The midday sun cast long shadows across the sparring grounds, where dozens of students gathered on worn stone platforms. The air shimmered faintly — not from heat, but from arcane residue.
A duel was about to begin.
And it wasn't scheduled.
"Why do I feel like you're always walking into things you've already planned to burn down?" Fayden muttered, arms crossed beside Rael.
Rael stood silently, arms behind his back, watching as Brannor Velcein strutted into the ring with a cocky grin, flames already swirling around his fists like coiled serpents.
> Typical. Loud magic. No discipline. Fire without form.
The academy rules forbade formal duels without instructor approval. But Brannor didn't need rules — he just needed an audience. And Rael… was the perfect target.
"Halewyn!" Brannor bellowed, voice carrying over the crowd. "Afraid to face someone with real fire?"
A few students chuckled. Most just watched — curious, expectant.
Rael stepped forward calmly.
"No instructor," he said softly. "No permit. No binding contract. This isn't a duel. It's a tantrum."
Brannor laughed. "Says the magicless."
"You mistake silence for absence," Rael replied.
A hush fell.
Brannor's grin faltered, just slightly.
---
🧱 The Arena
The platform was old — cracked runes embedded deep into its stone ring. A relic from the Age of Sealing, meant to suppress explosive spells. It was only partially active now.
The students circled close, hungry for drama. Combat was rare in the lower academies, especially from someone like Rael. He was quiet. Bookish. Unremarkable.
But now, he faced Brannor, fire-wielding brute and noble son.
"This won't take long," Brannor said, lifting his palm.
A jet of fire burst toward Rael — wild, hot, and loud.
Rael didn't dodge.
He whispered something — barely audible — and shifted one foot back.
The flame curved. Bent. Missed him entirely.
The crowd gasped.
Brannor blinked.
Rael stood in the same place, eyes cold, cloak untouched.
"You don't understand your element," he said. "Fire isn't a sword. It's a storm. And you're trying to bottle it in your fist."
Brannor growled and hurled another blast. Stronger.
Rael moved again — only a fraction — and the attack veered away.
Not because he blocked it.
Because he redirected the ambient flame resonance.
Something only a master-level arcanist could do.
Which Rael should not be.
---
🔥 The Shift
"What trick is this?!" Brannor shouted. He lunged forward, summoning flame along his blade.
Rael, in a single step, twisted — and tapped the edge of the platform with his heel.
A rune flared under Brannor's boots. One that had been drawn in nearly invisible ember-ink the night before.
Brannor slipped.
His flame collapsed.
His sword clattered to the ground.
The platform crackled with residual energy.
The crowd gasped again — this time louder. Not because Rael had used power… but because he hadn't.
Not visibly.
And still, he'd won.
---
⚖️ Aftermath
Master Veylor appeared moments later, robes flaring behind him.
"Enough!" His voice boomed with Arcana-backed command.
Brannor scrambled upright, red-faced and sputtering.
"He—he cheated! He used something—"
"I saw no visible channeling," Veylor said flatly. "You, Brannor, initiated an unapproved duel and endangered students. You'll serve three weeks of gate duty."
"But he—!"
"Dismissed."
Brannor stormed off, humiliated.
Veylor turned to Rael, eyes sharp.
"You hid something."
Rael bowed slightly. "I simply understand fire. Even if I cannot wield it."
"Mm." Veylor studied him longer than was comfortable. "Walk carefully, Halewyn. Some shadows are cast by fire. Others by corpses."
Rael said nothing.
But inside, he smiled.
---
🔥 That Night
Rael stood in the academy's old observatory, where ancient lenses once tracked celestial ley-lines.
He opened his palm and let a single ember float above his skin.
It burned blue. Silent.
> I've used nothing beyond basic manipulation, he thought. No core-spells. No summoning. Nothing to trip the seals the gods placed on my soul.
> But I can feel the bindings thinning.
He turned toward the ancient relic suspended in the center of the observatory — a half-dead arcane telescope with a cracked crystal heart.
He placed his hand on it.
The crystal pulsed once.
A low voice echoed through the chamber.
> "Flameborn. Ash-buried. Do you seek the beast?"
Rael didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
> "Then seek the path below the Ashwell. The fire that remembers you still waits in chains."
His heart stirred.
Not with fear.
But with anticipation.
---
🧨 Epilogue Scene: In Another Tower
Lior Halewyn sat in his private training hall, twin blades resting against the wall. A servant approached and whispered something in his ear.
Lior raised a brow.
"What did you say? My brother? In a duel?"
The servant nodded.
"He beat Brannor?"
The servant hesitated. "He… didn't use magic. But still—"
Lior waved him away.
Then sat in silence.
A spark of unease lit behind his smug expression.
"…Interesting," he muttered.
---
🔥 End of Chapter 4