The Gates Of Gallus

The sun dipped behind the distant cliffs as the carriage rolled to a halt before the gates of Gallus Blade Academy—a monolith of obsidian and skysteel, rising like a crown above the mountain pass.

Kiato stepped down in silence.

The wind here bit differently—carrying not chill, but expectation.

He looked up.

Banners fluttered high above, bearing ancient emblems of elemental clans long forgotten. Towering statues lined the path—heroes, monsters, gods—all carved into stone as if to remind every newcomer: You are not the first to walk this path... and you may not be remembered.

A wave of unease brushed his chest.

"This is it. No more training matches. No more sparring for approval. This is where power speaks... or is silenced."

"Mix up with the others. I'll be heading to the noble seat," his father declared.

"You don't need luck. You'll be fine."

Kiato nodded. They both entered the gates and went their separate ways.

Dozens of initiates had already gathered—some younger, others older, cloaked in weapons, pride, or raw aura. No one waited for him. No one knew his name. Yet a few turned to glance—drawn by the strange balance of frost and flame that clung to his presence.

Kiato didn't flinch beneath their gaze.

He walked forward—not fast, not hesitant—but with the quiet stride of someone who had fought for this ground long before reaching it.

And as he passed under the archway of the academy, a strange sensation swept over him.

As if the walls of Gallus were watching.

A hand rested on his shoulder from behind. "You're the hybrid—using both flame and frost," a female voice rumbled.

Kiato turned around, his gaze meeting that of a girl of average height. Her frost-blue hair cascaded down her shoulders, untied. Her aura was chilling, but not oppressive to him. Her cloak bore the badge of the Lyslender—a mark of nobility and authority.

"Yeah, and you're the frost-wielder with the chilling aura," Kiato replied with a confident smile.

"Whatever. Just pray our paths don't cross today."

"For real. I wouldn't want to knock you out—you feel interesting, even down to your aura," Kiato remarked.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she walked away. "Don't be too cocky."

Staring at her as she left, Kiato thought to himself, I didn't even ask her name.

A loud voice echoed from above. "Be seated. The day is about to begin."

A tall, dark-haired man stood before the directors' seats. His eyes were unreadable, his posture firm and unwavering.

Silence fell over the students like a bullet to the head. They found seats at the lower left of the large arena.

"Hinoyuki, it's about to start," Kiato said quietly, calm in tone.

Then the voice continued, "I am Mr. Caelum Virellian. You may call me Director Caelum."

His eyes scanned the desperate faces of the students.

"The rules are simple: a win is awarded when your rival is unconscious, gives up or knocked out of the battleground. No killing—any violation results in a six-year disqualification from all academies."

"Sounds fair enough," came a voice from the seat to Kiato's right.

He glanced around.

"So many desperate faces, left to the fate of their own capability," Kiato said aloud.

The same voice replied, "Yeah, tension's thick in the air."

Director Caelum cut through the chatter, his voice sharp with authority, pointing toward a tall, dark-haired man whose aura was calm and controlled. He wore the brown-and-black-striped Gallus uniform.

"This is Thane Dravick. He will be your referee for today's tryouts. Show some respect."

The crowd erupted in cheers, which slowly faded.

"Having stated the rules, we'll now observe a minute of silence in honor of all who have died in this battleground," Director Caelum declared.

Silence rippled across the academy—from the noble seats, to the directors, to the initiates, and finally the audience, consisting of families and friends.

After the pause, Thane Dravick stepped forward. "We have twelve matches today. Twenty-four participants total."

"First up," his voice echoed, and tension spiked in the air, "Seraphina Lyslender versus Nyra Elowen."

The crowd roared as two figures stood from opposite ends of the initiates' stands. Eyes locked, they descended into the arena.

Thane Dravick raised one hand, then leapt out of the way.

"BEGIN!"

Seraphina faced Nyra. Wind swirled around them, blades already drawn and held high between steady hands. Both wore expressions cold and unreadable.

"Give it your best," Seraphina offered.

"Yeah. I will."

Nyra moved first, activating her Zepharion.

"By the chill of void and vengeance, hear my cry and dance with frost—Dreliviwnne!"

Wind spiraled beneath her feet, forming a serpent of chilling air that coiled around her like armor—then BOOM!—it shattered into snowflakes, and twin blades formed in her hands. She slid one foot back, body low and fluid like drifting snow. Her arms flowed outward, her twin blades humming with frost as they traced elegant arcs. Her spine bent like a wind-swept willow, but her eyes glinted like shards of black ice.

Seraphina smirked. "Dual blade user... I'll just have to adapt."

"From rime and ruin, let frost arise—awaken, Thalruin!"

A geyser of water burst from beneath her feet, blasting upward. As the mist cleared, Seraphina stood firm, a silver-glowing blade in her grasp. Her frost-hued hair shimmered like flowing streams of magic.

They clashed.

Seraphina moved with practiced caution, blades ringing with each strike. Nyra twisted in with a second blade, slashing from the side. Seraphina blocked both with her single sword. But then—Nyra struck first with a kick, sending Seraphina skidding across the arena floor.

"She's like the blade herself..." Seraphina muttered. "Too flexible to catch off-guard."

Nyra launched from midair, twin blades spinning toward her. Seraphina barely dodged, sliding under the strike. But Nyra wasn't done—twisting with brutal grace, she slammed her leg into Seraphina and pinned her to the ground.

"How did she...?" Seraphina winced.

Then a voice rang in her head—her father's.

"Don't disappoint me."

She turned her gaze to the noble seats. Her father's face was unreadable.

I can't win in close combat... then it's time.

"Frost Technique: Silent Sovereign."

Seraphina's aura expanded across the field—then crystallized into invisible frost.

Nyra froze mid-step.

The crowd gasped.

"What just happened? She's not moving!"

Whispers broke out across the arena.

In the noble seats, Gundrick clapped. "That's one hell of a daughter."

Aldrin, seated beside him, chuckled. "Don't tease me. Your son is still unpredictable."

"He's beyond my legacy now. He's heading somewhere else," Gundrick boasted.

Back in the arena, ninety seconds passed. Then Seraphina released the frozen aura—turning it to water.

Nyra collapsed, unconscious.

Thane Dravick stepped in, checking her pulse. "She's alive." Then he raised both hands.

"Winner: Seraphina Lyslender."

Seraphina calmly returned to her seat.

Kiato, watching from the stands, muttered, "Flame really is the nemesis of ice..."