The training hall was buzzing with energy. Students gathered around the combat pits, eager to see the latest round of drills. Most matches were fast-paced, filled with the clash of steel, bursts of elemental magic, and the roars of familiars. It was a place where strength was on full display—a place where power was respected.
For Vivian Marchand, it was a battlefield where she never belonged.
Her Silverwing Moth fluttered anxiously beside her, its shimmering wings catching the light, but the sight of it only made her feel smaller. Most students had fearsome familiars—panthers, wolves, even drake-like creatures. Hers? A fragile support-type familiar that could heal minor injuries but had no offensive capabilities. In a place where combat ability determined status, that made her an easy target.
Instructor Vaughn's voice echoed across the hall. "Next match. Marchand, step forward."
Vivian swallowed hard and moved toward the designated pit. Normally, support-users were paired together, meant to train their abilities without direct combat pressure. But today…
She was alone.
Her supposed partner had never shown up. And standing across from her, in the opposing ring, were two third-year students—upperclassmen leagues ahead of her.
Caleb Voss. Orin Hale.
The moment she saw them, she knew this wasn't a fair fight.
Caleb was Level 7, a third-year student whose Fangstrike Jackal was infamous for its speed and ruthless efficiency. He was a precision fighter, skilled at exploiting weaknesses. And Vivian had plenty of those.
Orin was even worse. Level 8, with a Brimstone Drakelet that specialized in controlling the battlefield with relentless bursts of fire. He was brutal, and unlike Caleb—who at least pretended he wasn't a sadist—Orin enjoyed tormenting weaker students.
Vivian's stomach twisted.
This wasn't just bad luck. Someone had set this up.
She glanced toward the instructors, expecting them to call off the match. But Vaughn said nothing. The training hall was loud, filled with students cheering for the other fights, but Vivian could hear the scattered snickers. The whispers.
Dead weight.
Mana leech.
She won't last ten seconds.
Caleb rolled his shoulders, grinning. "Don't take it too personally, Marchand."
Orin chuckled beside him. "Yeah. We're just making sure you understand your place."
Vivian clenched her fists. She wanted to run. But if she did, it would only make things worse.
The match bell rang.
And they attacked immediately.
---
Caleb was the first to move.
His Fangstrike Jackal vanished in a blur, its speed almost unnatural. Before Vivian could react, a sharp impact struck her from behind—a calculated blow that made her stumble forward.
Orin was waiting.
The Brimstone Drakelet opened its jaws, exhaling a small plume of fire. Not enough to burn her, but enough to make her panic. Vivian barely dodged, rolling to the side as heat licked at her arms. Her Silverwing Moth fluttered frantically, but it had no way to protect her.
The crowd laughed.
They weren't trying to win. They were playing with her.
Caleb strolled lazily across the battlefield, watching her struggle. "Wow. She's actually trying."
Orin smirked. "Should we let her think she has a chance?"
They didn't wait for an answer.
Caleb's Jackal darted in and tripped her, knocking her to her knees.
Orin sent another wave of fire, forcing her to scramble back, coughing from the smoke.
They let her get up—then knocked her down again.
The humiliation was relentless.
Vivian's breath came fast. She was dizzy, aching, exhausted—and they hadn't even landed a real attack yet.
No one stepped in. No one cared.
And that was the worst part.
Tears burned at the edge of her vision, but she forced them back. Crying would only make it worse.
The Jackal slammed into her side again, and this time, she didn't get up right away.
Orin laughed. "Maybe we should end it."
Caleb crouched beside her, voice mockingly sympathetic. "Come on, Marchand. Tap out."
Vivian clenched her teeth. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
But then—
The air changed.
A sudden coldness seeped into the hall. Subtle at first, but undeniable. The rowdy students shifted uncomfortably, glancing around.
The temperature had dropped.
And then—
A voice. Sharp. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Back the fuck off."
Silence.
The mocking laughter died instantly. All eyes turned toward the newcomer stepping into the combat pit.
Kyle Corvayn.
Vivian stared, still breathless from the attacks. She hadn't even realized he was watching.
Kyle wasn't the biggest or strongest in the hall. But there was something about the way he stood. His posture was relaxed, almost casual—but beneath it, there was a tension, a quiet, simmering rage that felt… unnatural.
Even Boneclaw, though dormant, responded.
The shadows around Kyle seemed darker, just barely shifting. The coldness wasn't imagined.
Orin scowled. "Or what, Corvayn?"
Kyle didn't answer immediately. He just stared at them, unblinking, unreadable.
Caleb—who was always perceptive—shifted uneasily. His Fangstrike Jackal let out a low, nervous growl.
It could feel something.
Kyle's voice was low. Dangerous.
"I won't warn you again."
Orin scoffed. "Acting tough, huh?" He turned back to Vivian, but the second he moved—
Kyle took a step forward.
It was small. Barely noticeable.
But the temperature dropped even further.
Orin's Brimstone Drakelet—fire-based, resistant to cold—suddenly faltered. The flames around its body flickered, weakened. It made a small noise, shifting nervously.
Kyle's voice was quieter now. "Try it."
A single moment of hesitation.
Caleb and Orin weren't stupid. They were stronger than Kyle, but they felt it. Something was wrong.
Caleb exhaled sharply and turned away. "Tch. Not worth it."
Orin clicked his tongue but followed, though not without a last glare. "This isn't over."
And then they were gone.
The moment they left, the tension in the air snapped. The temperature slowly returned to normal. The watching students muttered among themselves, unnerved.
Kyle finally turned to Vivian. She was still on the ground, breathing hard.
He offered his hand.
For a second, she hesitated. No one had ever done that before.
Then, slowly—she took it.
And just like that, everything changed.
---