P43 - Sparks in the Air

Location: Flamme University - Training Grounds:

The clanging of steel echoed through the Flamme University Training Arena. Dummies stood tall, enchanted with reactive shielding, programmed to simulate real foes. A blaze of lightning arced past one's head.

"Solira - full strike precision, ninety-eight percent," called the instructor.

The crack of another impact. Lysa landed a spinning hand-cannon shot that knocked a dummy clean off its base.

"Lysa – excellent form. Center of the Target. Top-tier again."

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the arena, Brant grunted.

His greatsword, an all-black slab of metal with a worn 'X' sigil, barely dented the dummy in front of him. It felt too heavy, too awkward, and his hands ached.

"Why won't you just cut already!?" he hissed.

Veltra, dancing across the field, sent flames rippling from her staff, igniting three dummies in one elegant sweep. Orin calmly stood nearby, his sword and shield clearing a controlled area like a practiced general.

"Brant," Solira's voice called out, smug. "Planning to scratch them to death with that butter-knife of yours?"

His teeth clenched. "Why don't you shut up for once?"

Something cracked inside. Brant tightened his grip, took a step back, and lunged. The tip of his greatsword burst through the wooden dummy's chest--splinters flying across the floor as the weapon pulsed faintly.

"Oooh," Lysa hummed from nearby, clapping her hands together like she's proud of him.

"Dismissed," the instructor called. "Clean up before you leave."

Brant stormed toward the exit, frustration boiling under his skin.

Outside, the late-afternoon heat shimmered along the cobbled paths.

"Brant!"

It was Veltra, jogging up with her staff slung across her back. "Hey! You were pretty cool back there. I'm throwing a little celebration party tonight--nothing fancy, just drinks, games, TV. Wanna come? It'll just be the three of us!"

He hesitated until Solira appeared behind her, flipping her fiery ponytail. "I demand to join this party. Obviously, you need better company."

Veltra raised a brow. "Only if you bring Lysa, kay?"

Solira paused, narrowed her eyes, then sighed. "Fine. But I pick the drinks."

That night, the dorm's lounge room buzzed with low lighting and fizzy sodas. Orin and Veltra were setting up a hologame match on the projector. Lysa, lounging on a beanbag, watched as Solira and Brant sat side by side on the ground.

They were quiet. For once.

As the night dragged on, Solira's posture slumped--until her head gently fell against Brant's shoulder.

"...Hey?" Brant asked softly.

No response.

Then:

"Awwwwwwww," Veltra whispered in exaggerated volume.

Orin grinned. "Should we take a photo?"

Whack!

Solira jolted awake as Lysa tossed her a nearby plushie.

Solira's cheeks went red. She leapt to her feet. "N-NO! I don't like him! How could I like that thing?? He's just a peasant! A... F-failure!"

Brant's expression froze. He stood up.

"Right," he muttered, brushing past everyone. "I'm done here."

"Brant, wait!" Veltra called after him. "That's not true, you're not a failure!"

"I don't know about that, she is the Genius after all," he growled, storming down the hallway.

Behind him, silence. Until footsteps echoed.

"Brant!" Solira caught up and grabbed his arm. He yanked it free, not turning around.

"I'm tired of this," he said, voice tight. "Tired of your games. The jokes. The insults. Just... don't follow me anymore."

"I--" She paused. "I'm not used to this. Looking up to people. But whenever I see you, I... I hear my heartbeat."

Brant looked away.

"I don't like being mocked," he said simply, starting to walk off again.

But before he turned the corner, she shouted after him:

"Friday night! Outside my dorm, 8PM! Don't be late!"

He didn't respond and continued to his dorm.

All week, Brant avoided Solira, not letting her speak to him, and chatted with Veltra and Orin all week.

Friday Night - 7:30 PM

Brant stood by the dorm mirror, brushing lint off a simple navy shirt and dark slacks. He wasn't dressed to impress. He just didn't want to look like a fool.

'Orin's working late... might as well go. What's the worst that could happen?' Brant thought to himself.

He stepped out of his dorm, heading toward the girls' dorm. The sun dipped low, casting amber shades across the rooftops.

Then he saw her.

Standing by the glowing lanternlight was Solira Kyne.

She wore a sleek black-and-red dress, flame-patterned fabric folding at the sleeves. Her usually wild ponytail was brushed into a flowing low braid, adorned with streaks of glowing hair-charms. A subtle blush warmed her cheeks. Her usual confidence had softened into something delicate.

Brant stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped and his chest tightened.

She looked up, locking eyes with him. And smiled--awkward, nervous, nothing like the Solira everyone else knew.

He whispered to himself: "...Damn."

The amber glow of the streetlights painted the stone walkways in warm, soft tones. Shadows danced behind every bench and storefront as Brant and Solira strolled side-by-side in an awkward silence.

Solira's hands were clasped behind her back, the black-and-red dress shifting slightly with every step and a clicking noise each time her heels hit the ground. Brant, on the other hand, had both hands in his pockets, trying to keep his cool, but still occasionally stealing glances at her.

"N-nice weather," he mumbled.

Solira laughed under her breath. "That's your opening line? Really??"

He smirked. "Not all of us had years of elite etiquette training."

She tilted her head, then looked forward. "Who- oh... I did."

Brant glanced at her. "What was it like?"

Solira hesitated.

"My family raised me like a perfection. I was the child everyone adored. The prodigy. Praise was normal--but so was the pressure. I was taught to always be the strongest, the smartest, and the best of the best, and to look down on the weak."

She paused beside a shop window, the reflection of the lanterns catching in her eyes. "And I did. Including you."

Brant chuckled dryly. "Thanks."

She quickly added, "But then... you stepped in front of me. During that fire spell misfire. You didn't ask nor hesitate. You just... did it."

Silence hung between them.

"I didn't expect someone like you to do that," she said quietly.

Brant rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "Didn't expect myself to either."

They both chuckled.

Soon, they came across a cozy stew restaurant, its wooden sign glowing faintly with enchanted ember runes. The scent of spiced broth and roasted meat drifted into the street.

Inside, they sat at a corner booth. The table between them steamed with two bowls of beef stew.

As they ate, Brant opened up about his mother--how she mocked him for chasing dreams, spent his money on junk, and how he clung to hope his father, who vanished on a dungeon raid, but might still be alive.

Solira's expression softened. "You're more interesting than I thought."

Brant shrugged. "You only know the worst parts. You haven't even heard of the rest."

She smiled into her spoon. "Maybe I'm starting to see them now."

On their way back, the street was quiet--until the sound of running footsteps shattered the peace.

Brant and Solira turned.

A man was sprinting their way, clutching a purse, with an old lady gasping behind him, barely keeping up.

Without hesitation, Brant slid forward, sticking out his leg and tripping the thief, who tumbled with a curse. Brant grabbed his wrist mid-fall and pinned him.

The man thrashed, pushing Brant off and drawing a knife--his gaze snapping to Solira with a crooked smile.

"Don't move, you Kyne-heir--!"

CRACK.

Brant's fist slammed into the side of the man's face, the impact echoing down the street. The thief dropped, unconscious.

The old lady, wheezing with age and panic, finally caught up. Her face was carved with deep wrinkles and sweat, but her eyes glowed with gratitude.

"Oh deary... thank you both! You're so lucky to have such a man, sweetheart!" she said to Solira.

Solira's face turned crimson. "H-He's not--!"

Brant smirked and said in a cocky voice, "I'm just a strong guy protecting her from all the evils."

Solira crouched, covering her face. "You-!"

Brant leaned over. "Didn't like that, did ya?"

She peeked through her fingers--just enough to see his smug grin--and pouted. "You're insufferable."

But as she stood, her heel snapped, her foot rolling. "Ow--!"

Without hesitation, Brant knelt down. "You're really bad at walking in these, huh?"

She sighed. "Just carry me, dork."

And he did.

With her arms around his shoulders and her cheek resting against his neck, Brant walked slowly toward the dorms.

She whispered softly, "...Thank you."

Then, just as he was about to respond, he felt her lips brush the side of his neck--a quick, shy kiss.

Before he could react, she mumbled something into his ear--words he wouldn't forget.

His eyes widened, a blush stretching across his face as a goofy, surprised smile curled at the corners of his lips.

"...W-What?"

But she was already asleep.

They reached the dorm entrance just as Lysa returned from a late errand. She raised a brow at the sight.

"Well, well, well. Looks like you two had a fun night."

Brant, still red in the face, gently passed Solira into Lysa's arms. "Take care of her, please, and goodnight."

Without another word, he turned and left, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Lysa looked down at Solira and grinned. "Heh. So that's what different looks like."

She walked her inside.