The first light of dawn slanted through the tall windows of the dormitory, painting the stone walls in pale gold. Ash Vale sat on the edge of his bed, boots laced tight, hands folded loosely as though in prayer. He wasn't praying—he doubted the gods ever bothered to listen to boys from the slums. But he was listening.
"Today you will face more than Caius Serpentis," the Codex whispered in the quiet recesses of his mind. The ancient voice curled like smoke, both sharp and patient. "You will face the weight of every eye that will measure you. Remember—strength untempered by control is chaos. Precision is your ally. The circle is not just drawn; it is lived."
Ash breathed slowly, centering himself. His duel against Caius was no longer rumor—it was schedule, stamped into the academy's noticeboards, whispered by every cluster of students in the dining halls and corridors. To some, it was spectacle. To others, it was insult: a commoner daring to stand before a Serpentis. To Ash, it was necessary. Proof that his place here wasn't chance.
The door burst open with a dramatic creak. Garrick Hollow strode in, arms spread like a street performer arriving on stage, his grin broad enough to split his face.
"Rise and shine, duelist of destiny!" Garrick announced, plopping onto Ash's desk without invitation. "Today's the day our dear Ash Vale either ascends to glory or becomes breakfast for a very smug snake. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen!"
Ash's amber eyes flicked up, deadpan. "You're loud for someone who isn't fighting."
"Loudness is my shield," Garrick declared, tapping his chest proudly. "And humor, my sword. Sadly, neither of those will help you in the arena. But don't worry, I'll cheer loud enough for both of us. Selene says I should at least pretend to be dignified, but pfft, dignity's for people without imagination."
Ash allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smile before rising. His uniform was neat, his expression composed, but inside his chest, something thrummed with quiet fire. Today mattered.
By the time they reached the training grounds, the air already vibrated with anticipation. The dueling arena was carved into the academy's heart like a sacred amphitheater: wide circular stone floor, layered stands rising above, banners of house crests hanging from high columns. Nobles filled the seats in swaths of silks and tailored cloaks, their whispers weaving into a restless hum.
At the far end, Caius Serpentis stood, posture immaculate, his black hair catching the morning light like polished obsidian. His argent silver eyes swept the arena, cool and unflinching, until they locked on Ash. There was no malice there, no sneer—only recognition, sharp and edged like a drawn blade.
The crowd stirred. Some jeered already. "Commoner trash." "A spectacle at best." Others whispered with genuine curiosity—Ash had proven himself once before. Could he again?
Garrick leaned against the railing, cupping his hands to his mouth. "ASH! Remember, don't let him wrap around you like a serpent! Unless you're into that sort of thing—no judgment!" He was immediately shushed by a cluster of stern-faced professors nearby, to which Garrick only winked.
Selene Vaeloria, seated beside him, buried her face in her hands. "Why do I sit with you?"
"Because I'm charming," Garrick said. "And because you secretly enjoy watching chaos unfold."
Her laugh betrayed she couldn't deny it.
Professor Elowen's voice cut across the murmur like a bell. She stood tall at the edge of the arena, her flowing robes trimmed with silver thread, her presence serene but commanding. Her sharp gaze lingered on Ash for a beat longer than usual, as though remembering the perfect second circle he had manifested days earlier.
"This duel," she announced, her voice carrying through subtle enchantments, "is not a matter of pride or punishment, but of growth. Two promising students test their mettle before peers. No killing blows. No interference. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Ash said, his voice calm, though inside every muscle was coiled.
"As do I," Caius replied, a noble's assurance laced with quiet anticipation.
Elowen's hand lifted. "Begin."
The arena stilled.
Ash's breath hitched, then steadied. His second circle flared into being around him—amber and gold, lines sharp as though etched by divine compass, symbols burning with clarity. It pulsed with ordered energy, his will precise and disciplined.
Across the field, Caius's own circle surged forth: argent silver streaked with black undertones, coiling serpentine runes twisting around its perfect geometry. It radiated like cold fire, a chilling, suffocating weight that pressed down on the air.
The crowd gasped. Two second circles—one shining with raw balance, the other thrumming with bloodline ferocity—faced one another in living opposition.
Ash stepped forward, his boots echoing against stone. He raised a hand, amber light coalescing into sharp lances of force. Caius's lips curved faintly as serpentine wisps of silver mana slithered around his frame.
Then they moved.
Ash unleashed a volley of force bolts, fast and precise, streaking across the arena in golden arcs. Caius countered, his silver mana manifesting as serpentine shields that coiled and shattered the attacks mid-air, dissolving them into sparks.
Caius advanced, serpent-shadows rising behind him like writhing phantoms. He flicked his wrist and the shadows lunged, fanged maws snapping. Ash twisted aside, the Codex whispering in his thoughts. "Do not retreat blindly. Redirect. Control the rhythm."
Amber light surged under Ash's feet, propelling him sideways with a sharp burst. He snapped his palm upward, conjuring a lattice of golden wards that caught the serpent-shadows mid-lunge and fractured them into smoke.
The crowd erupted.
"YES! That's my boy!" Garrick bellowed, throwing both fists in the air. "Did you see that dodge? Poetry! Absolute poetry!"
"Sit down, Hollow," a professor barked.
"I am sitting," Garrick protested, sprawled across his bench like a cat. "My spirit, however, is standing tall!"
Selene tugged him down by the collar, hissing, "Stop drawing attention."
"I'm supporting my friend!" Garrick beamed. "Loudly!"
The duel raged on, slow yet mounting like a storm.
Caius pressed with fluid, relentless attacks, his circle's serpentine glyphs weaving constricting fields that sought to trap Ash. His style was elegance sharpened into menace, every move a serpent's strike: measured, sudden, lethal.
Ash answered not with equal ferocity but with resilience. He shifted the battlefield subtly—redirecting force, reshaping wards, breaking Caius's momentum by precision. Each amber construct shimmered briefly, beautiful in its balance, before shattering under silver fangs.
But Ash endured.
The Codex murmured, layering instruction with memory. "Do you see? A duel is not the clash of power alone. It is the contest of rhythm. To survive a serpent, you must strike in the space between its coils."
Ash exhaled, waiting—watching Caius's cadence. Step, strike, coil, strike. He found the gap.
Golden light surged from his circle, not as a projectile but as a sweeping wave that bent the stone floor beneath, shifting terrain just enough to unbalance Caius's next strike. The serpent-shadows faltered, their rhythm broken.
For the first time, Caius's silver eyes widened. Then they glinted with delight.
"Well played, Vale," he murmured, and his silver circle flared brighter.
Their circles collided—amber against argent, golden balance against serpentine hunger.
The air warped under pressure. Mana sparks cracked like lightning. Students shielded their faces from the sheer force of it. Garrick, wide-eyed, clutched Selene's arm.
"They're gonna bring the whole arena down! Tell me this is safe!"
Selene's lips parted in awe. "Safe? No.... Brilliant? Absolutely."
Caius's serpent-shadows surged once more, this time vast and terrible, fangs snapping inches from Ash's chest. But Ash stood his ground, amber circle blazing, his wards reforged into a radiant barrier that clashed with the serpent's bite.
The clash froze the arena in a tableau of light and shadow—two wills locked, neither breaking.
"Elowen's voice cut sharp. "Enough!"
Her raised hand sent a current of spellforce through the arena, breaking the mana storm with a single authoritative gesture. The serpents dissolved into mist. Ash's amber light dimmed to embers.
Both duelists staggered, sweat dampening their brows, but neither fell.
The stands erupted in noise—shouts, gasps, cheers. Some praised Caius for restraint, others whispered at Ash's resilience. For the first time, it was unclear who had truly dominated.
Elowen's gaze swept them both. "A duel worthy of remembrance. You pushed each other to your limits, and neither yielded. It is a draw."
Caius straightened, silver eyes locking onto Ash once more. His lips curved—not into a smirk, but into something rare, something genuine. "Next time, Vale. I will not let it end so evenly."
Ash, chest heaving, allowed himself the faintest smile. "Nor will I."
Garrick, of course, ruined the solemnity by vaulting over the railing, nearly tripping over his own boots. He dashed to Ash, arms flailing like banners.
"BY ALL THE GODS OF ALE AND ARROWS, YOU DIDN'T DIE!" he shouted, throwing an arm around Ash. "That was incredible! You two were like—like dragons wrestling in the sky! No, serpents! No, uh… very angry cats with magical cannons!"
Ash groaned. "Garrick, you're heavy."
"And you're glorious," Garrick grinned. "Don't argue with me, hero."
Selene appeared behind him, laughing softly. "Honestly, Hollow, your metaphors are worse than your posture."
"But my timing's impeccable," Garrick shot back.
Ash, exhausted, allowed himself a quiet chuckle. For all the tension, for all the weight of expectation, in that moment he was not just the boy from the slums. He was part of something larger.
And in the shadows of the stands, crimson-haired Darius Redthorne narrowed his eyes, his lips curling into a cold smile.
Soon, he thought. The commoner's glory will crumble, and I'll be the one to grind it beneath my heel.
The festival was coming. And so was his chance.