The arena still hummed with echoes of clashing mana. The stone floor bore deep scars—jagged burns where Ash's radiant force had met Caius's serpentine darkness, shattered tiles where their feet had struck, and thin cracks that webbed outward like veins across the ground. The crowd of students had gone silent. The only sound that remained was the twin rhythm of ragged breathing: Ash Vale and Caius Serpentis, standing opposite one another, their bodies tense, their second circles still glowing faintly around them.
Ash's chest heaved, sweat glistening down his temples, but his eyes—those storm-gray orbs—remained unyielding, sharpened by the fire of defiance. Across from him, Caius's argent-silver eyes gleamed with a predatory light, strands of raven hair clinging to his damp forehead. The coiling aura of the Naga Moros—the Ebon Hydra—still lingered faintly around him, serpentine phantoms fading into motes of shadow.
Neither yielded an inch. Neither faltered in spirit.
And yet—both knew the truth. They had struck each other to the point where neither could advance further without risking collapse.
It was, unmistakably, a draw.
A sharp clap echoed through the arena, breaking the tension. Professor Elowen stepped forward, her robe trailing like liquid midnight, her emerald eyes glowing with measured authority. "Enough," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of finality. "This duel has reached its conclusion. Ash Vale. Caius Serpentis. Stand down."
The words rippled outward, loosening the grip of silence that had strangled the crowd. Murmurs rose immediately—bewildered, astonished, incredulous.
"A draw…?""He fought Caius Serpentis to a standstill?""That commoner…""No, he isn't just a commoner anymore."
Ash exhaled, slowly lowering his stance. His second circle dimmed, fading into faint sparks before vanishing entirely. Across from him, Caius did the same, his expression unreadable, though his piercing eyes never left Ash.
Professor Elowen's gaze swept across the ruined arena floor, then returned to the two boys. For just the briefest flicker of a second, her composure cracked. The duel had been extraordinary—unrestrained yet controlled, destructive yet precise. And Ash's circle, she could not deny, had been… flawless.
Her lips curved into something between awe and unease as she said quietly, almost to herself, "Such symmetry… it is rare to see a circle formed not by bending mana to the will, but by shaping the will to the truth of mana itself…"
Ash blinked, surprised, though he caught the weight in her tone.
Before anything further could be said, a familiar, booming voice carried across the arena. "Magnificent!"
All heads turned to see Archmage Thalos Greyveil, principal of the Academy of Fangs, descending the stairs from the spectator's gallery. His long, flowing beard shimmered faintly with strands of silver and violet, and the runes embroidered in his cloak pulsed softly with restrained power. His presence alone silenced the murmurs of the students, all eyes snapping toward him with reverence and awe.
The Archmage's gaze fixed on Ash. His eyes, ancient and keen, seemed to pierce through flesh and soul alike. "To think," he said with a small smile, "that one so new to our halls would already carve a circle so pure… A rare sight indeed. Most mages bend the weave to fit themselves. Few… allow themselves to be bent by it, and emerge whole."
Ash bowed instinctively, though his heart hammered. He wasn't sure if those words were praise or warning.
Then Thalos turned his gaze to Caius. "And you, heir of the Serpentis line, showed us a glimpse of what it means to carry the shadow of the Ebon Hydra. Restraint, Caius. You showed restraint, even at the edge of awakening. That is a victory in itself."
For once, Caius's lips curved into something like a wry grin. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is simply unfinished business." His silver gaze flicked back to Ash, and the air between them thrummed with unspoken challenge.
The crowd erupted again, voices mixing admiration, disbelief, and envy.
And then—cutting through it all like an off-key note—came a drawling voice.
"Well, well, well. What a spectacle. A commoner dancing with nobles as though he belongs."
Heads turned to see Darius Redthorne, crimson hair gleaming like fire under the afternoon light, leaning against a pillar with arms crossed. His sigil—a single blood-red rose entwined with thorns—glimmered faintly on his chest. His smirk was sharp, his eyes dripping disdain.
"A draw with Caius Serpentis?" he scoffed. "No doubt sheer luck. A fluke. Don't get too comfortable, Vale. The academy may tolerate miracles, but miracles don't last."
Ash turned his head slightly, meeting Darius's gaze with a calm, steady look. He did not rise to the bait. Instead, his voice cut back, low and even, like steel drawn across stone.
"If you've something to prove, Redthorne, the floor is open. Otherwise…" His eyes narrowed just enough to carry weight. "Save your breath. Envy reeks."
The hall broke into gasps, followed by stifled laughter.
Darius's smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. The faintest twitch betrayed his anger, though he masked it quickly. "We'll see," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
Before the tension could rise again, Garrick Hollow's voice rang out cheerfully from the stands. "Well, that was terrifying. And also—" He hopped down into the arena, nearly tripping on a crack in the floor, before landing between Ash and Caius with arms slung dramatically around both. "—absolutely glorious! Did you see yourselves? Boom, crack, bang—like a play from the festival stage! If you don't become legends, I'll eat my boots."
Caius arched a brow. "You wear boots."
"Exactly," Garrick grinned, shaking him. "Tough leather, awful chew. That's how serious I am!"
Ash couldn't help it. He laughed, tension easing from his shoulders. Caius gave a reluctant chuckle, though his eyes still smoldered with rivalry.
And then, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds, Selene Vaeloria approached. Her presence drew attention instantly—not for power displayed, but for the brightness of her smile and the warmth in her eyes. Her long silvery-white hair shimmered under the light, and her eastern-styled uniform carried a different flair, marking her as a transfer from the far provinces.
"That," she said, voice lilting with cheer, "was incredible! You two were like forces of nature colliding. I thought the walls might collapse at one point." She clapped her hands together, her laughter soft and genuine.
Ash flushed faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. Caius straightened, smirking faintly. Garrick, of course, puffed his chest. "Yes, yes, I know. I was watching very intently. My cheering is what kept them alive, obviously."
Selene giggled, shaking her head. "Of course. The Hollow roar of encouragement."
The group's laughter eased what remained of the arena's tension, though the air buzzed still with aftershocks.
Yet beneath it all, shadows lingered.
That evening, in the quiet of his dormitory room, Ash sat cross-legged before the Codex. Its pages glowed faintly, symbols shifting as though alive. His fingers traced its edges, and a whisper, soft but firm, filled his mind.
"Strength invites both challenge and chains… You stand upon a road trodden by emperors and shattered by fools. What you are to become… will shake the weave itself."
Images flashed across his vision: vast battlefields where colossal serpents clashed against winged beasts; armies kneeling before towering figures of light and shadow; a lone strategist at the center, commanding with both sword and word.
Ash's heart pounded. "Who… was he? Who… am I meant to be?"
The Codex's glow dimmed, leaving only silence.
Later that night, when the moon cast silver beams across the Academy of Fangs, Ash found himself staring out his window, lost in thought. And somewhere below, in the shadow of the courtyard, Darius Redthorne stood alone, his crimson hair catching the faint light.
His lips curved into a cold smile.
"The festival approaches," he whispered. "And when it does… Vale will fall."
The thorns of envy coiled tighter.
The game of shadows had only just begun.