Celestial Arena – Astral Academy
Smoke curled from the shattered stone as silence lingered in the wake of the battle.
Instructor Rivan stepped forward, his voice steady yet powerful as it rose above the fading echoes of combat.
Rivan (announcing): "Wing B has no remaining member able to fight. Wing A's Ashwajeet remains undefeated—Wing A is declared the winner!"
The arena exploded in cheers.
A wave of energy surged through the spectators. Students jumped to their feet—clapping, shouting, stomping. Some looked stunned. Others laughed in disbelief, voices lost in the roar of excitement.
From the stands:
Reika (wide-eyed): "That was… beyond anything I expected."
Veer (grinning): "And Ashwajeet didn't even need to lift a finger."
Saki (softly smiling): "They're not just students anymore…"
In the arena's center, Anay and Naman faced each other, breaths ragged, cuts fresh—but their gazes steady.
Naman extended his hand with a crooked grin.
Naman: "Guess it's your win this time, Ice-Bolt."
Anay chuckled, shaking his head as he grasped his hand.
Anay: "Didn't feel like winning. Felt more like surviving a volcano."
Their grip was strong. A silent oath. No resentment. Only respect—and a promise of battles yet to come.
Later That Afternoon – Dome 3: The Thunder Plains
Dome 3 – Astral Academy
The sun dipped low on the horizon, bleeding gold and crimson across the sky. The air was warm, tinged with a post-battle stillness.
Anay, freshly washed and dressed, couldn't sit still. His muscles begged for rest—but his soul was still alight.
He made his way to Dome 3, the outdoor Thunder Plains—jagged terrain scarred by lightning, charged with lingering currents.
As his boots hit the cracked stone floor, a familiar energy brushed against him.
Ahead, Ashwajeet moved like lightning personified.
Bare-chested and focused, his sweat shimmered in the golden light. Every motion—calculated. Every strike—devastating. Sparks trailed his fists, and when he twisted into a final flash-step, the shock cracked the ground like a whip.
He didn't look back. But he spoke.
Ashwajeet (coolly): "Hey, Anay. What's up?"
Anay folded his arms, smiling faintly.
Anay: "Hey. Still training, huh?"
Ashwajeet turned, his breath calm despite the intensity of his movements.
Ashwajeet: "Yeah. After your fight with Naman… I couldn't sit still. It lit something in me. You gave it your all—and yet here you are, already chasing the next horizon."
Anay exhaled, looking around the cracked terrain.
Anay: "I don't want this fire to die down. If I stop now… I might never burn like that again."
Ashwajeet's gaze sharpened, yet his voice remained composed.
Ashwajeet: "You impressed me today. But I saw it—you're still holding back."
Anay's smile faded into something more serious.
Anay: "So are you."
A pause. Then Ashwajeet smirked.
Ashwajeet: "Good. That means we'll push each other even higher."
Electricity lingered in the space between them. Tension—but not hostile. A spark of mutual recognition.
Ashwajeet (stepping forward): "You up for a few rounds?"
Anay's eyes lit up.
Anay: "Only if you promise not to hold back."
Ashwajeet (grinning): "I never do."
Dome 3 – Thunder Plains, Astral Academy
The sun dipped behind the jagged peaks beyond Astral Academy, casting long shadows across the broken stones of Dome 3. Wind howled through the vast arena, sweeping through its wide-open sky like a messenger of battle. Sparks from old clashes still faintly glimmered along the cracks etched into the ground—remnants of training, trials, and tempests.
Anay stood just inside the ring, eyes calm, breath measured.
Across from him, Ashwajeet moved with quiet precision—barefoot on stone, shirtless, streaked with sweat and grit. Every rotation of his shoulders, every subtle shift of his stance, echoed with discipline forged in silence. Lightning hummed around his fists like a loyal beast waiting to be unleashed.
Anay studied him, unable to hold back a thought.
He's my age… just twelve. But every movement he makes—it's like watching lightning learn to walk.
Despite his young age, Ashwajeet bore the calm of a veteran. There was no boastfulness in his presence, no theatrics—only the unwavering serenity of one who had stared storms in the eye and smiled back.
Ashwajeet's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "No pressure," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Just a light round."
Anay chuckled as he stepped further onto the stone.
Yeah
They took their stances—mirrored and still.
The wind dropped. The dome hushed.
And in the next second—
The First Exchange
Anay moved first.
He slid forward with near weightless speed, activating Laghima, his body gliding low across the arena like a phantom on ice. A faint trail of spiritual energy shimmered behind him.
Ashwajeet barely flinched. His eyes tracked the movement calmly before stepping sideways, letting the attack slide past. He countered with a sweeping palm, laced with wind and a low crackle of static.
The blow connected lightly against Anay's shoulder—not a hit to hurt, but to test. Sparks danced across his skin.
Anay responded with a sharp twist and a rising arc of frost lightning, his signature fusion technique. Ashwajeet leaned back just enough for the bolt to sizzle past his cheek, leaving only a glowing trail.
They both stepped back—an unspoken agreement that the warm-up was over.
"Your movements…" Ashwajeet said, brushing his knuckles together, "sharper than this morning."
"Thanks," Anay replied, loosening his shoulders. "You're not too bad yourself."
They dashed in again.
This time, there were no holds.
Each move met a counter. Each strike met a block.
Ashwajeet launched a flash-step, disappearing in a blink before descending from above in a rotating kick laced with thunder pressure. Anay crossed his arms, forming a barrier of ice-current fusion, parrying the blow with a burst of white-blue sparks.
The stone beneath them cracked slightly.
And still—neither backed down.
Storm Dance
For several long minutes, they moved like shadows through lightning—never truly clashing with full power, yet never holding back in spirit. They fight across the arena as if the dome were their private battlefield, the wind and sky watching in silent reverence.
To any onlooker, the duel would've looked like poetry written with lightning and footwork.
Their synergy was undeniable.
Different in aura—yet aligned in ambition.
Between one exchange and the next, Anay leapt back, landing lightly. His chest rose and fell with a rhythmic pace, his eyes alive with exhilaration.
"You really don't hold back."
"Neither do you," Ashwajeet said, walking forward. "That's why this is fun."
Anay exhaled and laughed softly. "Even in a friendly duel... you move like thunder."
Ashwajeet stopped a few feet away. His lightning aura had calmed, though the occasional crackle still flickered around his arms.
For a long moment, there was no more need for fists.
Only understanding.
"We're going to keep rising, aren't we?" Ashwajeet asked, extending his hand.
Anay took it without hesitation.
"Yeah," he said, gripping tight. "One lightning strike at a time."
The handshake was firm. Solid. Not as warriors boasting victory, but as equals sharing a promise.
In the fading golden light of evening, the two prodigies stood not as competitors but as reflections—different elements, same spark.
Two stars burning brighter with every clash.
feel like thunder.*