Lunch was loud—shouting, trays clattering, footsteps echoing off steel walls—but Uthark didn't hear any of it. He sat alone at the end of a metal table, staring into a bowl of gray paste. His appetite was gone. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the weight of the universe on his ten-year-old shoulders.
But then the air shifted.
A shadow fell across his tray.
Uthark looked up.
A tall boy—maybe thirteen, strong build, with sharp eyes and a cruel grin—stood in front of him. His uniform was spotless, his boots polished, and his confidence unshakable. He didn't even have to say his name. Everyone already knew it.
Kenthel.
"Well, well, well…" Kenthel sneered. "If it isn't the little pipsqueak who thinks he can be a hero."
He crossed his arms, eyeing Uthark like he was a bug on the sidewalk.
"I've heard about you. Uthark, right? The kid who can float things?" Kenthel leaned in. "Wow. So scary. I'm shaking."
Laughter rippled from a few nearby tables.
Uthark didn't move. He didn't speak.
Kenthel stepped closer, then suddenly grabbed Uthark by the front of his shirt and yanked him into the air.
"HEY, EVERYONE!" he shouted, his voice booming across the cafeteria. "Watch what happens to weaklings who think they can be heroes!"
Before Uthark could react, a jagged spear of ice blasted from Kenthel's palm straight into his stomach.
CRACK.
Uthark coughed violently—blood sprayed from his lips. Pain exploded in his gut as the freezing impact knocked the wind from his lungs. His vision blurred. The room spun.
Kenthel dropped him.
He hit the ground hard, choking.
"Aww, poor little guy," Kenthel mocked, laughing. "Can't even handle a basic hit? And you wanna save the universe?"
The blood in Uthark's mouth boiled.
Something snapped.
His fingers twitched—and the air shifted. Trays rattled. The floor cracked.
Kenthel blinked. "Wait—"
With a burst of raw power, Uthark flung Kenthel upward—smashing him into the ceiling with bone-shaking force. Metal crunched.
Then, in one brutal motion, he yanked him down—slamming him into the floor hard enough to leave a dent.
Kenthel lay there, broken and gasping, unable to speak.
Silence.
For a moment, no one said anything. Even the air felt still.
Then a student stepped forward. Slender, with spiked gloves and goggles resting on his head. He had the look of someone who'd seen a hundred fights—and never expected this outcome.
"Dude," he said. "That was insane. Not just anyone can take down Kenthel."
He stuck out his hand. "Name's Yunek."
Uthark took it, firm and steady. His hand still trembled slightly.
"I'm Uthark."
Yunek nodded, glancing around nervously. "Let's get to class before his friends show up. We're dead meat if they catch us."
Uthark gave a small smile. "Right behind you."
The two boys turned and hurried off—backs straight, eyes alert.
But they both knew:
This wasn't over.