The sun rose behind the violet haze of floating clouds as a grand airship sliced through the morning sky. With sleek silver plating, adorned by the crest of the Xavier family a phoenix over crossed blades it glided like royalty through the air. Inside the spacious cabin, Zend Kly sat beside Chris Xavier, peering out the window in awe.
Far below, the world looked like a dream. Lakes like mirrors. Mountains like painted strokes. And ahead of them rising high among the clouds stood Skyviolet City, the floating capital of knowledge, power, and prestige.
"Are you nervous?" Chris asked, resting his chin on his hand.
Zend took a deep breath, fingers unconsciously brushing the soul chamber on his chest where his needle-Aether slept.
"Not really," he replied. "I've been waiting for this."
Chris grinned. "Good. Because this place is no joke."
The moment they docked, they were greeted by a crowd of thousands. Nearly 4,000 participants, each one between the ages of 12 and 13, had come from all corners of Gaia to take part in the Skyviolet Academy Selection Trials.
That night, they were led to massive floating dorms each like a small palace overlooking the arena fields. Zend barely slept. Tomorrow would be the start of it all.
The Next Morning Trial Arena 8: Battle Royale Field
Zend stood among 250 children, all armed, all desperate to prove themselves.
He was assigned to Group 8. Chris had been placed in Group 10, meaning they wouldn't fight together.
A voice boomed across the floating platforms, echoing through magic amplification runes:
"Welcome, young warriors, to the First Trial. You stand on the battlefield of your potential. Only 25 from each group shall advance. The rest… will be eliminated."
"The rules are simple. Survive for 1 hour. Aether use is allowed. Lethal attacks are forbidden—but injuries are expected. Begin."
Aether domes sealed around the 16 arenas. In Zend's dome, the air was tense. Then—chaos erupted.
Zend's Battle Royale
Screams. Sparks. Flashes of elemental energy.
A boy summoned a flame whip, only to be knocked out by a girl wielding a shadow blade. Another conjured a wind shield only to be crushed beneath stone fists.
Zend didn't move at first. He closed his eyes, fingers twitching. He could feel the auras like subtle disturbances in the wind.
Suddenly swish!
A blade swung for him. He dodged, ducking low, and with a flick of his fingers his needle appeared, flying from his Soul Chamber into his grasp.
The attacker scoffed. "A needle? That's cute."
Zend didn't reply.
Ping!
The needle shot forward with perfect precision embedding into the boy's shoulder. He screamed, collapsing from the toxin now spreading through his veins.
Zend didn't stop to explain. He vanished into the chaos.
A Dance of Needles
He moved like a ghost silent, fast, surgical.
Every few minutes, someone tried to attack him. Each time, Zend countered with speed and hyper-precision:
A girl swung a spear Zend caught it mid-swing, rolled forward, and pierced her thigh.
Two twins tried to flank him—he ducked behind cover, launched two needles from above, striking both in the neck.
A group of five formed a temporary alliance Zend lured them into a narrow corridor, then used Light Telekinesis to spin his needle in mid-air like a drill, disabling them all with pinpoint strikes to non-lethal points.
Each move was measured, intentional, clean.
He wasn't just fighting. He was performing surgery with war as the canvas.
The Watching Eyes
High above, in a separate floating tower, several Academy Masters watched from glowing projection orbs.
A grizzled man with a scarred face, draped in crimson armor from Crimson Fang Academy, narrowed his eyes. "Who is that boy in Group 8? The one with the needle?"
A robed woman from Arcanum Obscura replied, "Zend Kly. From Little Wind Village. Combat rating F grade. But he just disabled an entire sub-group alone."
Another Master, from Aetheris Sanctum, nodded. "His precision is remarkable. And that toxin… subtle, delayed. Highly effective."
The Headmaster of Astra Nova, a man with silver hair and eyes like starlight, said only one thing:
"Watch him closely."
Final Minutes
At the 55-minute mark, only 40 children remained. Many were bruised, panting, or unconscious. Zend crouched behind a ruined pillar, eyes scanning the remaining combatants.
A trio approached. Older. Bigger. Confident.
"You're good," said their leader. "But you're not walking away from this."
Zend said nothing. He closed his eyes, slowing his breath.
Then movement.
He dashed forward dodged under the first strike parried with his palm, and embedded a needle in the attacker's arm. The second came from behind. Zend spun used Light Telekinesis to yank the embedded needle back through the first opponent, flipping it mid-air into the second's chest.
The third ran. Zend didn't pursue. He didn't need to.
End of the Trial
When the hour ended, only 23 children stood.
Zend among them calm, composed, eyes sharp.
As the dome lifted and medics entered the field, a voice echoed:
"Group 8 Trial Complete. Congratulations to the Survivors."
Zend looked up into the floating tower, where shadows watched from above.
He could feel it.
They had noticed him.
Meanwhile Group 10 Arena
The dome over Group 10's arena shimmered with electric runes, sealing the battlefield in an invisible cage of fate.
Among the 250 contenders stood Chris Xavier tall, blonde, and effortlessly composed. His light blue eyes scanned the arena like a predator assessing the field. At his waist, the Dragon-engraved Sword, his legendary Aether, pulsed with quiet might.
"This won't take long," he murmured.
As the announcement signaled the start of the trial, a vortex of wind erupted around him—a passive pressure from his mana alone. Dozens turned to him immediately, recognizing his reputation and the aura of his mythical Aether.
Ten contenders rushed at once.
"TAKE HIM DOWN FIRST!" someone shouted.
Chris exhaled calmly.
"Ignite Drakethorne."
In a flash, his sword blazed with golden fire, arcs of lightning crawling up the blade. He dashed forward with lightning speed slicing through air, not flesh, every strike hitting with precision to disarm or incapacitate.
One attacker was disarmed with a single spinning kick.
Another found their weapon cut in half by a controlled slice.
A third tried to summon a rock barrier Chris pierced it, shattered it, and tapped their forehead with the flat of his blade, knocking them out with blunt force.
But what stunned the observers the most wasn't just his power it was his restraint. For someone wielding a Legendary Aether, Chris never once used lethal force.
Instead, he fought like a knight in a storybook graceful, disciplined, devastating.
Midway Through the Battle
By the halfway mark, nearly 150 participants had already been eliminated. Chris had felled at least 30 without ever drawing blood.
Then, a true challenge appeared.
A girl in red armor, wielding a chain Aether, launched it like a serpent. "You may have a legendary sword, rich boy, but let's see how well you dance when caught!"
The chains wrapped toward him with precision.
Chris smiled slightly.
He stepped into the coils and vanished.
In an instant, he reappeared behind her teleportation blink, a feature of Drakethorne's awakened form. He tapped her shoulder gently with the pommel of his blade.
"You're good. But not good enough."
She collapsed, stunned, but uninjured.
Observation Tower – Group 10
Back in the floating observation tower, the masters watched both Zend and Chris in separate orbs.
A mentor from the Aetherian Paladin Order whistled. "Xavier boy's every movement is like poetry. His control is almost unnatural for a twelve-year-old."
The Headmaster of the Combined School Astra Nova smiled faintly. "That's what happens when a child bonds with a living Aether forged by dragons themselves. But more than that… he has the heart of a protector. A true swordsman."
Another master murmured, "He'll be courted by every academy. But the real surprise… is Group 8."
End of Chris's Trial
When the hour ended, Chris stood atop a field of fallen contenders, sword lowered, surrounded by awe.
Only 14 others had remained.
As the dome lifted, he looked skyward, toward the tower. He knew they were watching and he knew they had also seen Zend.
"He did well, didn't he?" Chris whispered to himself with a grin.
Then he sheathed his sword, walking calmly to the waiting platforms, his legendary Aether pulsing with silent pride.