Iris Lockhart's third elimination was not a fight.
The student, a boy from one of the lesser noble houses, tried to ambush her from behind a broken stone ridge. She felt the shift in mana before he even moved.
She did not turn. There was no need for panic. As he lunged, shifting his weight onto his leading foot, a thin layer of ice spread across the ground beneath his boot.
He slipped.
Iris lifted a hand. Two constructs of glittering ice formed at once. One rose to a razor-sharp point beside his throat, stopping just short of the skin, a silent threat that stole his breath.
She gave him a moment. An opportunity to surrender with some dignity intact.
He took it, his face a mask of shame, and raised his hands in defeat.
The retrieval ward activated, its light washing over him before the Academy staff arrived and he vanished from the field. Iris's personal node glowed softly, confirming the transfer of points.
That was her third student.
