was immediate and terrifying.

An immense pressure slammed down on both high elves like the weight of a mountain. Renith froze mid-lunge, the dagger trembling in his grip as he fought just to breathe. The second high elf collapsed to his knees, gasping for air that seemed too thick to swallow.

This is what Blue Rank really looks like.

The aura technique they were using was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It wasn't just pressure, it was targeted suppression, flowing around the two elves like invisible chains that locked their muscles in place. I could see the way the energy moved, precisely controlled, designed to immobilize without permanent damage.

Renith's eyes bulged as he struggled against the technique, but he might as well have been trying to move a building with his bare hands.

Fenris stepped closer, his predatory features twisted into pure rage. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and I could see his claws extending slightly. The killing intent radiating from him was so intense it made my skin crawl.

"I should end you right here," he snarled, his voice carrying the promise of violence. "Save the Sentinels the trouble."

Vera moved smoothly to his side, her hand touching his arm with gentle firmness. "Control, Fenris," she said, her voice carrying the wisdom of ancient forests. "They're not worth breaking protocol."

"Control?" Renith managed to gasp out, his voice strained but still full of venom. "You bark-kissing wretch, whispering sweet nothings to your precious trees, as if they'd return your embrace. Know your pla—"

The words cut off with a wet thud.

Thora's fist connected with Renith's jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. The aura suppression technique held him in place, so he couldn't even roll with the punch. The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground in a heap, completely unconscious.

"Oops," Thora said, examining her knuckles with satisfaction. "My hand slipped."

The second high elf stared at his unconscious companion in absolute terror, apparently deciding that silence was his best option for survival.

Sol and I exchanged a look, then started walking toward the exit. The crisis was over, and there was no point staying around to watch the cleanup.

As we left the chamber behind, I glanced over at him. "Thanks for having my back in there."

Sol shrugged, his expression casual. "What else would I do for a friend?"

The word hit me unexpectedly. Friend. It had been a long time since I'd heard someone say that with such certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I don't even think Ella called me a friend.

I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. Friend."

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, making our way through the corridors back toward the main hall. But my mind kept drifting back to what I'd witnessed in the chamber.

That aura suppression technique the instructors had used, the way they'd coordinated their energy to create targeted pressure, immobilizing two people simultaneously without permanent damage. The precision, the control, the sheer efficiency of it.

I want that.

My origin was already working, breaking down what I'd observed, analyzing the flow patterns and energy distribution. It was complex, probably requiring multiple people to execute properly, but the principles were fascinating. Targeted aura projection, coordinated pressure points, controlled environmental manipulation...

A grin spread across my face as I thought about the possibilities.

Sol noticed my expression and raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking about something dangerous, aren't you?"

"Always," I replied, still grinning.

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