The Lunar estate had long since faded into memory, but the lessons Sorra Grey learned there burned brighter than ever.
Two years of study. Two years of silent determination. Two years preparing for this moment.
Life at Silvercrest Academy was a battlefield dressed in marble and gold. The air itself seemed to hum with power—students sparring in the courtyards, spellfire lighting the skies, instructors shouting over the clash of steel and magic. To most, it was a place of pride and prestige.
To Sorra, it was survival.
She moved through the crowded halls with quiet focus, her crimson eyes forward, her steps measured. Around her, whispers rose like smoke.
"That's the commoner girl, right?"
"No crest, no family name…"
"Then how did she get in?"
"Lord Lunar sponsored her. Probably some pity case."
She ignored them. Words couldn't hurt her—not after watching her home burn, not after losing everyone she loved except Nova. The memories of that night still flickered behind her eyes: fire, screaming, the crash of collapsing beams. Every insult, every sneer at the Academy, was nothing compared to that.
If anything, the noise only sharpened her resolve.
Sorra trained until the candles burned out and her arms trembled from exhaustion. Her magic flared wild at first—flames scorching the training yard, winds cutting deeper than intended—but she learned. Slowly. Painfully. Each mistake carved discipline into her soul.
Instructors noticed her progress. A few admired her determination; others warned she was reckless. But none could deny her growth. The girl who once fought to survive was now a mage who fought to surpass.
Her friend, Nico Lunar, often found her practicing long after curfew.
"You know," he said one evening, leaning against the wall of the empty training hall, "most people sleep at night."
Sorra smiled faintly, her breathing steadying as the glow of her Inferno Cage died down. "Sleep is for people who can afford to rest."
Nico tilted his head, studying her. "Still chasing your brother's shadow?"
Her grip tightened around the practice spear. "No. I'm chasing my own."
He laughed softly, but there was respect in his eyes. "Then make sure you catch it before it burns you alive."
⸻
Weeks turned to months. Her mastery deepened. Wind Boost made her movements blur into streaks of motion; Inferno Cage became a weapon of precision rather than chaos; Blood Spear—her most dangerous ability—remained a secret known only to her.
Every night, she touched the small shard of steel that hung around her neck—a fragment of their father's forge, the last echo of House Grey. It reminded her of the heat of molten metal, the rhythm of hammer against anvil, the smell of iron and smoke. It reminded her that strength was forged, not given.
So when the Academy announced the upcoming dueling trials, Sorra did not flinch like the others. Instead, her heart steadied. This was what she had been building toward—proof that she was not just a survivor of tragedy, but a warrior worthy of her name.
As dawn rose over Silvercrest, its spires catching the light like spears of glass, Sorra stood alone in the courtyard, breathing in the cold morning air. The wind danced around her, brushing her hair like an old friend.
She exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing toward the dueling grounds.
"Nova," she whispered to the wind. "Watch me."
And with that, Sorra Grey walked toward her trial.
The dueling arena shimmered beneath the morning sun.
Rows of students filled the seats, buzzing with excitement. This was no ordinary training match—this was the Silvercrest Trials, a proving ground for every first-year mage. Win, and you climbed the ranks. Lose, and your reputation plummeted.
Sorra stood at the center of the stone circle, her long hair tied back, her uniform singed at the sleeves from constant training. Her crimson eyes never wavered, even as her opponent stepped into view.
Arden Vale.
Top of his class. Heir to a noble house known for lightning magic and arrogance to match. His smirk said it all.
"So, you're the 'Lunar's charity case,' huh? I almost feel bad for you."
Sorra didn't answer. Words were wasted on people like him.
The instructor raised a hand. "Combatants ready?"
Sorra gave a short nod. Arden twirled his staff, lightning crackling along its length.
"Begin!"
The air exploded.
Arden moved first, arcs of lightning surging toward her like fangs. Sorra's eyes flashed—Wind Boost. Her body blurred, vanishing from sight and reappearing behind him. Her hand ignited, Inferno Cage forming in a spiral of red heat.
The flames snapped closed around Arden, forcing him to leap back with a curse. His robes caught fire at the edges, but he smothered them with a surge of static.
"Not bad," he said through gritted teeth. "But you'll need more than sparks and wind to beat me."
Lightning spears rained from above, slamming into the arena floor. Sorra dodged left, rolled, then leapt high as another bolt shattered the stone where she'd stood. The crowd roared—half cheering for her, half waiting for her to fall.
Each clash was faster than the last. Her flames met his lightning, red and gold weaving through the air in a storm of light and sound. The dueling circle cracked under their power.
But Sorra was starting to tire. Her breaths came quicker, her mana thinning with every spell. Arden saw it too.
"You're slowing down," he taunted, grinning. "Guess talent only gets you so far when you don't have a family crest to hide behind."
That did it.
Sorra's jaw tightened. "You talk too much."
She raised her hand, cutting her palm with a sharp breath. The blood shimmered midair—Blood Spear.
A crimson weapon materialized from her own essence, pulsing with raw power. The crowd went silent, the air thick with tension. Even Arden hesitated, the arrogance slipping from his face.
"Impossible… a third ability?"
The Blood Spear crackled with heat and fury, reflecting the fire in her heart. Sorra lunged, wind magic propelling her faster than lightning. Their weapons clashed—lightning against bloodfire—and the shockwave ripped through the arena.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then Arden's staff shattered. The force of the impact sent him sprawling, the Blood Spear dissolving just inches from his throat.
Sorra stood over him, her body trembling, blood dripping from her hand. The instructor's voice boomed over the stunned silence.
"Winner—Sorra Grey!"
The crowd erupted. Some cheered. Others whispered her name in disbelief. Grey. A name thought lost to fire and ruin.
Sorra simply turned away, her breath ragged but steady. She didn't raise her hands in triumph. She didn't bask in the applause. She just whispered to herself—softly, almost like a prayer:
"Did you see that, Nova? I'm still standing."
From the highest balcony, unseen by most, Nico Lunar smiled faintly.
"She's finally ready," he murmured.
And somewhere, far beyond the walls of the Academy, a masked adventurer looked up from his campfire as the wind carried the faint echo of her name.