The training arena still smelled of scorched mana. The ground was fractured, smoke rising from the deep gashes Ira's magic had left behind. The crowd that had once jeered and laughed at him now stood frozen, eyes wide, murmuring in disbelief.
Ira's opponent, a senior named Kael, was still on his knees, panting—his sword cracked cleanly in half. The silence in the hall felt heavier than any spell.
From the observation deck above, instructors whispered among themselves. No recorded mana surge. No casting signs. Then how…?
Ira dusted his uniform, expression blank. "Are we done?" he asked, voice calm but low enough to chill Kael's spine.
"Y-yeah…" Kael muttered, stepping back, fear crawling into his tone.
Before anyone could say more, a sharp voice cut through the tension.
"That was unnecessary force, Mr. Vale."
Professor Liora descended from the upper gallery, her robe glowing faintly with enchantments. "This is a training hall, not a battlefield."
Ira bowed slightly. "Apologies. I didn't intend to break anything."
Her gaze softened for a second—almost imperceptibly—but then she turned away. "The headmaster will want to see you. Follow me."
The whispers grew louder again. Some admired him. Others feared him. None truly understood what they'd seen.
---
The white-haired girl—Elara, as the whispers called her—watched silently from the edge of the crowd. Her pale hair shimmered faintly under the torchlight, eyes following him as he left.
That calm aura, that control… and that power. It resonated with something deep inside her, something she didn't fully understand.
When Ira glanced back for just a second, their eyes met—blue and silver.
It wasn't long, but something shifted in that moment.
A faint warmth in the cold air. A pulse neither of them could explain.
---
Later, inside the headmaster's chamber, the atmosphere was dense. Books lined the walls, ancient scrolls covered in dust.
Headmaster Althar was a man whose very presence bent the air around him. "Ira Vale," he said slowly, eyes piercing through him. "Your record says you're a late enrollment. Barely passed entry evaluation. And yet…"
His finger traced a pattern in the air—a floating sigil appeared, replaying the duel. A single burst of dark energy, like a silent explosion, froze mid-air.
"No chant. No runes. That kind of control is not… ordinary."
Ira met his gaze calmly. "I've trained myself. That's all."
The old man smirked. "Then you are either a prodigy or a liar. Either way, the academy will be watching you."
He leaned forward. "And one more thing. Stay close to the girl with white hair. Her presence here is… unusual. You may find your answers there."
---
That night, Ira walked through the quiet dorm corridors, moonlight spilling through the windows. The world outside the academy was dark—forests that whispered secrets and shadows that moved on their own.
As he reached the courtyard, he saw her again—Elara, standing by the fountain, tracing her fingers across the water.
"You shouldn't be out this late," he said softly.
She turned, surprised, her silver eyes reflecting the moon. "I could say the same."
For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of water and distant wind filled the silence between them. Then, quietly, she said,
"I saw what you did today. That wasn't just talent."
"And what do you think it was?" Ira asked.
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Something dangerous… but beautiful."
He didn't know why, but her words lingered. In her presence, the coldness that always shielded him began to thin, just a little.
As he walked away, he caught her whisper—barely audible, carried by the wind:
"Maybe we're both hiding the same kind of power…"