Before The Flames

News of the coming duel rippled through the academy like wildfire. From the grand lecture halls to the narrow stairwells, whispers spread. Students clustered in groups, their voices hushed yet eager, while teachers exchanged sharp glances and furrowed brows. Excitement and unease hung thick in the air.

Professor Eirene stormed into Sylas’ classroom, her heels striking the stone floor like drumbeats of war. She slammed her fist on his desk, startling the few students who lingered nearby.

“Explain yourself, Sylas. How did things escalate this far under your supervision? Answer me!”

Sylas’ lips curled into a sadistic smile. With deliberate calm, he straightened the books and papers on his desk, his movements slow, taunting.

“I don’t see the problem, Professor Eirene. Those two boys were never on good terms. I merely… set the stage for Lord Darian to face Minato properly and resolve their dispute. A noble cause, wouldn’t you say?”

Eirene’s eyes blazed. She seized his collar, her knuckles whitening as her fist clenched. For a heartbeat, the tension between them threatened to ignite. But with a sharp breath, she released him, glaring as Sylas smoothed his robes with exaggerated dignity.

“Thank you for the visit, Professor,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery.

Eirene left, her cloak snapping behind her, and the smile on Sylas’ face twisted into something darker as memory dragged him back to earlier that day.

The door to his office had opened, and in strode Darian, flanked by nobles clad in finery. Their polished boots struck the floor with confidence.

“Professor Sylas,” Darian greeted with practiced charm, bowing slightly, “my father sings of your brilliance often. It is an honor to be taught by you.”

Sylas rose to meet him, extending his hand with theatrical grace.

“Ah, Lord Darian. A pleasure, as always. I look forward to our lessons. If there is ever anything I can assist you with, you need only ask.”

Darian traded sly smiles with his companions.

“As it happens, I do have a problem. There’s a certain commoner, Minato. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Sylas’ expression shifted instantly, disgust twisting his features.

“A filthy commoner,” he spat. “How offensive it is that such vermin walk these sacred halls. And yet… yes, I understand. Let us craft the perfect stage for his humiliation. You, Lord Darian, will duel him and make it a spectacle worth remembering.”

Their handshake sealed the plan, both teacher and noble wearing the same wicked grin.

Back in the present, Sylas sat at his desk, fingers steepled before his face. His shoulders trembled, and through the cracks of his hands peeked an eerie, deranged smile.

The school day has ended. A week remained until the duel.

In his dorm room, Minato sat cross-legged, the book of his Archana resting before him. Shadows spilled lazily from its pages. He conjured gun after gun, their spectral forms fading one by one, before summoning his wings. The feathers unfurled, faintly luminous, before he sighed.

“This isn’t enough. Darian’s already seen what my guns can do. He’ll have a plan ready. I need something new.”

His mind flickered back to Professor Eirene’s lecture on dragon mimics. Her warnings echoed in his ears, yet he whispered:

“I’m sorry, Professor… but I need to experience it myself.”

He rose, clutching the Archana. Shadows oozed upward, writhing as his imagination sharpened on the image of a dragon. The classroom illustrations resurfaced serpentine bodies, jagged horns, fire-ridden eyes. Slowly, he studied his own arm, envisioning a weapon forged in their likeness.

Shadows enveloped his hand.

Then the world fell silent.

The shadows recoiled, pulling back like frightened animals. Confused, Minato froze until a low, guttural growl reverberated behind him. The sound froze his veins. His limbs locked, fear rooting him in place.

A voice thundered inside his skull:

“Interesting… you still stand. I’ll give you that, human child. Now tell me…”

Minato forced his head to turn, his breath ragged. Behind him, looming in half-form, was a dragon. Its body shimmered with spirit-light, dark scales glistening like obsidian glass. Horns coiled from its head, sharp and regal, but its body remained incomplete, more essence than flesh. Yet the sheer weight of its presence was suffocating.

“What made you believe you could mimic the power of a dragon with that fragile Archana?” it growled. “Surely other humans warned you of the cost.”

Minato’s voice trembled, words dying in his throat. Then, with sudden violence, he punched himself across the face, forcing his fear back down. The dragon’s eyes narrowed in surprise.

“I apologize, great dragon,” Minato said, his chest heaving. “I only seek power. Power strong enough that no one can look down on me. And when I asked myself what form could match that… the answer was obvious. A dragon’s power is absolute. So please, allow me to construct one.”

The dragon’s silence broke with a booming laugh, shaking the air.

“You are amusing, human. Clever enough to flatter, reckless enough to dare. But your request is denied. A dragon’s power is beyond your reach; it would consume you. Yet, because you made me laugh, I’ll leave you with this: from what I see, you already hold great power. Do not let greed drive you to reveal it all at once… or risk losing the Archana you hold so dearly.”

Its form dissolved, shadows scattering.

Minato collapsed to his knees, gasping. He flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling, sweat cooling on his brow.

“He thinks I’m already powerful… Was I doubting myself so much that even a dragon saw through me?” He laughed bitterly. “Guess behind all the bravado, I still get scared.”

But then he clenched his fist, his lips curling into a grin.

“Still, I survived meeting a dragon. So what the hell am I scared of? Alright, Minato, time to make something incredible.”

The days ticked down. Whenever he had a spare moment, Minato threw himself into creation. From crude stickmen that danced, to dolls that shuffled with jerky steps, his constructs grew in sophistication. Rowan and Tristan fretted over him, making sure he ate when he forgot, standing guard when his exhaustion made him waver.

By the day before the duel, his face was pale with fatigue, but his eyes glimmered with resolve.

The lunch bell rang, and Minato bolted from his seat, Rowan and Tristan rushing after him.

Far above, atop the academy’s bell tower, two figures watched. One leaned lazily against the railing, a blue cape draped over his uniform, a golden mantle gleaming on his shoulder. Snow-white hair swayed in the breeze as he surveyed the campus.

Beside him stood a girl with dark green hair. Her uniform was plain but proper, accented by a small capelet. A sword hung at her hip, its weight casual against her trousers and boots. With a reserved air, she flipped open her journal.

“Tomorrow is the duel. Will you be attending?” she asked.

The young man smiled, extending his hand toward the courtyard.

“Isolde, do you realize how many people know of this duel?”

She blinked. “A whole lot?”

He turned to her, his grin widening.

“Exactly. Of course I’ll attend. Besides, Minato… his magic intrigued me from the moment I saw it at the exams. Clear my schedule. We have a duel to watch.”

He gazed skyward, eyes alight. “Don’t disappoint me, Minato.”

Isolde glanced at his untouched plate of food and frowned. “You didn’t eat your vegetables again.”

Her judgmental stare bore down as she lifted the dish toward him. His face paled.

“No, Isolde! Get them away from me!” His voice echoed across the tower.

Meanwhile, Rowan and Tristan found Minato sprawled on the floor, laughing with unshakable joy despite his exhaustion.

“He really is incredible, isn’t he, Tristan?” Rowan murmured.

Tristan folded his arms. “Incredible? He’s a monster.”

Minato only laughed harder, bright and defiant, ready for what was to come.

At Evergreen Manor, Percival approached Camillia, papers in hand.

“Your Grace, word has arrived. Lord Minato is to duel Lord Darian today. Should we be concerned?”

Camillia didn’t even look up from her documents.

“Concerned? Hardly. I doubt anyone in his year could challenge him. Though…” she sighed, setting her quill down. “The Duke will be furious. Prepare a letter of apology for his son’s injuries.”

Percival exhaled, weary but amused. “Most likely.”

They both chuckled at the thought of Duke Vulkaris fuming.

Back at the academy, the arena overflowed with life. Students poured into the stands, their chatter filling the air. Bets were whispered, odds calculated. The majority of nobles shouted Darian’s name, envisioning Minato beaten bloody. But others, curious second and even third years had come for something rarer: to witness the spectacle of Minato’s magic.

Professor Sylas stood at the side of the ring, his grin splitting his face. When his eyes rose to the headmaster seated above, the smile faltered.

“Tch. Why is he here? No matter. The duel will proceed. And by its end, the commoner will lose his arm in an unfortunate accident, of course.”

The gates opened.

Minato strode forward, his mind sharp. This was Sylas’ doing. He spread it across the school to draw a crowd. The gate creaked open. Minato grinned, determination blazing. Fine. Let’s give them a show.

He stepped into the arena, sunlight spilling across him. Darian already stood at the center, posture regal, eyes cold.

Sylas raised his voice, oily with mock courtesy.

“Minato, you’re late. Young Master Darian was eager to begin. Tardiness is unbecoming.”

Minato scowled, his silence needling Sylas’ ego.

“The rules are simple,” Sylas continued. “No killing. Victory is by ring-out, submission, or incapacitation. Now…”

The two boys faced one another, Darian’s smirk radiating arrogance while Minato’s gaze burned with icy focus.

High above, Isolde shaded a figure beneath her umbrella.

“It begins, Young Master Caius,” she said softly.

Caius leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “At last.”

Sylas raised his hand, savouring the tension.

“Begin!”