Chapter 45 – Duel of Will and Wards

"Told you," Sylv said with a lopsided grin, flicking a coin into Lyria's waiting palm. "I did say she would challenge you."

Elara raised a brow. Her voice, when it came, was calm and measured. "I accept."

The students fell into stunned silence. The dueling circle cleared.

The scrying glyphs flared brighter above them. Light bent subtly around the circular field as the arena's enchantments shifted, amplifying their power and capturing every angle. The battlefield was set.

Elara stepped forward with grace that seemed to silence the air itself. Her outfit, though elegant, did little to scream 'combat-ready.' A sleek, deep-navy one-piece dress hugged her form modestly, with thin straps over her shoulders and a subtle shimmer embedded into the fabric. The skirt reached just to her knees and moved like liquid silk as she walked. Her heels—polished, sharp, and deceptively stable—clicked confidently on the stone surface. The overall appearance might've looked like it belonged to a noble at a gala, if not for the elegant Runed staff held lightly in her left hand.

As soon as she entered the dueling circle, something about her changed. Her aura sharpened, turned cold, almost divine. A pressure fell across the field, and Kaelira Drakar instinctively took a half-step back—confused at herself for doing so.

Elara's presence seemed larger than the space she occupied.

To recover, Kaelira set her jaw and stepped forward defiantly. "Professor, I request that you don't hold back. I'd like to see if you're capable of touching me at all."

Elara tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Miss Drakar. I've observed your arrogance since day one. I believe it's time someone reminded you where you currently stand in your education."

That did it.

Kaelira's eyes flared gold as her mana surged to life. Her Dragonkin physiology and instincts snapped into focus, propelling her forward like a living missile—speed, precision, and raw strength converging in one violent dash.

She didn't make it halfway.

A shimmer in the air caught her like a net of gravity. Her body halted mid-lunge, suspended by an invisible barrier. She struggled briefly, the air rippling around her, but Elara hadn't moved. Not an inch.

A moment later, the field flexed and tossed Kaelira backward like a toy.

Still standing where she'd begun, Elara's voice rang out. "Was that all you had, Miss Drakar?"

Kaelira growled and fully activated every rune etched into her equipment. Speed, heat resistance, aim compensation—she shot into motion, trying flanks, feints, airborne dives, even underground maneuvers through destabilized stone.

None worked.

Elara danced without moving. Every strike failed. Every approach was anticipated. She hadn't even raised her staff.

Then her eyes narrowed.

"Now, allow me to show you why defensive runes matter."

She lifted her staff and began to channel.

Above the arena, water coalesced into floating orbs. Each became encased in a thin, flawless sheet of ice. Into the center of every ice lens, Elara traced a precise light rune. The sky was soon filled with a constellation of cold mirrors, humming with charged mana.

Kaelira felt it before she saw it—the sheer power gathering above. Her instincts screamed.

Elara's presence now felt divine—no longer a professor, no longer a girl, but a being of war. She didn't radiate anger or pride—just the calm certainty of someone utterly in control.

"Miss Drakar," Elara intoned. "Prepare for impact."

The runes fired.

Each lens acted like a beam amplifier. One focused blast seared across the dueling ground—not at Kaelira directly, but at the defense medallion she'd worn. It shattered on contact, harmlessly.

Before Kaelira could react, beams from all directions formed a cage—thin, blazing lines of light inscribed a Rune Circle in midair around her. It solidified.

She was trapped. Not hurt—just sealed. Absolutely, undeniably caged.

Silence.

Kaelira stared at Elara, wide-eyed. She had never—never—felt anything like this.

Not even her grandfather, elder of their lineage, had invoked such raw terror in her blood.

Her knees buckled.

She collapsed.

Shaking, panting, humbled.

Elara exhaled softly, the barrier disengaging with a flick of her wrist. The rune cage vanished in an elegant flicker.

Kaelira didn't rise. She knelt.

Then bowed fully.

Her voice, when it came, was raw but resolute.

"I yield. Not only this duel… but my loyalty."

Elara frowned. "That won't be necessary. This was only a training exercise."

Kaelira shook her head. "It is necessary. By blood, by instinct, and by the rites of my people, I must. I have faced my betters before—but never like this. There is no shame in losing to power. But there is shame in denying the truth of it."

She looked up, her golden eyes filled with something Elara couldn't quite place—devotion, yes, but also relief. As though some inner struggle had ended.

"You are my Pack Leader now. I serve you, Elara Wyrmshade. Until I am released by strength or death."

Gasps echoed through the gathered crowd.

Elara opened her mouth to object, but Kaelira continued.

"It cannot be refused. The bond is sacred. Our ancestors wove it into us. This oath—this vow—is older than your Kingdom."

Elara closed her eyes briefly.

Then stepped forward and gently touched Kaelira's shoulder.

"Then serve with purpose. And learn. Because loyalty without growth is nothing more than idleness in armor."

Kaelira bowed her head again, her voice quiet. "I will become worthy of the place beside you."

From the sidelines, Lyria and Sylv exchanged grins.

"I always wanted a dragon for a bodyguard," Lyria whispered.

Sylv snorted. "More like a fanatical disciple."

They both laughed.