Teyrin didn't like silence. He especially didn't like the silence that followed Kaelith whenever he walked through the courtyard. The "Null" had become a splinter in the Academy's pride.
"Stand up, peasant," Teyrin spat, his hand resting on the hilt of a curved spirit-sabre.
The courtyard was full of students, all of them eager to see the "charity case" put in his place. Kael was sitting on a stone bench, whittling a piece of driftwood with his fishing knife. He didn't look up.
"The bell was a trick," Teyrin continued, drawing his blade. The metal hummed with a high-pitched, golden vibration. "This is Solar-Tier Steel. It doesn't break. It doesn't bend. It cuts through anything that lacks a soul."
Kael stood up, but he didn't reach for his knife. He just tucked it into his belt. "It's too bright," Kael said. "A blade should be heavy. Yours is just light."
Teyrin roared, the golden Aether flaring around him as he lunged. The strike was perfect—a diagonal cut aimed at Kael's shoulder. The air hissed as the spirit-sabre tore through the "Thin" atmosphere.
CLANG.
The sound was like a hammer hitting a diamond. Kael didn't move. He hadn't even raised a hand. The blade struck his collarbone and stopped dead. For a heartbeat, the golden energy of the sabre flared violently, trying to bite into his skin.
Then, the steel screamed.
A spiderweb of cracks erupted from the point of impact. With a sharp, crystalline snap, the Solar-Tier Steel shattered into a thousand useless shards. Teyrin was left holding a jagged hilt, his arm trembling from the feedback of hitting something that refused to give.
Kael brushed a fleck of broken metal off his shoulder. "I told you," he said, turning back to his bench. "Too light."