The crowd was still buzzing from Kael's duel when the next name echoed through the arena.
"Ryn Halcrest of the Ironwild Expanse — versus Tharos of the Satyr Clans!"
The students roared.
Kael leaned against the railing, still nursing his bruised ribs, as his roommate stepped confidently into the ring — rolling his shoulders, grinning like this was a performance rather than a test.
Tharos, his opponent, was nearly twice his size — a Satyr with ram-like horns and bronze skin, veins pulsing faintly with earthen magic. He stomped his hooves, cracking the obsidian floor.
"Little bird," he growled. "I'll crush your wings before you take flight."
Ryn only smiled. "Then you'll have to catch me first."
The signal rune blazed.
Tharos charged, swinging his stone hammer in a wide arc — fast, brutal, unstoppable.
But Ryn was gone.
He shot upward, feathers bursting from his arms, his body twisting through the air with impossible grace. The crowd gasped as he soared above the arena like a living gust of wind.
"Hey! Down here!" Ryn called, flipping midair. "You missed me again!"
Tharos roared and stomped, sending spikes of rock erupting from the ground — but Ryn was a blur, weaving between them effortlessly.
Each flap of his wings scattered dust and lightning, his eyes gleaming with pure joy.
"Too slow!" Ryn laughed. "Try cardio next semester!"
Kael couldn't help but smirk from the stands. For all his recklessness, Ryn moved like the wind itself — untouchable, fluid, free.
Ryn finally descended in a spiral, wings glowing with pale gold aura.
"Alright, let's finish this in style!" he shouted.
He dove. The wind howled around him — a vortex forming in his wake. Tharos raised his hammer, but the impact never came; instead, a storm burst outward, flinging the Satyr backward with a shockwave of air.
When the dust cleared, Tharos lay sprawled and unconscious.
The crowd erupted.
Ryn landed lightly, folding his wings and bowing dramatically.
"Ladies, gents, and grumpy Satyrs — that's how we do it in the skies!"
Even some Vampires clapped despite themselves.
Kael met him at the exit tunnel.
Ryn grinned, hair tousled and feathers still fading into skin. "Did you see that spin? I call it the Halcrest Hurricane."
"You're insane," Kael said, shaking his head.
"Insanely talented," Ryn corrected. "You and I, partner — the ember and the wind. They won't know what hit them."
Kael chuckled softly, but the sound faded quickly. His thoughts drifted back to Lirael — and the strange, burning power that had awakened inside him.
Ryn noticed the look. "Hey. Don't overthink it, bro. Today you lose, tomorrow you break the ground."
Kael nodded faintly. "Maybe."
The following days passed in a blur of drills and studies. Kael threw himself into training — sword forms, elemental focus, endurance tests. But everywhere he went, the stares followed.
Whispers trailed behind him like smoke:
"Battle Tribe…"
"Didn't they cause the War?"
"He shouldn't even be here."
In combat classes, partners avoided him. In the dining hall, tables grew quiet when he entered.
Only Ryn stayed at his side — cracking jokes, dragging him into conversations, trying to fill the silence with laughter.
One afternoon, during blade practice, an Elf muttered loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Careful. The ash-born might explode again."
Kael froze. His grip tightened on the hilt — until Ryn's voice cut in.
"Careful. The hawk might poop on your head next time you talk."
Laughter rippled through the students, breaking the tension. Kael exhaled, shoulders easing slightly.
Ryn winked. "See? Sometimes you fight with words."
But later, when Kael lay in bed, the words still echoed in his mind.
That night, the wind howled outside the dorm. Kael drifted into uneasy sleep.
He dreamed of fire — and the Dark Forest.
He stood once more beneath its twisted canopy, moonlight bleeding through black branches.
The air shimmered, and from the mist emerged faint silhouettes — robed figures with eyes like dying stars.
"You've begun to awaken, child of shadow…"
"The ember burns again…"
Kael turned. "Who are you?"
The whispers layered over one another, like a hundred voices speaking through fog.
"We are bound to the forest you left behind…"
"Your power is ours, and ours, yours… Find the sigil, before they do…"
"The sigil?" he asked — but the ground split beneath his feet, flames rising, swallowing the world.
"Awaken… Kael of the Ashen Flame…"
He jolted awake — breath ragged, sweat cold against his skin. The room was silent except for Ryn's soft snoring.
The mark on his right arm — the faint black veins — glowed for just a second, then faded.
Kael sat up, staring at the darkness beyond the window.
The witches' whisper still echoed faintly in his mind.
"Find the sigil…"
He didn't know what it meant — but something deep inside him stirred, restless, alive.
The ember was burning again.