Awe and Fear

Soren had recovered enough to return to his own room that night. The stiffness in his shoulders eased as he fell unto the bed sheets. The silence of his chamber welcomed him more than any medicine could. Turning his head towards the center of the room, he recalled all the continuous effort he had committed himself to, and the results thereafter. Following a breath of happiness, his eyes slowly closed. He slept without dreams, the weight of exhaustion carrying him through the night.

Soren woke to the usual morning bells, but for the first time in days, he was happy waking in his own bed. The infirmary’s cloying scent of herbs were behind him now. He lay still for a moment, staring up at the familiar wooden beams of the ceiling, letting his chest rise and fall to confirm that he was truly breathing without pain.

A faint knock at the door cut through the silence.

“Soren? You awake?”

Konira’s voice.

He sat up slowly, brushing the stray strands of hair from his face. 

"One second!" He responded back, quickly changing into the spare robes folded away.

His body still carried small aches of the battle, but his limbs obeyed him well enough. 

He opened the door to find her waiting, dressed for the morning lessons, her expression caught somewhere between relief and the usual guarded composure.

“Did you get enough sleep? You can stay and rest more if you need it,” she said, but the words were merely to test his response.

“And miss class?” he replied, forcing a small smile. “I’ve had enough rest.”

Her eyes searched him, weighing the stubbornness in his words, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she turned, and together they walked.

The marble halls of the academy stretched before them, polished and echoing with the sounds of students trickling in for the day. But today was different. The atmosphere shifted as the two made their way down the corridor.

Whispers followed them like a tide.

“That’s him…”
“Can't believe he got second at Winter's Proving.”
“I thought he was nothing more than a failure.”
“Not anymore.”

Even the teachers, often too preoccupied with their own duties to spare a glance, paused in their doorways. They watched him with a mixture of curiosity and something harder to place—hesitation, even unease. For years, Soren had been branded with labels: stubborn, weak, a disappointment among mages. But those words had vanished as if wiped clean by fire.

He kept his gaze forward, unwilling to bask in their stares. Konira walked beside him, silent but aware of every voice, every set of eyes tracking their steps.

When they arrived at their homeroom, they were early enough to be the first to pass their teacher at the door. He nodded at them, almost cautiously, before letting them through. They took their seats.

Moments later, the classroom filled with students trickling in by twos and threes. Among them was Nix.

He walked with an unhurried confidence, the room parting around him naturally. His presence was always sharp, but this time he did not let it linger. His eyes darted to Soren, then found Konira’s. For a heartbeat, they locked.

She looked away immediately, not wanting the weight of that stare. But what startled her was what came next.

Nix, the boy whose eyes always narrowed with challenge or cold amusement, looked away first. No reaction, no taunt, no attempt to claim space. He simply walked past and took his seat.

It was uncharacteristic, almost disarming in its simplicity. Konira glanced sideways at Soren, but he hadn’t noticed—his attention was fixed on his own desk, staring at his faced up palms.

Class began as usual. The instructor’s voice filled the room, but underneath it, a quiet tension remained.

The days that followed only deepened the shift. Professors whispered still, but now it was about potential, not failure. Students who once mocked Soren behind his back now measured their words, some even daring to ask questions as if testing the waters of newfound respect.

But respect was a fragile thing. Some looked on with awe, others with fear. The clash he had survived, the near-death he had endured—it had changed not only his reputation but the balance of expectation around him.

Nix, too, had changed. He didn’t harass Konira, didn’t seek confrontation. But his silence wasn’t one of defeat—it was sharper, a patience that lingered like frost on a window. He was watching. Waiting. Measuring.

To Konira, it felt as though he was daring Soren to falter, to prove that this new reputation was nothing but borrowed strength. As if he was waiting for the right time to step in and save the day.

There were those who still whispered in darker corners. Rumors about shadows behind the dragon, about figures that might have moved against Soren long before he ever touched the infirmary bed. None of it reached his ears directly, but the academy had always been alive with secrets.

Yet all of that faded against the truth that no one could deny.

Soren was no longer the boy they thought he was.

A year passed.

The marble halls that once echoed with whispers of failure came to echo with a different name, spoken with weight. Soren.

And on his fifth and final year, the academy gathered once more for the Winter’s Proving. It was tradition, spectacle, the ultimate measure of skill and growth before stepping into the world beyond the academy walls.

That year’s proving would be remembered.

The arena was filled to bursting, professors lined in their seats, students cheering from the stands. Even the Earth Sect. leader also attended to see the tournament himself. The cold of winter bit the air, but the heat of anticipation drowned it out.

And as the finals came around.

Two figures stood at the center.

Soren.
Nix.

The boy once thought weak, and the boy whose talent had been undeniable since his first day.

The clash between them sent shockwaves through the academy’s history. 

Nix's wide strength being pressured equally by Soren's thin precision. Natural Frost against a Frost that didn't chose the wielder. Their magic carved the field into shards of ice and pillars of snow, their wills colliding with every strike.

No one in the crowd dared blink, for fear of missing even a heartbeat of the battle. Professors, students, sect leaders—every eye was fixed on the arena.

And though the record would speak of one victor, the truth that lived on was not about who had won or lost.

It was about how the academy had been forced to see differently. How the whispers of failure had burned away. How Soren had changed.

Years later, when the halls echoed with new generations, students would still ask about that match. Some swore Nix had the upper hand, others believed Soren’s special unique spell had carried him through. The answer shifted depending on who told the story.

But the ending was always the same.

That clash, that final Winter’s Proving, stood as the moment the academy realized a truth too long ignored. 

And that’s how Soren didn't succumb to the pressure.

He controlled it. 

Thank you for reading Pressured! I appreciate all the comments that kept me writing this!  Didn't know this site existed before few days ago. Please follow for a non-contest restricted story coming soon. :)