Debut

"Next match! Caelum Veris versus Reinhardt Krell!"

The announcer's voice echoed across the coliseum, cutting through the noise like a blade. Cheers erupted, mostly for the name that followed Caelum's.

Reinhardt Krell—third-year, 14th in the Academy's official rankings. A battle maniac with a reputation for breaking bones in friendly spars. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the smug smile of someone used to winning.

And then there was Caelum.

His name drew murmurs. Confusion.

"Who?"

"Never heard of him."

"Is he a first year?"

"Did someone mess up the roster?"

The murmurs didn't faze him. They never did. Caelum stepped into the arena, his steps soundless on the pale stone. The crowd saw a young man with calm eyes, his expression unreadable, face pale under the morning sun. No family cheering. No faction colors. No prior fame.

To them, he was a blank slate.

To himself, he was a ticking bomb.

Calm down… he muttered inwardly as he faced Reinhardt across the field. The weight in his chest had returned—familiar now. A slow pressure building behind his ribcage. His fingers twitched, not from fear... but from something else.

"Begin!"

Reinhardt lunged without hesitation, sword blazing with searing heat—fire-imbued steel slicing through the air.

Caelum dodged. Barely.

He countered with [Flash], his body vanishing into a blur of lightning. But the moment he moved, his vision distorted. His legs felt off-balance. Lightning skidded through him like static without direction.

The balance is off again... he thought, stumbling.

Reinhardt noticed.

"Oh? You're fast, but sloppy," Reinhardt chuckled as his blade carved arcs through the air, each swing heavier than the last. "You don't belong here, rookie."

Caelum's teeth clenched. Not from the insult.

From himself.

That weight. That pressure. It was getting worse. The trait inside him—whatever it truly was—was stirring. He could feel it pushing, clawing, stretching from the corners of his mind.

Not now. Not here.

He braced himself, suppressing it like he always had.

But Reinhardt didn't give him time. Blow after blow rained down. He was fast, brutal, relentless. Caelum ducked, sidestepped, blocked with his blade—but he was being cornered. His body couldn't keep up. Mana churned unevenly inside him, his elemental balance crumbling.

Then it hit him—a deep cut across his arm, blood splashing onto the floor.

"You should've forfeited, no-name."

And that's when he heard it again.

A whisper.

"I swear they'll pay... I swear it..."

The words. That voice. Young Caelum.

Again. And again. Louder.

"I swear they'll pay..."

Something in him cracked.

No. This isn't just a match.

He didn't realize his breathing had stopped.

Suddenly, everything fell silent.

Reinhardt paused mid-swing. His eyes widened—not at Caelum, but at the air itself. The arena... it froze. The noise from the crowd dulled into a hum. The sky overhead dimmed, light bending unnaturally as if the sun itself were holding its breath.

Caelum's head slowly lifted. His eyes—once violet—now shimmered with a deeper, unnatural hue. Like amethyst fractured by obsidian.

Mana leaked from him in waves. Not like a fire or a flood. But like a presence. One that didn't belong.

The trait had awakened.

No one knew what it was.

But everyone felt it.

The headmaster stood from his seat. Teachers reached for emergency seals. Reinhardt stumbled backward, blade trembling in his grip.

"What... what the hell are you—?!"

Caelum didn't speak.

He stepped forward.

The ground beneath his feet shattered.

And in that moment, everyone in the arena realized—

They hadn't invited a student into this tournament.

They had unleashed something else entirely.