The courtyard behind the West Wing was quiet. That meant it was about to get loud.
Marek stood near the edge of the cracked stone terrace, holding an old training staff Junic had retrieved from a forgotten supply closet. The staff was warped and chipped. Much like the section of the academy they were standing in.
"Try again," Junic said, his voice as calm as ever. "Think less. Move more."
"I don't know what I'm doing," Marek replied.
"You do," Junic said, stepping forward lightly. "You just don't trust it."
They'd been training for the past three mornings. Arden would sometimes join them, but mostly just to heckle from the sidelines and throw mana-suppression tags like darts. Marek hadn't landed a clean hit on her yet.
"Let me put it differently," Junic added. "If someone comes at you to kill you, you don't think about form. You move. You survive."
Marek nodded, grip tightening. "I'll try again."
He lunged forward, swinging the staff down, Junic twisted to the side, his foot gliding over gravel with ghostlike silence. He didn't block. He just wasn't there when Marek's strike landed.
"You're fast," Marek muttered.
Junic smiled faintly. "I don't see you. I hear you. It's like knowing which way the wind's about to blow."
Marek was about to retort when a sound cut through the morning fog—a ripple of laughter.
They turned.
A group of students in full academy uniforms strolled into the courtyard like they owned it.
Because technically, they did.
At the front walked a tall boy in a navy-blue cloak embroidered with gold. His hair was platinum-blonde and neatly tied back, his stride fluid, confident.
Kaelen Dros. Rank #5. Lightning affinity. One of the elite.
He didn't look at Marek at first.
"Funny place for a practice match," Kaelen said, scanning the cracked training posts. "Does the system let ghosts play in the yard now?"
Marek stood still. Junic remained beside him, arms folded.
Kaelen finally turned, eyes locking on Marek with a gleam of amusement. "You're the Null. The one who broke the crystal, right? Must be nice, getting attention without earning it."
"I didn't ask for attention," Marek said flatly.
"Oh, that's adorable," Kaelen replied. "Still trying to talk like you belong."
He stepped closer. Other students fanned out behind him, some amused, others just curious. No one stopped him.
"You know," Kaelen said thoughtfully, "I heard a rumor that Nulls used to be put down at Awakening. Quietly. For stability reasons. Did you know that, Vales? "
Marek's jaw tensed.
Junic spoke before Marek could. "You should go."
Kaelen raised a brow. "Or what? You'll blindfold me into submission? "
Junic tilted his head, and Marek could almost feel the mana hum around him, like pressure building in the air.
Kaelen smirked. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt him."
He stepped back, then pulled a card from inside his coat. It shimmered with the academy seal, a dueling permit.
"I'm here to challenge him," Kaelen said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Officially. Public demonstration. Arena three. Tonight."
Marek blinked. "I'm not—"
"He has no rank," Junic cut in. "He's not eligible for duels."
"Ah, but that's where it gets interesting," Kaelen said, holding up a parchment. "This came straight from Chancellor Eltrane's office. A special trial condition. They want to see what happens when a Null enters the ring."
Arden's voice cut across the courtyard like a whip. "So this is sanctioned bullying now? "
She stepped into view from a nearby bench, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "Did they ask for a duel or a witch burning? "
Kaelen grinned. "Why so dramatic, Arden? I just want to give our newest curiosity a proper welcome."
He turned back to Marek. "You'll show up, won't you? Or is the ghost too scared to be seen? "
Marek said nothing.
Junic leaned in slightly. "You don't have to do this."
But Marek's fists were clenched. His pulse loud in his ears.
He looked at Kaelen, not the boy's polished boots or rich uniform—but his eyes. The certainty in them. The assumption that Marek was less. That he always would be.
"No," Marek said. "I'll be there."
(small time skip)
Later, after Kaelen and his entourage had gone, the three of them stood in the empty West Wing courtyard.
"That was reckless," Junic said.
"He's not wrong," Arden added. "You'll be walking into a fight against someone who's trained for this his whole life. With an audience."
"I know."
"You could die."
"I know."
Junic's voice lowered. "Do you understand what they're doing? This isn't about Kaelen. This is about control. If you lose publicly, badly—it tells everyone the system was right to reject you."
Marek nodded. "Then I guess I can't lose."
Arden let out a slow whistle. "Well. That's either the dumbest or the most impressive thing I've heard all year."
(Evening—Arena Three)
The dueling coliseum was smaller than the main arena but still designed for spectacle. Rows of stone benches circled the open floor, now ringed with activated barrier glyphs to prevent magical spillover.
Marek stood on one side, alone.
Across from him, Kaelen Dros removed his cloak, his body humming with static. Sparks jumped from his fingers to the air.
The crowd murmured. Students, instructors, even a few council scribes watched from above.
Chancellor Eltrane sat in the main seat.
"Begin," he said.
Kaelen moved first.
Lightning cracked through the arena—fast, blinding, arcing like a whip toward Marek.
Marek raised his arms—
But there was no time to block.
The lightning struck—
And fizzled.
Not against a shield. Not against armor.
It simply… bent.
The bolt split apart inches before hitting Marek, dissipating into smoke and sound.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
Kaelen's eyes widened.
Marek stood untouched.
Then he stepped forward….