The air stilled.
Even the howling winds above the floating coliseum quieted, as though the very sky itself leaned closer to witness what was about to happen. The audience—patriarchs, heirs, and elders—spoke no words. Their eyes followed the two figures who stepped into the central ring, where the ethereal lights glowed faint blue beneath their feet.
Eryndor Nasarik (Mid Aether Tier) — lightning and wind affinity, heir of the dormant Primordial Nasarik bloodline.
Kaelus Magna (Mid Aether Tier) — pure wind affinity, scion of the Magna bloodline, a combat genius known for fluid, adaptive martial mastery.
They faced each other in silence, a thin breeze brushing through their hair.
Kaelus grinned first. "It's been a while since that alleyway, huh?"
Eryndor smirked, one hand in his pocket, the other loose at his side. "You mean the one where you thought you could rob me and ended up eating dirt?"
Kaelus laughed under his breath. "You still talk too much."
The elder at the edge of the arena raised his hand. "Begin."
The world snapped.
Both vanished from sight.
A single shockwave erupted between them, blowing the dust and ether outward in a dome of violent air.
They collided midair—Eryndor's fist wrapped in faint lightning arcs while Kaelus moved like a living gust, his strikes fluid, unpredictable, impossible to pin down.
Their first exchange lasted less than a second.
Eryndor ducked a hook, pivoted, and slammed his knee toward Kaelus' ribs—only to meet air. Kaelus slid past him, heel rising like a slicing blade of wind, forcing Eryndor to lean back.
Then came the counter.
Eryndor stepped forward, lightning flaring across his shoulders, driving his elbow straight toward Kaelus' sternum.
Kaelus deflected it with his palm and twisted, using the redirection to flow into a low sweeping kick.
Eryndor hopped, spun midair, his foot grazing the edge of Kaelus' chin as both landed several feet apart.
The crowd didn't cheer—they gasped.
Their eyes locked again.
Kaelus' smirk faded. "You've gotten faster."
Eryndor flexed his fingers, electricity crackling faintly. "You've gotten predictable."
Then the tempo broke again.
Kaelus burst forward, his movements no longer linear—he flowed like vapor, each step carrying him through unpredictable arcs of motion. Every strike seemed to come from a different direction, from a different rhythm entirely.
Wind Body Technique — Zephyr Flow.
His arms became blurs, kicks rising and snapping with perfect economy. Eryndor blocked each one with his forearms, pivoting on his heel, slipping through the assault like someone reading the motion of a storm.
Then he smiled—an expression that carried both arrogance and excitement.
"Let's see if you can keep up."
His aura changed.
Lightning and wind merged around him, his presence warping the very pressure in the air. The barrier cracked, and thunder rolled faintly across the coliseum.
He disappeared—no, he became the storm.
Kaelus' eyes widened, instinctively ducking under a blow that appeared from behind him. A faint grin spread on his lips. "Now that's more like it."
Their battle became a blur of raw martial perfection—each move tracing history.
Flashback in the alleyway-
Rain. The cold scent of wet stone.
A younger Eryndor, barely awakened, fists trembling with adrenaline.
Kaelus, cloak torn, standing with a bored expression.
"Why don't you just go home, rookie?" Kaelus had said back then.
Eryndor's answer was a punch to the face.
He remembered the way the world exploded then—the shock of his own movement, the power coursing for the first time, the thrill of not backing down.
They'd both ended that fight laughing, half-conscious, rain mixing with blood.
Now, in the ring, years later—the echo of that same rhythm returned.
Their movements mirrored their past selves, but honed.
Each strike was a memory reborn.
A kick that once missed now connected clean.
A block that once faltered now parried effortlessly.
Eryndor's lightning traced circles through the air as he moved in perfect timing—his Tempest Form, an evolved martial art of seamless energy flow and adaptability.
Kaelus countered with Zephyr Eight Steps, his wind-enhanced agility allowing him to step through reality itself, dodging, redirecting, flowing like water through cracks of a storm.
Every punch was followed by a counter. Every strike spawned two more.
At one point, Eryndor threw a roundhouse kick that Kaelus caught midair. Instead of being pulled, Eryndor twisted, using the momentum to spin completely, slamming his opposite heel into Kaelus' temple—
The hit connected—
But Kaelus vanished into a swirl of wind, reappearing behind him and landing a punch to his ribs that sent Eryndor skidding back ten meters.
Eryndor chuckled, wiping blood from his lip. "Still using the same trick?"
Kaelus cracked his neck. "Still falling for it."
Lightning began to coil around Eryndor's fists. His aura shimmered between sky-blue and silver.
Kaelus' body radiated a green-white haze, the air itself bending to his will.
Both took their stance again.
The moment before they moved—time seemed to pause.
Their gazes met—
and they smiled.
Then—impact.
Eryndor vanished in a thunderclap.
Kaelus blurred forward in a cyclone.
The two met dead center. Fist against fist. Lightning against wind.
A shockwave detonated outward, visible even from the clouds surrounding the arena. The barrier screamed under the pressure, cracks forming in its runic surface.
The ground broke apart beneath them.
Kaelus ducked under a left hook, slammed his knee up—but Eryndor twisted, grabbed his leg, and threw him across the ring. Kaelus rolled midair, rebounding off the barrier, kicking off it like a bullet.
Eryndor raised his hand, drawing a faint circular motion. Lightning spiraled around his forearm, forming a storm ring.
"Tempest Core: Cyclone Break."
Kaelus responded instantly, his own aura compressing into a blade of pure wind at the edge of his arm.
"Zephyr Form: Aerial Sever."
When they collided—
the explosion was blinding.
Wind howled. Lightning screamed. The floor shattered completely.
For a moment, everything went white.
Then the light faded—
Eryndor stood at the center, one knee bent, breathing hard, sparks still trailing from his hands. Kaelus was on the ground, smirking even through the pain, blood trickling from his lip.
"Still can't beat me, huh?" Eryndor muttered, smirking faintly.
Kaelus grinned. "Yeah… but I made you take that knee."
Eryndor laughed under his breath, extending a hand. "You've gotten stronger."
Kaelus clasped it, lightning still crackling faintly between them. "And you've gotten cockier."
From the stands, the elders watched silently.
Zephyr Nasarik folded his arms, an unreadable expression crossing his face.
"Those two…" he murmured. "They fight as though they've done this for lifetimes."
Aldrich Vaelith exhaled through his nose. "Wind and lightning… a combination that either tears the world apart or carries it forward. Let's hope that boy learns which."
The crowd finally erupted into cheers.
But down in the shattered arena, Eryndor and Kaelus just stood there, faintly smiling, the smell of ozone thick in the air.
They didn't need words.
Their fists had said everything.
The storm had passed—but its echo would linger far beyond this day.