The arena was still humming with the echoes of Jade's victory over Kieran when a heavy presence fell over the grounds—like a pressure shift before a storm.
From the viewing deck above, a man descended. His every step was precise, deliberate, like a blade unsheathed. Cloaked in a black and crimson combat gi, his physique carried the kind of power that didn't need to boast. His very existence was its own warning.
Students parted like the sea. The crowd fell into murmurs and stillness.
"That's him…" someone whispered.
"The Iron Phantom…"
"No one's ever landed a clean hit on him."
Master Garrick—the Head of the Combat Class. Veteran of thirty-four battlefields. Slayer of the Sable Hydra. A man who once crushed an entire rebellion with nothing but his bare hands and a sealed aura.
He stood before Jade, arms crossed, his steel-gray eyes scanning the young warrior like a tactician studying terrain.
"You fight like someone with something to prove," Garrick said, voice rough but steady. "I saw more than fire in your movements. I saw purpose. Rage. You're no ordinary prodigy."
Jade said nothing. He held the man's gaze with the calm of someone who had long since embraced the weight of being different.
Garrick's lips tugged upward in what might've been a smirk. "Spar with me."
A collective gasp swept the crowd.
Kieran's jaw dropped. "Bro. Did he just…?"
"He did," Jade replied, his eyes already shifting to the center of the arena. "And I'm not about to decline."
---
The arena was cleared.
No illusions. No enhancements. No enchantments.
Just two warriors. Flesh, bone, and will.
Jade stood at one end, calm but coiled. His green hair fluttered in the arena's rising breeze, eyes narrowed with intensity.
Master Garrick stood tall, arms behind his back. "I won't use my aura," he said. "No killing intent. No power suppression field. Show me what the S-rank prodigy can do with pure technique."
Jade responded by taking a stance—one hand open before him, the other cocked back, fingers twitching with elemental energy.
The match began with no ceremony.
Jade struck first—a flash step, a spinning kick laced with wind magic, aimed at Garrick's midsection.
Garrick blocked it with a single palm.
The impact boomed, sending sand flying and students shielding their eyes.
"Fast," Garrick murmured.
Then he moved.
Jade barely dodged the returning elbow, sliding under Garrick's counterstrike and sweeping at his legs. Garrick flipped over the attack, landed behind Jade, and attempted a neck grab. Jade vanished in a blink—teleport blink.
Reappearing behind Garrick, he fired three plasma shots, then closed the distance with a punch that curved like a whip.
Blocked. Parried. Countered.
Every exchange between them echoed like thunder.
They weren't just fighting—they were communicating through combat. Each blow a sentence. Each feint a question. Each dodge, a reply.
The crowd didn't cheer—they watched, silent, reverent.
---
After ten breathless minutes of pure martial genius, Garrick held up a hand. Jade froze, mid-strike.
"Enough," the master said. His tone was respectful.
"You're young," he continued, "but I've fought elite soldiers who couldn't last ten seconds with me. You adapted to my rhythm in under two minutes."
He extended a hand, firm and steady.
"You're not just powerful. You're intelligent. That matters more. Keep it up, Jade Ryan—and you'll rewrite what it means to be a warrior."
---
As the two stepped off the field, Kieran sprinted toward them.
"Mate!" he shouted, half laughing, half in shock. "That was the most insane fight I've ever seen. You danced with death and didn't blink!"
Jade raised an eyebrow, brushing sand off his shirt. "You're overselling it."
Kieran grinned. "You're underselling it. I just watched you go toe-to-toe with the guy who made a cyclops monk apologize by flexing his aura."
Jade chuckled… but it didn't reach his eyes.
---
Back in the dorms, Kieran kept going.
"You know, Jade, I think you're meant for bigger things. Maybe not just a top student. Maybe something like head of the academy someday."
Jade's face darkened slightly. "You don't need to keep flattering me, Kieran. You're from the Vael bloodline. You've got your own legacy to forge."
Kieran blinked. "Wait, what?"
"You hide it," Jade continued, voice calm but sharp. "You joke. You downplay yourself. But you're a born tactician. I see how people look at me… but they underestimate you. Don't act like you're my sidekick. It's not fair to either of us."
Kieran's smirk faltered. For a moment, something deeper surfaced in his gaze.
"I've seen legends fall from grace, Jade," he said, quieter now. "Sometimes being in the spotlight means everyone sees your cracks. I've learned it's safer in the shade."
Jade didn't reply. But that moment planted a seed of understanding between them—something unspoken but real.
---
That evening, all warriors were summoned to the Grand Hall.
The air was heavy, electric.
Jade and Kieran took their seats among hundreds of combat students, the grand banners of each rank fluttering above. The giant brass bell rang once.
Principal Master Leander entered, flanked by faculty and discipline heads.
He didn't waste words.
"Today," he said, voice booming, "we mourn the loss of a warrior."
Silence fell like a blade.
"A third-year student," Leander continued, "perished during a sanctioned expedition into the Mirrorwood Zone. His name was Aelin Marr."
Jade's heart stilled.
Aelin. A mentor who once shared combat notes. Who once stayed up late with Jade to help him learn arcane channeling. The one who told him, "Don't be afraid to shine, even if it makes others squint."
The grief hit like a sucker punch.
Master Garrick stood beside the Principal now, eyes cast downward.
"This is a reminder," Leander went on, "that power is not enough. That skill alone cannot save everyone. The world outside these walls is cruel. And it will not care if you are a prodigy or a peasant."
Jade bowed his head.
Around him, other students sniffled, some staring at the floor, others wide-eyed with shock.
Aelin had been stronger than most.
If he could fall…
---
After the announcement, Garrick stepped down into the crowd and put a hand on Jade's shoulder.
"You feel it?" he asked.
Jade nodded. "Too much."
"That pain," Garrick said, "will either break you… or make you unbreakable."
Across the hall, Kieran approached. He didn't speak—he just stood beside Jade.
Then, silently, he pulled something from his pocket and held it out: a shard of one of Aelin's engraved practice coins. One he'd kept since their mock tournament last year.
Jade took it, closed his fingers around it, and let the silence speak for them.
---
Later that night, as the moon hung low and wide over the academy, Jade sat alone on the rooftop, the cool wind brushing through his hair.
He didn't cry. He didn't rage.
But inside, a forge had been lit.
He whispered Aelin's name once. Then stood.
"From now on… every strike I make, every spell I cast—it won't be for attention or praise," Jade said quietly. "It'll be for the ones who can't fight anymore."
Below, the academy lights flickered like stars.