Three days after the forest incident, Aria's schedule shifted.
Without warning, her combat lessons were replaced.
No more Professor Caldor and his "controlled dueling theory." No more lectures on magical ethics while sparring with padded sticks. Now, there was only one name written across her slate board: Xenric Vale – Special Assignment, South Arena.
She raised an eyebrow. "That's not ominous at all."
Nyra, peeking over her shoulder, wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like the name of someone who eats glass for breakfast."
Aria grinned. "Let's hope he chews slowly."
The South Arena was a half-ruined coliseum at the edge of the academy—used for elite duels, field exams, and, according to rumor, detentions that ended in medical transfers. It was empty when she arrived. Wind howled through cracked stone columns. Golden banners swayed, faded by sun and time.
She stepped onto the arena floor.
He was already waiting.
A boy stood at the center of the ring—tall, lean, clothed in black-and-grey leathers, his uniform sleeveless, revealing a network of runes tattooed along one arm. His hair was silver-white, his expression unreadable.
But what struck her wasn't his appearance.
It was the absence of his shadow.
Even in the midday sun, light bent around him. His feet cast nothing on the ground. It was… unnatural.
He looked her up and down. "You're shorter than I imagined."
She rolled her eyes. "And you're ruder than necessary. So we're even."
"I'm Xenric," he said, tone flat. "I was told to spar with you. Not hold back. Not teach. Just fight."
"Good," Aria said, cracking her knuckles. "Because I didn't come here to play house."
They circled.
Then he vanished.
No burst of speed. No dramatic blur. Just—gone.
Aria spun. A whisper of air behind her—she ducked, pivoted, sent a gold flare shooting backward. It fizzled against stone.
"Too slow," his voice said from above.
She looked up.
He was midair, descending fast.
She crossed her arms, focusing. Her magic pulsed—gold coiling upward, intercepting him in a glowing arc. But instead of impact, he slipped through it like mist.
"What—?"
He reappeared at her side, hand outstretched, palm glowing with a void-like magic that hurt to look at.
Aria twisted, raised a wall of gold light. The spells clashed, sending a shockwave through the arena. Dust exploded into the sky.
When it cleared, she was still standing. Breathing hard. Smirking.
He blinked. "Impressive."
"I'm full of surprises," she said. "Here's another one."
Golden chains burst from her palms—thin and bright, moving like snakes. Xenric dodged the first three, but the fourth wrapped around his leg, anchoring him.
He snapped his fingers. The chain turned black and melted into smoke.
Aria's eyes widened. "You canceled it?"
"No," he said. "I rewrote it."
Her heart thumped.
That wasn't standard magic.
He came at her again—faster, sharper, more aggressive. They exchanged blows—magic against magic, gold versus shadow. Sparks danced in the air. The arena trembled beneath their feet.
Aria ducked low, channeled every drop of power she had—and unleashed it upward in a blazing pillar of gold.
Xenric was launched skyward, flipping midair to land with inhuman grace, but Aria was already there. Her palm crackled.
She struck.
The blast hit his chest, knocking him off balance. He hit the ground, skidding backward.
Silence.
A moment passed. Then another.
And then… he laughed.
Low. Rough. Almost surprised.
"You're dangerous," he said, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth.
Aria flicked her hair back. "Told you."
"You're also exhausting."
"Better than boring."
Xenric stood, shaking dust from his tunic. "You learn fast."
"I copy fast," she corrected. "It's kind of my thing."
Because she had.
Every move he'd made—she had felt it, mirrored it, absorbed it. The way his magic bent reality, the way he fused speed with silence. It was in her now, stitched into muscle memory.
Something new simmered in her chest. A glowing sigil, sharp and angular—unlike her usual swirls. She didn't even remember forming it.
She touched her chest. "What is this?"
Xenric tilted his head. "A spellform," he said. "One I haven't used in years. You pulled it out of me."
Aria stared at her hands.
And just like that, she understood.
Limit testing wasn't just about power.
It was about what she could steal. Adapt. Evolve.
The girl who'd once struggled to make fireballs now held fragments of magic older than the sun.
She grinned. "Wanna go again?"
Xenric's eyes narrowed.
"Oh, gods," he muttered. "She's one of those."