POV: Elanor Sunshine
I'd never seen anything like it.
Not in the Academy archives.
Not in the deepest vaults of Solara.
Not even in the oldest stories—the kind that get whispered when the candles burn low and the sky forgets to blink.
Arthur and Vanitar didn't move like students.
They didn't even move like warriors.
They moved like echoes of something ancient.
Every motion timed. Every step a counterstep. Every attack folding into the next as if they had trained this for years.
But I knew they hadn't.
They didn't need to.
They fought like they had always known.
Like they weren't acting—but remembering.
The beast loomed above them, blotting out the broken sky.
A hundred meters tall—maybe more.
Twisting jaws. Melting limbs. Wings made of screams.
The Archive Protector. A B-Class Riftborn.
A creature no student—no human—was meant to survive.
And yet…
Arthur moved like fire given form. His sword burned hotter than anything I could comprehend. It carved space like a signature, and where it passed, the world flinched.
Vanitar followed like a myth of death. His eyes—glowing white now, not sapphire-gray flashed with an emptiness so vast it silenced the very ground. When he touched the beast's leg, it withered like the memory of life being erased.
And then—
In perfect unison—
They struck.
The creature howled.
Not in pain.
But in recognition.
Like it finally understood what it had been summoned to fight—
And knew it was too late.
A blinding slash from Arthur, vertical and clean, split the beast's skull from temple to jaw.
Vanitar's hand spread across the creature's center, draining not just life—but concept.
I watched it collapse inward, rotting from within, its mass folding like fabric being cut at every thread.
When it hit the earth, it didn't crash.
It dissolved.
Ash. Light. Silence.
Nothing remained.
I should've cheered.
Should've run to them.
Should've screamed something triumphant.
But I didn't move.
Because something was wrong.
They weren't themselves.
Not entirely.
I could feel it. Like a second presence layered just beneath their skin. A flicker in the way Arthur's head tilted—like he was seeing too many things at once. A delay in Vanitar's breath—like he'd forgotten he needed to take one.
And then, just as suddenly—
They regained control.
I saw it happen.
The moment the power slipped away.
Arthur's blade dimmed.
Vanitar's eyes lost their glow.
And they both collapsed.
Not from wounds.
Not from exhaustion.
But like something inside them had let go—
And left nothing behind but the fragile weight of their own bodies.
They didn't crash.
They sank.
Like boys waking from a dream they were never meant to enter.
The air around them stopped shaking.
And I ran.
Not because I was afraid.
But because I knew—
The story had started.
And neither of them was ready for how far it would go.