The night was thick with tension as Caelus rounded the corner near the academy's courtyard. His meal still sat uncomfortably in his stomach, the shadows of the walls casting long, eerie shapes in the flickering torchlight. The halls felt almost too quiet, a silence broken only by his own footsteps echoing. He didn't expect anyone to be waiting.
But as he stepped into the open, there they were; Ephraim. The tall figure stood like a dark pillar, his presence demanding attention. The pale light of the moon caught the sharpness of his features and made his expression even colder. Flanking him were two others, their faces as blank and unreadable as shadows. Ephraim's eyes found Caelus immediately, and his lips curved into a smug smirk.
"Well, well, if it isn't the brave student," Ephraim's voice dripped with condescension, a low, mocking tone. "I was wondering when we'd run into each other again. It seems you're still trying to fit in, hmm?"
Caelus stopped, steadying himself. His heart raced, but he refused to let it show. The world was still too new, too strange for him to feel comfortable here. Yet, here stood Ephraim, a person who embodied everything Caelus had learned to distrust. The aristocratic airs, the superiority, the sense of entitlement. He wasn't going to let it break him.
"What is it this time?" Caelus asked, his voice sharper than he meant. He wasn't in the mood for another confrontation, but he wasn't backing down. Not now.
Ephraim's smirk deepened, and he took a step closer. "What's your problem? Do you really think you're special just because you got into the academy? You're nothing more than a street rat trying to fit in a place that doesn't want you."
Caelus' fingers clenched at his sides, but he held back. His slum-bred instincts screamed at him to lash out, but he held his ground. He had to control himself now; he had to. Ephraim is an aristocrat before being a student. The consequences of a confrontation wouldn't favor him.
"You don't get it, do you?" Caelus' tone was deliberate, measured. "I don't need your permission to be here. I'm here because I earned it. The academy doesn't care where I came from, and neither do I."
Ephraim laughed, but there was no warmth in it. The sound was cold, almost venomous. "You earned it? Please. You're here because of some broken system. You're a token. You don't belong, no matter how hard you try."
"You don't know anything about me," Caelus shot back, his voice growing steadier with each word. "You think just because you've had everything handed to you that you can treat everyone else like dirt? That ends here. Not with me."
For a moment, Ephraim's expression faltered, but only for a brief instant before his smirk returned. He stepped forward, looming over Caelus, his eyes glittering with malice. "You think you can just talk like that? You don't understand where you are. I'm the one in charge here. If you're smart, you'll learn your place."
Caelus' heart raced, but his resolve stayed firm. He had enough of being belittled, enough of being made to feel less. He wasn't just going to let this go.
"You want to test me, Ephraim?" he asked, his voice hardening. "Fine. I challenge you to a duel."
The words hung between them, and for a moment, everything was still. Ephraim blinked, his brows narrowing. His eyes scanned Caelus for any sign of hesitation, but there was none.
"You want to duel?" Ephraim said slowly, his voice dripping with mockery. "You really think you can stand up to me?"
Caelus didn't flinch. "Tomorrow. In the duel class. I'll show you that I'm not someone you can push around."
Ephraim's lips curled into a grin. It was the kind of smile that promised nothing but trouble. "Tomorrow, huh? Fine. We'll see if you can still talk big after I wipe the floor with you."
He straightened up, glancing at his lackeys, who remained silent but watched intently. "You wanted this," Ephraim said, his voice almost a whisper as he turned on his heel. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, he and his companions walked away, the sound of their footsteps growing fainter as they vanished into the distance.
Caelus stood there for a moment, his thoughts racing. His hands were still clenched into fists, but his mind was focused. He'd been warned, but that didn't matter. Ephraim was going to learn what it meant to underestimate him.
The hazing had begun, and tomorrow, Caelus would prove he wasn't someone to be trifled with.
The following morning came quickly, and the atmosphere at Blackspire Academy was thick with gossip. The halls were filled with murmurs about the duel, most of them mocking, some of them hopeful, and others tinged with unease. Ephraim Aldore was not a student to be taken lightly, and Caelus knew this. But what did he have to lose? It wasn't as if his life had been any easier before entering these halls.
He walked the academy's marble corridors with his head held high, ignoring the glances and whispers that followed him. Today wasn't about them. It was about proving a point. Ephraim had underestimated him, and it was time to correct that mistake.
The dueling class was held in the academy's grand arena, a circular pit surrounded by high, stone bleachers. It was a place of ritual and spectacle, a place where students could showcase their magic in a controlled environment. Caelus had already seen the seniors sparring in the arena; watched them weave spells of fire, wind, and water with ease, their control over their elements a testament to their years of training. But today, it wouldn't be them in the center of the ring. It would be him.
As Caelus made his way to the arena, his thoughts turned back to the events of the past few days. The students from lower statuses had been struggling under the weight of their peers' disdain. Ephraim was only the most vocal of them all. There was an unspoken hierarchy at Blackspire; a caste system that went deeper than bloodlines. It wasn't just about wealth or status; it was about power, and the aristocrats like Ephraim wielded that power like a weapon.
But Caelus wasn't interested in playing by their rules.
He entered the dueling hall, the stone floors beneath him cool and smooth. The senior students were already taking their places on the bleachers, and the first-years; those like him; gathered near the edge of the pit, standing in hushed silence as they waited for the spectacle to begin.
A voice rang out from the center of the arena. It was Professor Aldris, the towering figure who would be overseeing the match. His steely gray eyes scanned the room, noting every student's position with the precision of a seasoned soldier.
"Today's duel will be a demonstration of magical combat," he began, his voice booming in the acoustics of the grand space. "The first-year students will participate, though the outcome should be clear to all." His gaze shifted to Caelus and Ephraim. "A demonstration, but also a lesson. Show us control, discipline, and the strength of your will."
Caelus's breath hitched for just a moment as his heart raced. But he steadied himself. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the audience or the pressure of the moment. This duel would not just be about magic; it would be about proving his worth.
"Caelus Ryn," Professor Aldris called, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Ephraim Aldore. Step forward."
Ephraim's smug grin was already in place as he moved to the center of the arena. The aristocrat's aura of superiority was as palpable as the flicker of magic crackling around him. It was clear that he was the one everyone expected to win.
But Caelus was done being the underdog. He stepped forward, his boots making soft thuds against the stone as he approached the center of the arena. His blood surged with the anticipation, and he could feel the familiar pull of his magic. The blood within him whispered, waiting to be unleashed.
"Remember," Ephraim's voice cut through his thoughts as he looked across the arena at him, "you're nothing more than a joke. A street rat playing at being a student. You'll regret this."
Caelus didn't answer. He simply raised his hands, ready to face whatever Ephraim would throw at him.
"Begin!" Professor Aldris's command rang out, and the arena came alive with the clash of magic.
Ephraim was the first to strike, his hands rising high as he summoned a bolt of lightning that shot across the arena with blinding speed. Caelus barely had time to react, but his instincts kicked in. He ducked low, the electricity crackling just above his head, and twisted his wrist. From his body, tendrils of crimson energy shot out, wrapping around the lightning and absorbing its power, leaving Ephraim momentarily stunned.
The aristocrat scowled, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell?" he hissed, his disbelief only fueling his anger.
But Caelus wasn't finished. With a flick of his fingers, the red tendrils snapped back toward Ephraim, forcing him to dodge. It was his blood magic, raw and untamed, but it was more than enough to throw the aristocrat off balance. The progress he gained after just a few lessons was wild. More than the lessons was his hardwork; every free second he had, he strived to increase his control over his blood magic.
"You're not the only one with power," Caelus called across the arena, his voice steady.
Ephraim snarled. "You think you've got control? This is just a fluke!" He conjured another bolt of lightning, but this time Caelus was ready. With a deep breath, he summoned more of his blood magic, shaping it into a barrier that absorbed the incoming strike and deflected it back toward Ephraim.
The aristocrat's eyes widened in shock as the lightning now redirected, hitting him square in the chest. He staggered back, his body momentarily paralyzed by the shock.
Caelus stood his ground, his eyes locked on Ephraim. This wasn't just a duel. It was a statement.
"I'm not here to back down," Caelus said quietly. "And I'm not here to lose."
The days after Caelus's victory in the dueling arena were filled with a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty. Though he had won the duel, the ramifications of his actions were not as clear-cut as the victory itself. There was a sense of unease in the air, like the calm before a storm.
Despite his victory, Caelus knew the aristocrats wouldn't back down so easily. Ephraim's anger burned deep, and the whispers of his defeat would likely follow him for the rest of the year. But what the aristocrats didn't realize was that Caelus had something they didn't; a raw, unpolished magic that could potentially grow far beyond their expectations. And he wasn't afraid to use it.
However, it wasn't just Ephraim he had to worry about anymore. There was a growing undercurrent of tension within the academy, particularly among the first years. The students from the lower classes were beginning to realize that if they didn't stand together, they would continue to be trampled by the aristocrats. There were murmurs among the outcasts, the forgotten ones; the students who were seen as nothing more than pawns in the eyes of the privileged few. And Caelus, though still an outsider in their eyes, had become something of a symbol.
Political tensions were rising, and the lines between the aristocrats and the rest of the students were becoming ever clearer.
Blackspire was a powder keg; and Caelus had just lit the fuse.