The entire Academy pulsed with rare energy.

  That morning, enchanted bells had been ringing since dawn, announcing the opening of the Pairs Tournament: a competition reserved for the Academy’s most promising students.

  The floating arena, suspended above the school’s gardens, was adorned with colorful flags, swirling runes, and levitating bleachers filled with an eager crowd.

  Local nobility, a few royal envoys, renowned mages, and a sea of students had taken their seats.

  The Dean, draped in a golden ceremonial robe, gave a solemn speech that few actually listened to.

  Then the matches began.

  The first duel featured two offensive students: one specialized in lightning, the other in flame summoning.

  Their magic clashed with dazzling bursts that lit up the stands.

  The summoner won with a brilliant dodge and a spiraling flame that surprised everyone.

  Another battle saw two healers cleverly synchronize defensive spells, holding their ground against two more experienced casters.

  The crowd cheered their creativity and timing more than brute force.

  Then Julius stepped into the arena, paired with élo?se — visibly nervous, yet determined.

  The contrast between Julius’s chaotic energy and élo?se’s tightly-wound focus drew smiles the moment they entered.

  Julius opened with a fire spell… and missed.

  Badly.

  He scorched the central tournament banner’s pole.

  élo?se, wordlessly, overcorrected with a water spell that soaked half the field.

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  But as the duel progressed, something strange happened.

  Julius began anticipating his own clumsiness.

  élo?se adjusted her spells to compensate.

  Together, they managed to unbalance their opponents just enough to last longer than expected.

  They lost, of course.

  But as they exited the field, élo?se grabbed his hand.

  And Julius, sweaty and beaming, raised his fist in victory.

  They were beautiful in that moment.

  Maybe that’s what love does.

  The crowd laughed with them.

  Finally, Garlan and Marenna were called.

  They entered the arena calm, measured, in perfect sync.

  Their opponents: a well-known noble duo — arrogant, confident in their status.

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  Sareth controlled gravity.

  Lilia mastered air currents with surgical precision.

  The nobles struck first.

  A gravitational pulse rippled through the ground.

  The air grew thick and heavy.

  Marenna dropped to her knees.

  Garlan clenched his fists.

  Lilia launched a spiraling wind blade.

  "Now!" shouted Sareth.

  But Garlan vanished in a blur and reappeared behind him, grabbing him by the collar.

  “Bad timing, pal.”

  He hurled Sareth backward through his own gravity field, breaking the spell.

  Lilia tried to retaliate — but Marenna was already up.

  Thorny vines burst under her feet, forming a defensive crescent.

  Lilia’s movement was disrupted. She stumbled.

  Garlan flicked his wrist, stealing her breath of wind with a counter spell.

  The nobles stood again, angry now.

  “Fine,” growled Sareth. “Let’s synchronize.”

  They raised their hands together.

  The arena trembled.

  The ground tilted.

  The wind turned into a spinning blade, spiraling upward.

  Garlan smirked.

  “At least they’ve got some creativity.”

  “Want me to handle it, sweetheart?” offered Marenna.

  “Go on. Show ’em the power of an angry wife.”

  Marenna launched herself into the wind.

  Roots wrapped around her, forming a streamlined spiral.

  She sliced through the storm like a knife through silk.

  She reached Lilia and plunged a living vine into her control circle.

  The magic was drained and redirected.

  The wind collapsed.

  “What—?!” screamed Lilia.

  “Plants… adapt,” whispered Marenna.

  Below, Garlan finished the job:

  Lightning-quick teleport, fire-charged punch, and a gust spell that launched Sareth out of the central ring.

  The crowd held its breath.

  The gong rang.

  Victory.

  Silence.

  Then thunderous applause.

  The nobles stood, dusty and disoriented.

  Sareth bowed silently.

  Lilia did too — stiffly, but with dignity.

  Their defeat was obvious.

  But not shameful.

  As Garlan and Marenna left the circle, the sky suddenly darkened.

  One professor frowned.

  Another, discreetly, activated a viewing crystal to replay the last seconds.

  A massive shadow swept over the arena.

  The flags stopped fluttering.

  The wind froze.

  A glowing crack opened at the center of the sky.

  It pulsed with unstable purple light—

  Then exploded in a thunderous roar.

  From that rift descended several monstrous figures:

  minor demons, with twisted bodies, membranous wings, and icy fangs.

  The strike was instant.

  The first ring of defensive mages was decapitated, vaporized, or disemboweled in less than ten seconds.

  Blood splashed across the enchanted tiles.

  Screams drowned out incantations.

  Then came two larger demons—

  armored, cloaked in a corrupted aura.

  Elite demons.

  The arena shook.

  Magical barriers collapsed.

  Professors leapt into action, but even they were caught off guard.

  Some fell without reacting in time.

  Garlan stepped forward, fists tight.

  “No,” Marenna said, gripping his arm. “Not yet. Not here.”

  He hesitated. Then nodded grimly.

  A teleportation rune exploded a few feet away.

  An unlucky student was ripped in half.

  High above, the Dean raised his staff and roared an ancient incantation.

  Massive glyphs ignited around the arena, attempting to contain the chaos.

  But it was too late.

  Blood had been spilled.

  Chaos had come.

  And for the first time in decades, the Academy understood—

  it could fall.