Winter's Proving: Part 1

The first ring of the academy’s bell echoed through the dorms. Konira blinked awake, stretching her arms across the bed with a soft groan.

“That felt great,” she muttered, swinging her legs over the edge. For a moment she lingered, yesterday’s words replaying in her mind: Don’t worry, Koni. You know how stubborn I am.

He was hiding something. No—knowing him, he was making something. She rose, her hands moving on their own as she shed her nightwear and slipped into her robes.

The second bell cut her thoughts short.

“I’m late!” she gasped, strapping her boots and bolting into the hall.

Doors cracked open around her as students shuffled out—some fixing themselves as they moved half-dressed, some already pristine, and some refusing the morning entirely behind unopened doors. A pair of professors stood silent, watching from either side of the corridor like sentinels.

She stopped at Soren’s door and knocked. “You awake yet?” she asked, bracing for his usual coming.

Silence.

Her pulse ticked faster. She knocked again, louder. “Soren?”

One of the professors glanced her way. His expression tightened for an instant before he gave a quick nod, permission, but the kind born of wanting no trouble so early in his shift. Either way, she took it and turned back to the door.

The door creaked open. Dawn light poured into an empty room. His boots and robes were gone.

“Good sign,” she whispered. “He probably headed to class early.” She stepped back into the hall, though her chest tightened once more. If he had left the grounds… why? What was worth breaking rules for?

Everyone knew the territory outside the walls was relatively safe, little more than a few beginner-grade beasts lurking in the trees, but it was still forbidden to leave without an escort. The real danger wasn’t what prowled beyond the academy, but the punishment that came from being caught. And if Soren was gone, that meant he was willing to risk both.

Her boots echoed on marble as she hurried toward the classrooms. She prayed he was waiting there. But a part of her already knew better.

The halls carried a faint chill now that winter had settled in; every exhale hung briefly in the air before fading. Konira walked toward the open oak door. The night lanterns hung on the hallways giving a false sense of heat and light. Students made their way to their respective homerooms. Slipping past the clusters, some were awake enough to shuffle aside, others still heavy-eyed and stiff with the morning cold.

Her homeroom professor stood at the entrance, hands clasped near his mouth as though to warm them, greeting arrivals with a silent nod.

A flicker of white cut across her vision. The robe’s pale trim shimmered with blue, catching the weak light like frost against glass.

“Rats,” she muttered under her breath.

Nix. Even this early, the highest-ranked Frost mage of their year carried himself like the season itself—unbothered by the chill, commanding without a word. She slowed, waiting for him to step through the threshold first.

At the base of the platform, Nix paused, his sharp gaze skating over the rows of filling seats. A sly grin tugged at his lips.

“Oh?” he said softly, before moving toward his place.

Konira slipped past the professor carefully, using the student in front of her as makeshift cover. The air nipped at her fingers as she eased into her seat.

“Phew.”

When she dared glance across the room, she caught Nix’s curious gaze lingering on her.

The door slammed shut with a hollow clap that seemed louder against the cold walls. Konira’s chest tightened as her thoughts snapped back to Soren. Her eyes darted toward his usual spots by the windows, but each desk sat empty.

Her jaw clenched, worry prickling sharper than the chill.
“I really hope he’s alright.” 

Branches thinned above him as Soren made his way toward the forest’s edge, each step carrying him closer to open air. His boots crunched over the frost-stiffened ground. The sun was high now, but the trees still fractured its light into sharp streaks across his path. Behind him, the clearing was littered with scars—several fresh craters marking the price of his morning training. His chest rose steady. At last, he felt ready.

This year’s Winter Proving was fast approaching—an event that measured every student’s growth and carved their rank into memory. And this time, he had more than a reason. He had a goal.

As Gentlewood thinned, his thoughts hardened to match his resolve. He glanced back once, lips quirking with the faintest humor.
“Hopefully they think a monster—or some other mage—made those holes,” he muttered.

The towering silhouette of an academy pillar came into view; the vines housed on it once again shifted as if determining who he was. Now closer, the base laid scattered of slime cores that glittered like dull gems in the pale light.

“The poor fellas wandered too close…” His voice trailed as he turned away, steps carrying him past the scene. The gates loomed ahead, and with them, the beginning of what lay in wait.

The lunch bell rang.
Konira rose at once, steam curling faintly from her shoulders before vanishing into the chill air. She had been keeping her body warm—an old fire mage trick.

“Hold on, Nira.”

Her name, shortened and twisted on his tongue, made her jaw tighten. Nix stepped into her path, sliding between her and the doorway.

“You’re not babysitting today?” His smirk widened, voice loud enough for the nearby students. Some slipped past in silence; others slowed, curious.

“I have nothing to say to you, Nix.” Her tone stayed even as she tried to move past.

But he shifted again, blocking her. “I don’t know what you see in him.” He stretched a hand toward her, fingers poised as though granting favor. “I’m far more worthy of your time.”

Her brows pinched together. “Move.”

“Relax.” His laugh was low, edged. “It’s just—he’s lost every year. Not a single win at Winter’s Proving, yet he clings to the idea he’s a Frost mage.”

A small flame flickered to life in her palm, invisible to the rest of the class but dancing wildly in his sight alone.

“I said move.”

For a moment, he held her gaze. Then Nix eased back, palms raised in mock surrender, letting her pass.

The fire snuffed out as she stepped by him, boots clicking against stone.

“You know I’m right,” he called after her. “I’ll prove it this year. You’ll see.”

Her fist clenched tight at her side, pace unbroken as she stormed from the room.

Her fist clenched by her side as his last remark filled the air. Pace steady, she storms out of the classroom.

The week slipped by quickly, Konira finding herself no closer to the truth. Every time she pressed him about his training, Soren only offered vague lines—ambiguous phrases or that infuriating, casual “you’ll see.” It left her restless, but there was no turning back. The Winter’s Proving had arrived.

The outdoor colosseum loomed against the pale morning sky, its stone arches dusted by the season’s first chill. Lanterns strung along the upper walls flickered faintly, warming the air just enough for the crowd gathering in. Students filled the tiered benches, voices buzzing with excitement, while professors lined the ground level like sentinels—recording names, tallying matches, keeping the eager from pressing too far forward.

At the northern platform, Lady Lia of the Frost Sect appeared first. Her long robes, thick and lined with pale fur, glinted faintly in the light. The air seemed to sharpen with her presence, and students nearest the floor bowed with instinctive respect.

Moments later, another descended with far less ceremony—Professor Halwin, the academy’s headmaster and leader of the Wind Sect. The breeze stirred around him as though the air itself carried him down the steps. Murmurs of approval followed his approach; unlike Lady Lia, his appearance here was expected, almost tradition. The two took their seats at the high platform overlooking the arena.

The crowd stirred again when a figure in red and black leather crossed the far side, a thin feathered cape brushing lightly against his shoulders. His presence drew silence more quickly than cheers, the hush spreading faster than the whispers that followed. Heat seemed to radiate from his body on its own, carrying across the air as though the very space bent to his sect’s element. Around his neck hung the unmistakable insignia of the Fire Sect, gleaming faintly in the winter light.

“The Fire Sect leader…?”
“Korrin himself? At Winter’s Proving?”
“He never watches the winter duels.”
“What could possibly draw him here?”

Lady Lia’s expression hardened, though she said nothing. Even Halwin’s lined brow arched in surprise. Whatever reason Korrin had for attending, his presence pressed over the colosseum like a silent weight.

At the center of the arena, a professor stepped forward, voice carrying through the air with windcraft.
“Students of the academy—welcome to the Winter’s Proving! As tradition demands, today you will demonstrate your progress, your discipline, and your resolve. Fight with honor, for both your Sects and yourselves.”

A wave of cheers surged through the crowd. The matches had begun.

The first name called rang sharp through the air: “Nix, of the Frost Sect!”

From the waiting hall, Nix strode into the arena, his white cloak trimmed in blue swaying with practiced elegance. His confident stride stirred murmurs before he even reached his place. Across from him, a nervous boy gripped the support staff clutched in both hands—already showing that he needed the catalyst.

The professor lifted his hand, then cut it sharply down. “Begin!”

Nix barely moved. Frost rippled across the floor with his first gesture, erupting in a sudden wave that swallowed his opponent’s footing. The boy slipped, staff clattering against the ice before a second strike of cold pinned him to the ground. The duel ended before he could rise.

Nix exhaled, unbothered, brushing invisible snow from his sleeves. As the professor declared his victory, he turned toward the stands, eyes cutting to where Konira sat. His lips pulled into a grin, and he gave her a subtle wink before pivoting away, striding back toward the waiting halls.

“He’ll crush anyone they put in front of him,” someone muttered. “No wonder he’s top of his year.”

Beneath the arena, Soren leaned against the cold stone wall, arms folded, listening to the muffled roar of the crowd above. His name hadn’t been called yet, but it would be soon.

And this year, he was ready.