“Black hand—monster or not?”

The ground beneath Arian trembled, and he staggered with every step. Martin was hurling chunks of rock at him from every direction; this battle had long ceased to resemble an ordinary spar.
But that was far from the extent of Arian’s power—his blue orb absorbed everything thrown at him like molten wax, and then used the very same rocks to ensnare Martin.

“Well, not bad for a first-year.” Martin wiped the flower that had struck his forehead. Then he drove his fist into the ground, turning his hands to stone.

In a fraction of a second, Arian’s face snapped completely to the side, blood gushing from his nose. Martin’s fist—harder than rock—landed on Arian’s cheek with a deafening impact. The sound of cracking bone and the spurt of blood plunged the field into a heavy silence.

He tumbled repeatedly and slammed with tremendous speed onto the platform beneath Maro’s feet. No one had expected such a brutal attack from Martin.

The laughter of the second-years echoed from the other side of the field, mocking Arian.

Derikaron and Leo were about to charge into the center of the field when they suddenly hesitated—Arian was standing. He had lowered his head, staring at a single point like a lifeless body. Black streaks crawled beneath the skin of his fingers, noticed only by Maro.

“Nice punch, but not enough.” Arian’s voice silenced everyone around him. This boy had taken a hit from one of the best second-year fighters, his nose completely crooked—and yet, he seemed utterly unaffected.

In the headmaster’s office, everyone was silent, their eyes fixed only on the trembling, floating orb broadcasting the fight. The sound of Abraham cracking his knuckles echoed as usual; it seemed he was the only one pleased by Arian taking a hit.

“Hey kid, you really think a weak wizard like you can hit me with an enhanced strike?” Martin flashed a smirk that was like poison on Maro’s nerves.

A silence fell over the field—one of those silences you hear just before a storm.

“Who said I’m a wizard?” Arian’s muscles tensed, and the wind began swirling around him. With every step he took, the sound of the cracking ground underfoot echoed. His bloodied laugh, paired with his broken nose, transformed him into a monster; even those close to him, like Maro, didn’t dare move. The second-years who had been laughing now couldn’t even swallow their own spit.

Fear itself stood on the field. Martin stepped back, only to suddenly lose his balance and fall to the ground.

There was no attack—Arian’s heartbeat no longer sounded as before. He sank to his knees, vomiting blood. His blurred vision cleared; now he could see reality with perfect clarity.

“Hey, are you okay?? Wait, I’m coming!” Shadowolf’s worried voice rang in Arian’s mind, pulling him back to himself. It was at that moment that Arian realized the extent of the situation he had created.

“No, Shadowolf, stay with Laina and keep an eye on the second-year girls!” Arian’s words calmed the worried Shadowolf slightly, and he himself once again lay in the center of the field, just as before.

No one moved. This time, it wasn’t fear of Arian—it was the shock he had left them in.

“Hey, Naios, what did you see from that kid? Tell me, quickly!” William’s eyes locked onto Naios’s dark gaze, his excitement barely contained.

“Well, Mr. William, I have to say… that kid is a monster.” That sentence alone was enough for everyone to understand that this boy must not be harmed under any circumstances.

“So, you’re saying I should watch over him… or destroy him?” The words didn’t match William’s laughter at all.

“You know better than I do—kings have said we should keep an eye on this kid. But know this, William: a monster doesn’t become a monster until it’s chained! So it’s better we let him be free.” If Naios had eyes, they would surely have narrowed now, watching like a predator sizing up its prey.

In the center of the field, Maro and Derikaron lifted Arian in their arms and headed toward the infirmary one of the second-years had indicated. The others moved toward Alex and Martin, and from his height, he looked down on the two.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be just a normal spar?” Sairon struggled to control the anger that was slipping from his lips.

“Well, I apologize for my brother’s stupidity and foolishness,” Alex said, locking eyes with Sairon, his tone betraying the falsehood in his words.

“I hope that’s really what you mean… because if it’s not, I swear I’ll find a way to break your neck.”

Sairon, along with Leo, gripped their swords tightly and made their way toward the infirmary, leaving Alex behind, his lips bitten in frustration.

The second-years each went their own way, ready to spread the story of this unfinished spar as the newest gossip of the school.

In the infirmary, five of them waited for Arian to wake, accompanied by the black wolf perched above him. Laina, Maro, Derikaron, Sairon, and Leo each wore expressions mixing anxiety, fear, and the restless curiosity of questions waiting to be asked.

But the main question was: why had Arian’s right hand turned as dark as the night?