Sion sat still, his eyes locked on the horizon, waiting.
Dara was sitting by his side, also waiting.
Soon.
The ground trembled.
From the far side of the rocky field, the land shifted, buckled, rose—massive jagged pillars of stone jutting upward like twisted bones.
A figure walked calmly through the chaos.
The ground tore and twisted around him like an obedient beast.
Broad shoulders. Heavy black coat fluttering in the wind.
Eyes burning orange like molten stone.
"Mavric."
Mimi's voice sounded from the back.
"Third Year. One of Lina's elites."
"Lina, huh?" Dara muttered.
Marvic was smiling.
Not a warm smile—a wolf's smile, wide and humorless.
Sion watched as he walked. Just then, he looked up at the sky.
A beat. Then.
He scoffed.
Dara caught it and smiled faintly. She wasn't sure what he scoffed at, but she had a strange assurance: he got my back.
She stepped forward, brushing dust from her sleeves like she was going to a casual meeting.
Mavric's gaze snapped toward them—then narrowed.
"...Unexpected," he muttered, eyes scanning Dara's elegant stance, then flickering briefly to Sion's relaxed form.
He cracked his knuckles once.
The earth around him groaned, reacting to his movements.
Sharp spires burst from the ground around him in a brutal fan, twisting the terrain into a new battlefield.
"You two aren't part of the mission," Mavric said, voice low, carrying easily across the field. "Leave. I'll pretend I didn't see you."
Dara tilted her head, smiling sweetly.
Sion stayed silent.
Didn't move. He wasn't planning on it, either.
Mavric's smile thinned into a sneer.
He could tell they were new faces—First Years. But it seems they do not know their place.
"...Fine."
He might as well show them.
He slammed a foot down.
A quake tore through the ground—stone waves crashing toward them like a stone tsunami.
Before the first ripple could reach them—
Vines.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Green, thick, and unnaturally fast.
They erupted from beneath Dara's feet, wrapping around the stone waves, strangling them mid-crash.
The air filled with the sharp smell of earth and blooming flowers.
Dara smiled wider.
Mavric's expression froze.
She had parried a blow of his—no matter how casual it may have been, a first year was not meant to be capable of such a thing.
"You should've left when you had the chance," Dara said softly, almost pitying.
The vines surged forward, no longer defensive—attacking.
"You are getting cocky just because you parried a blow of mine?" Mavric hissed.
The vines struck first.
Sharp and fast—darting like snakes, coiling to strangle, to bind.
Mavric reacted instantly.
He stomped once—BOOM—and a jagged spike of rock blasted up beneath him, throwing him backward into the air just as the vines snapped at where he'd stood.
Still mid-air, he flicked a hand—
Lava-drenched spikes erupted from the rocky ground, soaring toward Dara like blazing arrows.
Her vines recoiled, sizzling under the heat.
Dara took a step back, raising one hand.
From her palm, thicker vines burst out—wider, denser, almost bark-like—and wove themselves into a wall.
The first spike slammed into it—CRACK—splintering the surface, but not breaking through.
The second shattered it into chunks.
The third—Dara barely dodged, sliding sideways, hair whipping in the molten breeze.
She landed lightly, but there was a new tightness around her eyes.
Sion, watching from the boulder, narrowed his gaze slightly.
He caught the detail immediately.
Dara wasn't playing anymore.
And neither was Mavric.
Mavric hit the ground with a grunt, sending small earthquakes rippling outward.
He didn't wait.
With a sharp motion, he pulled at the broken stone pillars around them—ripping chunks from the ground, hurling them at Dara with brutal force.
Massive rocks whistled through the air like siege weapons.
Dara didn't flinch.
Her vines burst upward again, but this time—it wasn't just simple tendrils.
Flowers.
Twisting, blooming in midair—catching the stones like massive nets, cushioning their momentum, slowing them.
Dara danced between the falling debris, her footwork sharp, fluid, like a flower swaying between storms.
Still—Mavric pressed harder.
He drove lava through the cracks of the broken ground, turning the entire field into a boiling death trap.
Dara's vines hissed and burned where they touched the molten patches.
She jumped back, breathing harder now.
A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
Mavric grinned savagely.
"You're strong," he admitted, voice a growl. "But not strong enough!"
He thrust both hands into the ground.
A rumbling roar split the air as a tidal wave of magma-coated rock surged toward Dara like an avalanche.
Even Sion's brow rose slightly at that.
The other Second Years watching in the distance scrambled backward, fear flashing across their faces.
Dara stood still for a heartbeat.
Then smiled.
Soft.
Dangerous.
At the last moment, she slammed both palms into the earth.
A forest exploded around her.
Not trees—gigantic flowers, vines thicker than men's torsos, rising in a blooming wall.
The magma wave crashed into it—and for a second, it seemed it might break through—
But the vines absorbed the heat.
The flowers drank the energy.
The whole structure glowed faintly red, steaming, but it held.
Dara stepped out from the other side, her silhouette framed by the burning garden.
She wasn't unharmed—small tears showed in her sleeves, scorch marks kissed her boots—but she still smiled.
Calm.
In control.
Mavric growled low, frustration seeping into his movements.
He charged, molten fists crackling with raw destructive force.
Their clash was brutal.
Hand to vine.
Spike against blossom.
Lava against life.
Dara fought hard, but Mavric's momentum had shifted—he was pressing her back step by step, forcing her to expend more energy with each blow.
His terrain gift was no joke—every move he made reshaped the battlefield against her.
He closed in.
She faltered once, misjudging a strike—and a burning spike nicked her shoulder, tearing through cloth and skin.
Blood splattered the stones.
Dara hissed under her breath.
Mavric laughed, wild and giddy.
"I told you—you're not enough!"
Then—
Mavric staggered.
A cough tore from his throat—wet, harsh.
He stumbled back, eyes wide.
Another cough.
Blood.
Bright and thick, dripping from his mouth.
He looked at Dara in confusion. Horror dawning in his burning eyes.
"What... did you... do...?"
Dara tilted her head slightly.
Her smiling expression gone, replaced by a neutral look—the look she gives everyone but Sion.
"I fed you some flowers," she said lightly, as if discussing the weather.
Mavric's knees buckled.
He clutched his gut.
"You fought so hard," Dara continued, her voice a soft hum, "you inhaled them... through the spores... through the tiny seeds scattered during our little dance."
She took a slow step toward him, vines writhing around her like living armor.
"They're blooming inside you now."
Mavric tried to summon more lava—but his limbs shook, the fire weakening.
"And you should be careful," Dara whispered, "because these flowers... tend to take what isn't theirs."
She snapped her fingers.
Mavric fell to one knee, his strength bleeding out like air from a punctured balloon.
"They take your strength."
Dara raised her right hand, vines snaked up and coiled round it to create a spike like weapon.
"I would have to tell you bye now, senior."
Just as she was about to stab him, a hand held the spike in place.
She looked up to see it was Sion.
Their eyes met. No words. Just understanding.
The killing intent bled away as Dara exhaled softly.
"Sorry Sion, I almost lost myself." She apologized, retracting her hand.
"No probs." Sion smiled lightly.
---
Far away from the battlefield. Academy's Inner Core.
A white haired lady sat in front of a projection. Lina.
She watched in intrigue as Sion stepped in to save Mavric.
"Sion, huh?"
She rolled the name in her mouth.
"Seems, I have found something... Interesting."
Just as she had said that, a pair of eyes locked into hers through the hologram: Sion's eyes.
Simultaneously.
A voice rang in her head.
And with it came a chill unlike she—the frozen queen—had ever felt.
"Who is interesting?"