Cailen moved first.
There was no hesitation, no asuring step. A sharp twist of his wrist sent a coiled gust skimming low across the sand, a ripple of compressed air shaped to trip rather than harm.
The grit hissed as it slid along the surface, striking with enough force to stagger most in their opening stance.
Logan shifted to his right, smooth and deliberate, letting the wind carry past him in a harmless arc.
The gust lost coherence a few paces behind him, scattering harmlessly against the containnt ward.
Cailen’s mouth curled into a deeper smirk. The first strike was rarely ant to land—it was ant to set the pace.
A second wave ca almost before Logan’s feet settled.
This one was sharper, the edges jagged, laced with sand from the arena floor. Tiny flecks stung his cheek as the wind broke against a faint mana shield he’d raised on instinct.
The barrier shuddered in his palm before absorbing the force, leaving the air around him swirling with spent grit.
Still, Logan didn’t counter. His eyes tracked Cailen’s movent instead.
Light steps. Always in motion. His feet never flat, his shoulders loose. Every weight shift was precise.
It wasn’t aimless circling. Cailen was angling him toward the far left of the dueling ring, forcing him into the light where his vision could be strained.
Wind magic favored mobility, and Cailen moved as if the sand itself were an ally.
Fine. Logan adjusted with him, keeping his shoulders square and his breathing asured.
The third strike ca from above, faster than the last two.
A compressed burst of air shaped like a blade scread down toward him, its edge shimring faintly as it cut through the space between them.
Logan stepped forward, not away, half a pace, letting the blade shear past the back of his tunic and crash into the sand.
The mont he closed the gap, Logan struck, but with a feint. His right hand twitched as though drawing power for a close-range blast.
Cailen reacted instantly, pivoting to avoid an attack that never ca. The shift left his back foot exposed.
Logan swept low.
Cailen’s balance broke, but not fully, just enough. His weight tipped, his stance opening wide for a breath of a second.
That was all Logan needed. He drew a shallow surge of mana into his palm and released it in a short, controlled burst.
It wasn’t enough to send Cailen sprawling, but it pushed him back two full steps, forcing him to recover with a quick hop.
The murmur from the crowd deepened. Not a cheer yet more like an acknowledgent. This wasn’t luck. It was timing.
Cailen steadied himself, brushing a streak of sand from his tunic with the back of his hand. His grin had narrowed into sothing sharper, more calculating.
"Not bad," he said under his breath, loud enough for Logan to hear. The words carried no heat, but his eyes stayed locked, watchful.
The next exchange ca without warning.
A flick of Cailen’s fingers sent three tight bursts in quick succession, each one angled slightly differently - one at Logan’s knees, one at his chest, one at his head.
The sudden shift in aim forced Logan to block high and low in rapid sequence, his boots skidding faintly in the sand.
A fourth gust followed, heavy and blunt, shoving him backward a half-step. It wasn’t enough to knock him down, but it made his heels sink deeper into the soft ground.
Logan caught the pattern. Three sharp bursts, a pause to shift footing, then one heavy strike to break a weakened guard. It was precise - too precise.
In the third sequence, he didn’t wait.
As the pause ca, he lunged, crossing the space in two long strides. His shoulder t Cailen’s chest with a dull thud, driving the other boy back. Sand scattered under the force, kicking up in a wide spray.
Cailen stumbled; that was all the opening Logan needed. He brought his practice blade up and set its tip at the center of Cailen’s chest before the wind mage could plant his feet again.
The wards shimred faintly overhead, the mana flickering like heat haze.
Thane’s voice rang out. "Point. Logan."
The sound of it carried to every corner of the do.
From the stands, a ripple of quiet surprise moved through the gathered students. Cailen was known for winning his opening bouts.
Cailen’s eyes flicked down to the blade, then back up to Logan’s face. He stepped back, expression unreadable.
"Next ti," he said, voice level.
Logan nodded once, lowering the blade. "Next ti."
As Cailen left the ring, Logan turned to step away as well, but his gaze caught on movent near the ward’s edge.
Two robed figures stood just outside the containnt do. Their hoods were low, their hands hidden in wide sleeves. They weren’t instructors, he would’ve recognized the uniform.
One of them shifted slightly, enough for the light to catch on the silver clasp at their throat. It wasn’t academy standard.
For the briefest second, their head turned toward him. Logan couldn’t see the eyes beneath the hood, but the sense of being asured was unmistakable.
Then they turned away, lting into the steady movent of people at the periphery.
Thane called the next nas. Logan heard them distantly, his focus split.
He moved to the edge of the ring, stepping down onto the packed sand floor outside the dueling circle.
A few students nodded to him as he passed.
So were impressed while others were calculating.
In this academy, every win shifted the unspoken balance. Rivalries started here, not in lecture halls.
The murmurs followed him to the sidelines, but Logan didn’t give them more thought than necessary. What stuck in his mind was the tilt of the robed figure’s head.
It hadn’t been casual but rather deliberate.
The second match began, spells flashing in the center while the crowd roared at a particularly close dodge. Logan only half-watched, his gaze drifting back toward where the two strangers had been. They were gone.
Gone but not forgotten.
If the crystal, the serpent, and the uninhabited continent were pieces of the sa puzzle, then those figures might be holding another. Or they were another obstacle entirely.
Either way, he doubted their presence was a coincidence.
And in his experience, coincidences had a way of turning into problems.
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