I rested on my sword, crouching lazily in wait. Darvus, the chief's grandson, stood within the circle, watching me. We exchanged cold smiles, letting the audience sense our simmering animosity.

Above us, the ancient ribs of a long-dead beast arched over the village, covered in moss and creeping vines. These massive bones cast striped shadows, one falling directly over the circle, shading us from the fierce sunlight—perfect for what was about to unfold.

The crowd gathered at the circle’s edge, forming an outer ring, each face expectant as they awaited the chief’s arrival. Today was my chance to prove myself in battle, and, hopefully, to win respect for my master in the eyes of the villagers.

I feel ready, though not at my peak. The blue robe I was wearing was uncomfortable and stiff.

I was used to the streamlined, custom uniform from the academy—this borrowed garment restricted my movements. But I couldn’t complain; without any coins of my own, I was fortunate to wear anything at all.

Shut up, Azy, and focus.

Pulling my mind back to the moment, I raised a hand, gesturing to the villagers. “Step back, all of you. If anyone gets hurt—or worse—it’s not my problem.”

It was unlikely that anyone would get injured, thanks to the runic circle’s protective barrier. Still, I needed their full attention; otherwise, my boredom might drain my enthusiasm before the fight even started.

And if, by chance, the barrier failed? Well, that was their problem. If Darvus forced me to get serious, a single energy blade could send a few unfortunate souls to the afterlife.

From what I knew, Darvus was a 1st Sky geomancer, one rank below me, though he was older. He’d accepted this duel, assuming we were evenly matched. Perhaps we were—two years ago.

I'd hidden myself well. Though, same could not be said about the grin curving my lips.

I don’t consider myself a genius, though at the academy, I was labeled as one. To me, a true genius has to be born with exceptional talent, someone whose body and spirit are pure from birth, enabling them to master skills effortlessly.

While I’d been blessed with a clean, pure soul at birth, my lineage carried its own burdens. I shouldered the karmic debts of my family and ancestors. I wasn’t an ordinary person, but calling me a genius discounted the countless barriers I had broken through to reach this point.

Perhaps the world’s standards for genius are too low, or perhaps I’m just being modest. I don’t consider myself a genius because I know the hardships I endured—but I won’t lie; I do enjoy it when others refer to me that way.

What I desire is to be regarded as something otherworldly, to inspire awe and respect simply by being present.

Ah, there I go again, lost in my thoughts.

“Warning those beyond the circle of your power? Bold words for someone your age,” Darvus remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. “Trying to impress the girls, are we?”

"I see none to-" I started to reply, but a brash voice interrupted.

“Can you even project your flux, kid? No need to worry about reaching us.”

I gazed in the direction of the rude person.

The voice belonged to a man in his early twenties—a local “genius,” they called him, one of the few who had reached the 2nd Sky. Quite the achievement, I’d admit, as many mancers never crossed that barrier. Yet I wasn’t convinced he’d reached it on pure skill rather than external help.

“Why don’t you step forward and test it?” I challenged. “Maybe you’ll be a bigger challenge than little Darvus here. Or you could both take me on—I couldn’t care less. I’d still find time to rest on your broken backs along the way.”

You want to fight? I'm itching.

“Hah! Did you all hear that?” the man laughed, turning to the crowd. “This brat wants to challenge me!”

“Not my fault it took you thirty years to reach 2nd Sky. Your life’s greatest achievement that makes you so arrogant,” I replied coolly, “I’ve already reached it. In half your time, smug, old man.”

“I’m not even close to thirty, boy! Need glasses?”

“Oh, that’s what insulted you?” I replied, smirking. “Not the fact that it took your lazy ass twice as long to get here?”

Darvus, not wanting to be left out, shot me a glare. “Why are you provoking him? Are you mad?”

“Just be quiet, weakling. The 2nd Skies are talking now,” I said, dismissing him with a wave. “Well, old man? Shall we get started?”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It was time. Rising slowly to my feet, I stretched, making a show of my disinterest. “I don't care for the chief's presence. Shall we start?” Unsheathing my sword, I turned to the crowd, gesturing with a flourish to draw their eyes. "Eh, everyone?"

I wanted their attention, every bit of it. Their focus, their excitement, I fed on it; I drew strength from it.

** "What's with Azy today?" Marvin asked, surprised at Azyen's unusual behavior. He and Girath stood on a nearby rooftop, keeping a safe distance along with the other prudent spectators.

"He wants payback, though I advised him against it," Girath replied, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the young man below. **

Sometimes, I have to let it out—the monster within me. It needs to feed; if it starves, it wrestles for control.

Hahaha, that’s only a joke; it’ll never take control. I've already accepted it, made it part of me. There's no "inner monster" now—just me. A complex me, with layered desires. And right now, I’m intoxicated by a fierce energy, a thrill that electrifies every inch of my being.

I love this feeling—this powerful force coursing through me, filling me with strength and threatening to cloud my judgment. But to stay balanced, I either need to fight, or channel this energy into a fire of passion. An intense, searing passion that nearly consumes me.

"Do you really want to face me? Won't Girath interfere?" The young man’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. He cast a glance toward my master.

"First, tell me your name if you're going to talk to me," I replied. "You seem to know who my master is, but beyond you being a 2nd Sky, I don't know shit about you. And second, if my master thought he needed to intervene, I wouldn’t be standing here right now."

"Are you drunk?" Darvus interjected with an annoyed huff. "Ready for another few months in bed? Now I understand why you've got beaten to a pulp. But to think you have not learned your lesson even after that..."

I felt my emotions hiding in the corner of my heart as I opened my eyes wide in preparation to attack. "How dare you open your mouth when you know nothing about me? DO YOU WANT TO BECOME MUTE?"

"Don’t throw away your future over some reckless stunt, kid." A man in a green robe on the rooftop called down to me.

His call awakened me from the trance like state I entered. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision. I was about to kill Darvus for such a little thing. Realization dawned upon me. Have to get better at controlling my temper.

"Thalon, why waste your breath?" someone in the crowd scoffed. "He’s of age. Let him make his own choices. If he wants to fight Plaedus, just enjoy the show."

At fifteen, mancers weren’t considered children anymore; in this world, we were old enough to work, fight, and make our own decisions. Here, experience taught best, even if it was sometimes fatal. Many married young, hoping to savor life before it took its toll.

Not every region approved of this, but for us, the people of Lefeer, it was tradition.

“I was supposed to follow the same path and get married,” I muttered under my breath, frustrated. Then, turning to the man in green, I bowed respectfully. “Thank you for the advice, sir.” I appreciated anyone who cared enough to offer it. “But despite appearances, I’m not arrogant. Fighting a 2nd Sky is within my abilities. No one below the 3rd Sky here can defeat me easily. Perhaps with runic cards, but with their raw strength? Not one.”

My words stirred the crowd; the noise of both praise and insult was music to me. It didn’t matter what they thought, only that their attention was fixed on me. I drew strength from it, letting it fuel my spirit.

I’m buzzing with excitement. I feel like hugging myself.

Blood rushed through my veins, pulsing in sync with my flux as the young man stepped forward to accept my challenge. No turning back now. I’d either fight or channel my passion in… other ways.

'You're still a virgin,' a voice whispered in my mind, taunting.

Shut it, I thought. I’d choose love over fighting if the choice was there. But that wasn’t an option now.

"My name is Plaedus, son of Morfis the guard. Let’s see if you’re a real 2nd Sky or just talk."

His words were unnecessary; I’d already decided I’d take him down.

"Come at me, then," I replied, dropping into a stance.

Plaedus growled, pounding his spear against the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust. “Block this!” he shouted, swinging his spear as Darvus was forced out of the circle.

Dust whirled around Plaedus, twisting into brown blades that traced every arc of his spear’s movements.

That’s how a 2nd Sky mancer should fight—fusing his element into each attack, honing his skills to deadly precision.

"You're far beyond anything Darvus could offer," I praised. My sword, simple but infused with my flux, glowed with a fierce purple light as I slashed through the air, releasing a sharp, thin blade of energy. One after another, these violet arcs shot toward Plaedus’ feet, disrupting his footing.

I don’t need to counter your technique head-on. Throwing off your rhythm is enough.

Plaedus cast a murderous glare my way, but he was forced to shift his stance.

Now, you'll either launch your attack without completing your technique, or divide your focus—dodging my strikes while waving that dust. Let’s see what would you choose.

Plaedus dodged a few of my blades before deflecting one with the hilt of his spear, then sent his accumulated dust blades hurtling toward me.

"Predictable."

There was no way an incomplete technique like his would break through my defenses, not with my training, and certainly not with my Astral Triad ability engaged.

A natural fit for my animancy, Astral Triad divided my spirit into three parts. One remained within my body, while the other two split off as spiritual forms, trailing my movements like spectral afterimages. When I swung my sword, two phantom hands swung after me. If I couldn’t block an attack in time, those two specters would shield me.

Dust clouded the air, hanging thick after each strike I shattered.

Plaedus thrust his hand forward, directing a fresh wave of dust into my face.

"I don’t need to see you."

I sensed him closing the distance in an instant. What I could also sense was the sharp line of his spear-tip aiming straight for my side.

I blocked it.

The ring of metal clashing against metal echoed, silencing the crowd. Not only was I deflecting Plaedus’ spear—but I was doing it with my eyes closed.

I didn’t need to see him with my physical eyes. In the darkness behind my eyelids, my Ethereal Vision took over, revealing his bluish, spiritual form on a black background. I could see the moves of his weapon, the intensity of his emotions, even the cutting resolve in his gaze. Everything was crystal clear.

"Is this all you’ve got?" I asked, readying a counter as soon as he left an opening.

Plaedus only smirked. In an instant, his spear flared in a fierce, fiery red.

Damn! I’d fallen into his trap.