Chapter 11- And Then There Were Four
The arena pulsed with stunned silence — then roared like a city struck by thunder.
And in the far chamber, Lio stood still — breathing quietly.
Kieran Duskvale's eyes finally moved from the sky. His expression didn't change, but his gaze lingered a little too long on the name 'Lio Fen.'
Up in the faction balconies, heads were leaning forward. Even the stoic ones.
And then—
Chime.
Again.
The leaderboard shimmered. Flickered. Updated.
Not just once.
But again.
A second name. Velrenmar.
The anchor's voice cracked with disbelief.
**"Wait—WAIT—NO WAY—THAT'S—ANOTHER ONE?! Velrenmar just dropped another contender into the top ranks! Ladies and gentlemen, AREN LYS, also from Velrenmar, just cleared his mirror in 9.78 seconds!"
He didn't yell it.
He screamed it.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They stared.
Two. In the same batch in top ten leaderboard. From Velrenmar.
The camera mirrors spun like maddened wasps, shifting their focus from Lio's fading trial footage to a dark-haired, aloof student standing alone at the edge of the arena's staging platform.
Aren Lys.
Unsmiling. Motionless. Detached — like he hadn't noticed what just happened.
Or maybe like he didn't care.
One of the Kael'mair boys stood up from his cushioned seat, squinting toward the field.
"Who the hell is that?"
Another muttered, mouth dry.
"I thought Lio was the anomaly. There's two?"
Maedra Ruusk, head of Duskwatch, leaned forward slowly, eyes narrowing.
"That one… that one moved like he wasn't even trying."
Kieran Duskvale's gaze lingered. Cold, assessing.
"His control isn't raw. It's… intentional."
Orrik Valehand didn't blink, only smiled faintly, murmuring:
"And no audience flair. Interesting."
All eyes were now on the Velrenmar students still exiting their mirror chambers. Even the ones who'd been average seconds ago now walked under the glow of mass suspicion.
One girl near the back muttered something and tried to fix her hair, just in case the cameras looked her way.
A pale-faced boy adjusted his posture, suddenly aware that he was being watched by what felt like half the continent.
A Kael'mair instructor stood up in the gallery, whispering to his colleague.
"Where the hell were they hiding these students?"
The magical mirrors above the arena hadn't even finished replaying Aren Lys's surreal takedown when it happened.
Chime.
Again.
A third time.
The leaderboard pulsed once more.
The announcer's voice cracked mid-sentence.
"WAIT—WHAT—AGAIN?!?"
He scrambled his scroll, disbelief spilling across every word.
"NEREA VAUN — Velrenmar — has just cleared her mirror in 11.39 seconds! That's a match with Kael'mair's second-best time!"
The crowd lost it.
Three names. One batch. All Velrenmar.
The arena didn't cheer. It howled.
And suddenly, every enchanted mirror in the sky swiveled at once — locking onto a girl with damp hair, water still trickling from the folds of her sleeve, standing calmly in her trial chamber.
Mirror Footage — Nerea Vaun's TrialThe darkness had barely settled when her mirror stepped forward.
A perfect reflection.
Same build. Same silver-blue eyes. Same sapphire resonance pool swirling around her fingertips.
But Nerea… didn't hesitate.
She stepped forward, eyes soft. Calm.
The mirror attacked — a sudden, slicing tide of water.
Nerea answered it not with defense…
…but with depth.
She dropped to one knee, planted her palm on the floor — and called.
The water beneath her surged inwards. Not a strike. Not a wall.
A drain. A resonance siphon.
Her water pulled her mirror's own affinity into itself — overloading it.
Her copy tried to resist.
Too late.
The mirrored version froze, overwhelmed by its own power feedback. It cracked from the inside out.
And shattered.
11.39 seconds. Flat.
"VELRENMAR?! AGAIN?!"
"Who the hell is NEREA VAUN?!"
"I SWEAR I SAW HER EATING BREAD ALONE LAST NIGHT!"
A Coldmere student dropped his charmstone.
An Isthol instructor whispered like he'd seen a ghost.
"They weren't just hiding talent… they were hiding monsters."
Up in the faction balconies, even faction leaders were surprised.
Maedra Ruusk punched the balcony railing, grinning wide.
"This batch… this bloody batch."
Orrik Valehand finally spoke:
"Three in one batch. All under 5th year"
Mireth Qyln didn't blink.
She smiled.
But it wasn't surprise.
It was recognition.
By now, the crowd was already on edge. Three names. One academy. Every enchanted mirror was locked in, cycling through the batch like it was a prophecy being unraveled in real time.
And then… one last camera cut.
To a chamber glowing faintly yellow.
To a boy who stood… very still.
Milo Rhask.
Blonde Messy hair, slightly crooked stance, mismatched gloves. His expression was a mix of panic and wild improvisation. His mirror stood opposite — equally confused.
Milo scratched his head and muttered something the spell-mic caught:
"Okay… so if I trip first, does it get confused or just kill me faster?"
The crowd burst into laughter.
His mirror mirrored his pose.
Milo raised his arms in a mock stance.
His mirror copied.
He began shuffling sideways in exaggerated slow motion.
"Woooosh," he said. "Look at me. I'm unpredictable."
The mirror followed.
Then Milo suddenly darted forward and slipped.
Tripped.
Flung out a hand to break his fall.
Crack.
His elbow hit the copy in the face.
Direct hit.
The mirror staggered.
"WAIT WHAT—?"
CRUNCH.
He fell into the mirrored version with the full weight of a failed somersault — an accidental knee to the ribs and head collision.
The mirror cracked.
Shattered.
Gone.
A small, respectful ding.
Not dramatic. Just… ding.
The announcer lost it.
"What in the actual flux just happened? MILO RHASK — Velrenmar — 11.93 seconds?!"
"I've never seen a reverse suplex flail work!"
"HE FELL INTO VICTORY!"
"He just stumbled his way into the top ten!"
A girl from Coldmere screamed into her sleeve, "He's my favorite now."
Even faction leaders couldn't help it.
Maedra Ruusk blinked twice.
"Did he… mean to do that?"
Deyric Karr laughed, the first genuine laugh he'd shown all day.
"That's the kind of chaos even I couldn't buy."
Pius Alaric just stared in contemplative silence.
"…Nature favors the clumsy sometimes."
He walked back in like nothing had happened, arms out wide, grinning.
"Guys! GUYS. Did you SEE THAT?! I am so good at falling, it's insane."
Lio was speechless.
Nerea just covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
Aren gave him a look that said: I refuse to understand you.
Milo plopped down on the bench, still hyped.
"How much do you think I ranked? Eleventh? Twelfth? I felt like an eleventh."
Lio raised an eyebrow.
"…You're literally glowing on the leaderboard."
"Shhh. Don't ruin this for me. Let me pretend I'm a humble underdog, not an accidental legend."
━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☾ ● ☽ ━━━━━━━━━━━━
Faction Selection Trial One — Leaderboard (Top 10 Finishers)
#1 — Lio Fen (Velrenmar, 1st Year) — 4.89 seconds
#2 — Arvek Sol (Kael'mair, 3rd Year) — 7.42 seconds
#3 — Aren Lys (Velrenmar, 2nd Year) — 9.78 seconds
#4 — Vena Dohl (Korrien, 4th Year) — 10.02 seconds
#5 — Jorik Rehn (Isthol, 5th Year) — 10.33 seconds
#6 — Rynn Elthis (Kael'mair, 4th Year) — 10.56 seconds
#7 — Erev Malst (Southvale Institute, 5th Year) — 11.01 seconds
#8 — Nerea Vaun (Velrenmar, 3rd Year) — 11.39 seconds
#9 — Kelm Draik (Rixhaven Ward, 6th Year) — 11.50 seconds
#10 — Milo Rhask (Velrenmar, 4th Year) — 11.93 seconds
━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☾ ● ☽ ━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Wait—wait wait WAIT—he's a first-year?!"
A girl from Merran practically shrieked, pointing at the screen.
"And he's not even tall!"
"That one was not necessary to say."
A Southvale student dropped his roasted seeds.
"Bro. What the hell is Velrenmar feeding these kids?!"
A loud-mouthed Isthol student shouted, "WHO THE HELL IS AREN LYS?!"
"Second year!" someone yelled back.
"SECOND only?!! I thought he was a retired assassin in disguise!"
Then the camera hovered over Milo Rhask as he returned to the waiting zone, waving at the camera.
He struck a pose. "Number ten, baby! Nailed it! Was aiming for twenty. Overachieved again."
A tall boy from Coldmere cracked, "You slipped on your own foot and KILLED your copy."
A girl screamed from the crowd, joking "HE'S THE GOAT. THE GOAT OF SLIP-FU!"
A Kael'mair student with immaculate hair clenched their jaw.
"Why does everyone love that idiot?!"
"I- Have no fucking clue."
The chamber was quiet, far above the main balcony. A private viewing room veiled in protective runes and tinted glass.
Inside, Headmaster Verrian stood with arms crossed behind his back, expression unreadable.
But his eyes — glowing faintly with observational enchantments — never left the scoreboard.
Behind him, the old steward Ommel cleared his throat, offering a steaming cup of mountainleaf tea.
Verrian took it wordlessly.
Then:
"4.89 seconds."
His voice was calm.
───────────────⟢────⟢────⟢───────────────
"You called it," Ommel, a old figure who seemed to be taking to verrian in friendly tone said softly. "Though I thought you were being dramatic."
Verrian nodded once.
"Lio has always had the instincts. He just needed a body that could keep up."
Ommel chuckled. "Well, looks like that kid Seren beat that into him."
"No," Verrian said. "He taught him how not to run."
⫷⚜⫸
Pius Alaric from Verdant Cross stood with his arms folded behind his cloak of vines and thorns.
He spoke softly, as if to no one:
"Velrenmar just placed three students in the top ten. From a city we haven't looked at in two decades."
"Four," Orrik Valehand corrected. "You forgot the odd one. The jester."
Maedra Ruusk of Duskwatch cracked a knuckle and muttered
"I want the boy with the grin."
Esera Saelth, Stonehelm raised an eyebrow.
"Milo?"
"He plays weak. But only those with real teeth can afford to smile that wide."
Deyric Karr of Ledgerhall had leaned halfway over the balcony railing, grinning.
"Aren Lys. He's the one with the dead eyes."
He laughed. "Delicious, I want him."
"Velrenmar… now that's an unexpected ripple."
"Makes it all the more fun to offer contracts later."
Lady Vaelira of the Eastriver Court, known for her sharp tongue and sharper intelligence, leaned toward her husband.
"Everyone thought they were just quiet."
"Turns out, they were sharpening claws in the dark."
Nearby, Chronicler Lareth of the Obsidian Tome furiously scribbled into his enchanted quill.
"Lio Fen. Aren Lys. Nerea Vaun. Milo Rhask. Documented. Confirmed. Unexpected. Threat rating reevaluation pending."
The crowd was still murmuring. Shocked. Awed. Confused.
Velrenmar — quiet, forgettable Velrenmar — had just placed four students in the top ten.
And one of them had shattered the all-time record like it was made of dried soup crust.
Milo Rhask rubbed the back of his neck, blinking up at the leaderboard still glowing above the arena. His name — #10, 11.93 seconds — shimmered just beneath Nerea's.
He snorted.
"Tenth place?! I wasn't even trying yet."
He gave the crowd a sheepish little wave, acting like he'd just wandered into the wrong room and accidentally won a duel.
"I mean, uh... yeah! That was all part of the plan, Totally part of the strategy. Trip, flail, dominate. Classic move."
."
Nearby, one of the commentators nearly fell off his seat laughing.
A few jealous students muttered from the stands.
"Who is that guy?"
"He didn't even look serious..."
"I hate him. I want to hate him."
But Milo didn't care.
He was grinning.
For the first time in ages — people were watching. Not laughing at him. Not ignoring him. But watching.
And it felt... good.
"Not bad, huh?" he said to no one in particular, hands on his hips, chest puffed out like a triumphant goose.
The grin dropped.
The question lingered in his chest like a weight.
The first trial was already at its end. Nearly everyone had gone. Every Velrenmar student had been called.
Everyone... except him.
Milo frowned, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of his gloves.
"Oi, you idiot," he muttered to himself, eyes drifting toward the shadows beneath the balcony towers. "You promised you'd at least try."
Milo took a slow breath, eyes narrowing.
"...Where are you, Seren?"
The arena lights burned on.
But somewhere deeper — far beneath the celebration, far from the crowds and the floating mirrors — a colder silence waited.
And Seren... was not where he should've been.
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Moonfen Reach – Subterranean Basin Ruins
Seren's face was streaked with blood, trailing down the torn edge of his sleeve. His clothes hung in shreds. One lens of his eyewear cracked — then split — with a soft shatter, then another one
The broken glass fell.
And behind it, his left and right eye glowed — pale, sharp, and inhuman.
Like the surface of a moon pulled too close.
Rhael stopped smiling.
Seren took a step forward, slow, deliberate — the mist curling back from his presence.
His voice was quiet.
But it struck like a blade.
"You want to study me?"
"Then you crawl to your grave knowing this—"
"I'm not something you should have studied. I'm the last thing you will see."
His moonlit eye, now exposed narrowed.
╎╎╎
"I'm going to kill you."