Morning came slow.
Sunlight crept in through the gaps in Caden's window, warm streaks sliding across the floorboards and brushing the edge of his bed. He sat there, still in his sleep shirt, staring at the sword resting on his lap like it might say something if he waited long enough.
It didn't.
The blade hadn't changed colors again—not since last night—but it still felt… alive, somehow. Heavy and watchful.
Then—
Knock knock.
Caden flinched slightly.
A muffled voice followed right after. "Guess who?"
He blinked. That voice—
"Lyra," he said, already dragging himself off the bed.
"Damn. Took you less than two seconds this time," she muttered through the door. "I'm losing my edge."
Caden opened it, and sure enough, there she was—arms crossed, head tilted, her signature I'm-here-to-make-your-life-difficult smile already in place.
Next to her stood Revan, looking very much like someone who hadn't slept in a week and was deeply offended that morning existed. Behind both of them leaned Selene against the hallway wall, doing absolutely nothing to hide the smirk on her lips.
"The hell took you so long?" Lyra said, already walking in like she owned the place. "We're about to be late. You planning on sleeping through your glorious debut or what?"
"I was thinking about it," Caden muttered.
"You would," Revan added, glancing past him. Then his eyes landed on the sword.
And paused.
"Wait… is that your new toy?" His voice shifted, eyebrows lifting. "Is that Vyracite? That's Vyracite, isn't it?"
Caden didn't answer. He just walked over, picked it up from the bed, and started strapping it to his side.
"Oh my gods," Lyra said, dragging the words out. "Of course you get a legendary sword delivered by knights in the dead of night. I bet it even glows."
"It did," Caden said, shrugging. "Last night."
"Disgusting," Revan muttered. "I hope it breaks in your first match."
"Shut up, you're just mad because your sword looks like a gardening tool," Lyra shot back at him.
"It's practical."
"It's ugly."
As the two of them bickered, Selene stepped closer—far closer than necessary—and ran a finger along the hilt of Caden's sword.
"Very sleek," she said, voice soft and unhurried. "Though I prefer the one wielding it."
Caden didn't flinch. He was already adjusting his coat and checking the leather straps. Used to it by now.
Selene, of course, wasn't so easily dismissed. With a soft hum, she slipped her arm around his, clinging to his side like a shadow with perfume.
"I'll be cheering for you," she whispered. "Loudly."
"You do that," he said, deadpan.
Lyra let out a laugh. "Gods, it's like flirting with a brick wall."
"I like bricks," Selene said. "They're sturdy."
Revan looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.
"Can we please go?" he asked, already turning toward the door. "Before I lose my will to live?"
"Too late for that," Lyra muttered as they all filed out into the hall.
Together, the four of them made their way toward the Arena. The hallways were already buzzing with voices—students in robes of every shade, weapons slung over shoulders, the sound of boots and nerves echoing off stone. Today wasn't just another day at the academy.
Today, the Moonlit Duel was about to begin.
The Arena loomed.
Caden had seen it from a distance once—just a silhouette of stone against the edge of the academy grounds—but standing here now, it felt like walking into the mouth of something ancient. Round and vast, built from weathered blackstone, the place stretched wide into the horizon, like some giant bowl carved into the earth. Dozens of towering pillars circled the upper rim, each etched with names from past champions and duels long forgotten.
And even before stepping in, the noise hit them.
A wild mix of cheering, yelling, and chanting—like the entire academy had lost its mind.
"I thought this was just a school thing," Caden muttered, eyeing the crowd. "Why does it feel like a national holiday?"
Lyra, walking beside him, snorted. "Welcome to the Moonlit Duel. It's the academy's only form of legal bloodsport."
"They don't fight to the death," Revan said dryly.
"Yeah, but you wish they did," she shot back.
They walked through the main gates, stepping into the lower corridor of the arena—and Caden finally saw the inside. Tiered stone benches climbed high all around, packed with students and even adults—mothers, fathers, merchants, travelers. Some wore academy colors, some didn't. A few had already started waving flags or enchanted cloths that shimmered with house symbols.
Caden blinked. "Is that… a popcorn stand?"
"Oh, it gets worse," Revan deadpanned.
But just as they were about to head to the registration block, a group stepped in their way—five boys, wearing matching black-trimmed uniforms and smug expressions like they'd been practicing in a mirror. The one at the front had slicked-back hair, a sharp jaw, and the kind of smile that made people want to punch him on instinct.
"Well, well," he said, eyes sweeping over the group. "The orphan parade made it to the arena."
Revan sighed. "And here I thought we'd make it five whole minutes without hearing from the emotionally neglected."
Caden didn't react. Lyra raised a brow, already half-bored.
Another boy leaned forward, tall and lanky, with a voice like a crow choking on gravel. "Didn't think they let scholarship rats play this year."
"Oh, I love this part," Lyra whispered. "Where they pretend bloodlines matter and not raw incompetence."
Selene, still standing close to Caden, smiled faintly. Not the nice kind. "Say that again, featherhead."
The leader gave her a lazy once-over, then smirked. "Didn't realize the academy accepted escorts now."
Caden stepped forward—but before he could say anything, Lyra was already between them.
"No no, let him talk," she said sweetly, smile sharp as a dagger. "It's not every day a talking inbred fish crawls out of the gutter."
The air tensed. Students nearby had stopped to watch.
"You're gonna regret that," the leader hissed.
"Probably," Lyra said, shrugging. "But not before you regret underestimating the wrong people."
Revan clapped slowly. "Ten points for savage banter. Minus five for originality."
The boys scowled and brushed past, shouldering Revan a bit harder than necessary as they passed. He didn't flinch—just turned to watch them go.
"Who were they?" Caden asked.
Selene clicked her tongue. "A bunch of pureblood trash. Call themselves the Blackwing Five. Big on talk, small on spine."
"Remember their faces," Lyra said, walking ahead now. "We'll be knocking them off the bracket soon enough."
Caden glanced back at the arena, then forward again—his grip tightening slightly around his sword.
Yeah.
Let the games begin.
The four of them walked through the west gate, past a massive board where a dozen instructors stood ticking off names with enchanted quills. No ceremony. No drama. Just a quick nod and an "attendance confirmed" before they were waved on.
"Wow," Revan said. "All that anticipation. All that build-up. And we get… this."
"What, were you expecting a drumroll and red carpet?" Lyra asked.
"I was hoping for at least a fanfare. Maybe a confetti spell," he muttered. "Something to honor my greatness."
"Greatness in what? Losing verbal duels and wearing the same coat three days in a row?"
"I like this coat."
They entered the lounge, tucked just beneath the south-side spectator stands. The place was buzzing—students everywhere, talking, pacing, stretching, or psyching themselves up in corners like they were about to walk into a gladiator pit. At the center, a huge magic screen shimmered with static, flickering between house crests, flashing names, and the bracket layout.
The screen was projected from a common-class Artefact—a smooth obsidian disk floating midair, pulsing faintly with blue light. Caden stared at it for a second. "That's an Artefact? Looks… plain."
"Common class," Lyra explained, plopping down on a nearby bench. "But super reliable. Think of it as a glorified magical projector."
"Cool," Caden said, sitting down beside her.
Selene, of course, sat on his other side and leaned a little closer than was necessary. "You're nervous," she whispered, smirking.
"I'm not."
"You totally are."
Revan dropped into a chair across from them, arms stretched. "He is. Look at his face. That's the face of someone calculating how fast he can run if things go south."
Lyra smirked. "Nah, if it really gets that bad, he'll just trip you and bolt."
"True friendship," Revan said solemnly. "I die so he may live."
A loud hum suddenly rippled through the lounge as the screen shimmered bright white. Every conversation dropped to a hush. A voice echoed from the main arena—booming, clear, enhanced by enchantment.
"Ladies and gentlemen, students and citizens, welcome to the 87th Annual Lunaris Academy Combat Trials!"
The screen flickered again, showing the upper stands of the arena. And there they were—four figures standing atop the high balcony, robes billowing, framed by sunlight and flags of the school.
"Please welcome our judges for this year's competition—"
First, a tall man in silver-blue robes stepped forward, with silver hair that shimmered like starlight and a gaze so sharp it felt like it could cut stone.
"Headmaster Seraph Lunaris."
The crowd erupted.
Right beside him stood a younger man—similar features, colder eyes, darker robes trimmed in white. His posture was military-perfect.
"And his right hand, Lord Cedric Lunaris."
More cheering, some chanting from upper year students.
"With them, our elite guest adjudicators—"
The screen panned left. Caden's eyes widened.
"Sand?" he muttered.
There he was, standing with his usual calm, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. The wind rustled his coat, but his expression was unreadable.
"And Lady Thalia Silverborne, grandmaster of Enchantments."
The moment Thalia stepped forward—a statuesque woman in flowing violet robes—the whole arena seemed to glow. Some students actually whistled. Caden was still stuck on the last part though.
"Wait, Sand's a judge?"
Lyra gave him a look. "Of course he is."
"He didn't say anything about it—"
"He never says anything about anything," she cut in. "What, did you think he was just some mysterious janitor who reads philosophy and teaches swordsmanship for fun?"
Revan held up two fingers. "Most powerful Contramancer in the academy. One of the few ranked Elite in both close combat and high-order spellcasting. Basically a walking paradox in a trench coat."
"And he drinks like five cups of black tea a day," Selene added, as if that was also important.
Caden blinked at the screen, still watching Sand's stoic figure. "No wonder the cafeteria staff flinch every time he walks in."
The crowd kept cheering for another solid minute before the screen cut back to the brackets and the voice announced: "First match begins in fifteen minutes! All participants, prepare yourselves!"
Revan groaned. "Fifteen minutes. Just long enough to panic, but not long enough to fake an injury."
"You'll do fine," Lyra said, patting his knee in mock comfort. "They'll barely notice the screaming."
"Whose screaming?"
"Yours, obviously."
Caden smiled faintly, still staring at the screen, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. The nerves were still there—but less now. Not gone, but quieter. Because whatever happened next… he wasn't alone in it.
Not anymore.