The Rozzlax Academy training grounds were alive with tension. The morning sun cast long shadows across the iron-plated courtyard, its light glinting off the polished steel walls and mana-infused glyphs that lined the arena. The air crackled with anticipation, the hum of magic mingling with the murmurs of the gathered crowd. At the center of it all stood Ivan Rozzlyn and Lorcan Vey, their postures tense, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. This was no ordinary duel. This was a clash of ideologies, a test of skill and strategy, and a demonstration of the raw power that Aether’s elite could wield.

Headmaster Varleon stood at the edge of the circle, his silver-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “This duel will be conducted under the rules of non-lethal battle magic. You may use your Voluran-enhanced abilities, but any attempt to cause permanent harm will result in immediate expulsion. Begin.”

The crowd fell silent as Ivan and Lorcan stepped into their starting positions. Ivan’s breath steadied, his mind sharp and focused. He could feel the hum of the academy’s mana grid beneath his feet, the energy pulsing through the soil and into his veins. His Voluran vaccine, injected at birth, allowed him to draw magic from the environment, but here, on the academy grounds, the connection was stronger. The air itself seemed charged, waiting to be shaped.

Lorcan smirked, his confidence unshaken. He raised his hands, and the air around him began to shimmer. Unseen currents swirled, invisible but palpable, like the breath of a storm gathering strength. His Voluran vaccine enhanced his affinity for wind magic, and he had honed it into a weapon designed to drain his opponents’ magic with each successive strike. He was a predator, and Ivan was his prey.

Ivan’s hands moved in a fluid motion, drawing mana from the ground. Twin blades of ice materialized in his grasp, their edges razor-sharp and gleaming in the sunlight. The hilts were intricately designed, etched with runes that siphoned magic from the soil to keep the blades rigid and constantly regenerating. Ivan’s breath misted in the cold air as he adjusted his grip, his eyes never leaving Lorcan.

The duel began.

Lorcan struck first. With a flick of his wrist, a blade of compressed air shot toward Ivan, slicing through the space between them with a sharp whistle. Ivan raised one of his ice blades, deflecting the attack with a shower of frost. The force of the impact sent a tremor through his arm, but the blade held firm, its structure reinforced by the steady flow of mana from the ground.

Ivan didn’t wait for Lorcan to follow up. He dashed forward, his movements quick and precise. His ice blades left trails of frost in their wake as he swung at Lorcan, aiming for his midsection. Lorcan sidestepped, his smirk widening as he summoned a gust of wind to push Ivan back. The force of the blast sent Ivan skidding across the ground, but he recovered quickly, his blades reforming as the mana from the soil flowed into them.

“Is that all you’ve got, Rozzlyn?” Lorcan taunted, his voice carrying over the hum of the crowd. “I expected more from the son of Brent Rozzlyn.”

Ivan didn’t respond. He knew Lorcan was trying to goad him, to make him reckless. Instead, he focused on his breathing, on the flow of mana through his body. He could feel the energy of the academy grounds, the pulse of the earth beneath his feet. He was part of this place, and it was part of him.

Lorcan pressed his advantage, launching a barrage of wind slashes. Each attack was designed to chip away at Ivan’s magic, to weaken him over time. Ivan deflected the strikes with his ice blades, but he could feel the drain with each impact. The wind magic was insidious, sapping his energy even as it failed to land a direct hit.

Ivan needed to change the game. He dropped low, slamming one of his blades into the ground. A wave of frost erupted from the point of impact, racing toward Lorcan. The ice spread across the ground, threatening to encase Lorcan’s feet. Lorcan leaped into the air, propelled by a gust of wind, but Ivan was ready. He hurled his second blade like a javelin, the ice shard spinning through the air with deadly precision.

Lorcan twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the blade. It shattered against the ground behind him, but the shards reformed instantly, flying back to Ivan’s hand. The crowd gasped, impressed by the display of control.

“Not bad,” Lorcan admitted, landing lightly on his feet. “But you’re still playing catch-up.”

He clapped his hands together, and a vortex of wind erupted around him. The air howled as it spiraled outward, tearing at Ivan’s clothes and threatening to knock him off balance. Ivan planted his feet, driving his blades into the ground to anchor himself. The frost spread from the points of contact, creating a barrier of ice that shielded him from the worst of the wind.

Ivan’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as he assessed the situation. Lorcan’s wind magic was relentless, each attack designed to chip away at his magic reserves. The frost barrier Ivan had created was already beginning to crack under the pressure of Lorcan’s vortex. He needed to act fast.

With a sharp motion, Ivan slammed one of his ice blades into the ground, sending a shockwave of frost racing toward Lorcan. The ice spread rapidly, encasing the ground in a slick, frozen sheet. Lorcan leaped into the air, propelled by a gust of wind, but Ivan was ready. He hurled his second blade like a javelin, the ice shard spinning through the air with deadly precision.

Lorcan twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the blade. It shattered against the ground behind him, but the shards reformed instantly, flying back to Ivan’s hand. The crowd gasped, impressed by the display of control.

“Not bad,” Lorcan admitted, landing lightly on his feet. “But you’re still playing catch-up.”

He clapped his hands together, and a vortex of wind erupted around him. The air howled as it spiraled outward, tearing at Ivan’s clothes and threatening to knock him off balance. Ivan planted his feet, driving his blades into the ground to anchor himself. The frost spread from the points of contact, creating a barrier of ice that shielded him from the worst of the wind.

Ivan knew he couldn’t keep playing defense. Lorcan’s wind magic was too efficient, too relentless. He needed to close the distance, to force Lorcan into a position where his speed and precision could shine.

He charged forward, his ice blades leaving trails of frost in his wake. Lorcan met him with a wall of wind, but Ivan anticipated the move. He dropped into a slide, slipping beneath the gust and coming up within striking distance. His blades flashed, one aimed at Lorcan’s shoulder, the other at his side.

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Lorcan twisted, avoiding the first blade, but the second grazed his arm, leaving a thin line of frost in its wake. He hissed in pain, his smirk faltering for the first time. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

He retaliated with a flurry of wind slashes, each one faster and more precise than the last. Ivan deflected them, but the drain on his magic was becoming noticeable. His blades were slower to reform, their edges less sharp. He needed to end this soon.

Lorcan’s attacks grew more aggressive, his wind slashes now accompanied by gusts that threatened to knock Ivan off his feet. Ivan countered with a series of rapid strikes, his ice blades flashing in the sunlight. Each blow was met with a burst of wind, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the air.

Ivan feinted, pretending to stumble as he deflected another wind slash. Lorcan took the bait, stepping forward to press his advantage. In that moment, Ivan struck. He slammed one of his blades into the ground, sending a shockwave of frost racing toward Lorcan. At the same time, he hurled his second blade, not at Lorcan, but at the ground behind him.

The frost wave forced Lorcan to leap into the air again, but this time, Ivan was ready. The second blade shattered on impact, its shards reforming into a net of ice that caught Lorcan midair. The wind mage struggled, but the ice held firm, its structure reinforced by the steady flow of mana from the ground.

Ivan didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a flash, his remaining blade pressed against Lorcan’s throat. The crowd erupted into cheers, but Ivan’s expression remained calm, his breathing steady.

“Yield,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Lorcan glared at him, his pride warring with the reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded, his smirk replaced by a look of grudging respect. “I yield.”

The crowd erupted into applause as Ivan stepped back, his ice blades dissolving into mist. He extended a hand to Lorcan, helping him to his feet. Lorcan hesitated, then took it, his grip firm.

“You’re better than I thought,” Lorcan admitted, his voice low. “But this isn’t over.”

Ivan nodded, his expression serious. “It never is.”

As the crowd began to disperse, Ivan caught sight of Fent standing at the edge of the courtyard. His friend’s expression was unreadable, but Ivan could see the worry in his eyes. The duel had been a victory, but it had also revealed the cracks in Aether’s facade. And Ivan knew that the real battle was just beginning.

Ivan’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as he assessed the situation. Lorcan’s wind magic was relentless, each attack designed to chip away at his magic reserves. The frost barrier Ivan had created was already beginning to crack under the pressure of Lorcan’s vortex. He needed to act fast.

With a sharp motion, Ivan slammed one of his ice blades into the ground, sending a shockwave of frost racing toward Lorcan. The ice spread rapidly, encasing the ground in a slick, frozen sheet. Lorcan leaped into the air, propelled by a gust of wind, but Ivan was ready. He hurled his second blade like a javelin, the ice shard spinning through the air with deadly precision.

Lorcan twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the blade. It shattered against the ground behind him, but the shards reformed instantly, flying back to Ivan’s hand. The crowd gasped, impressed by the display of control.

“Not bad,” Lorcan admitted, landing lightly on his feet. “But you’re still playing catch-up.”

He clapped his hands together, and a vortex of wind erupted around him. The air howled as it spiraled outward, tearing at Ivan’s clothes and threatening to knock him off balance. Ivan planted his feet, driving his blades into the ground to anchor himself. The frost spread from the points of contact, creating a barrier of ice that shielded him from the worst of the wind.

Ivan knew he couldn’t keep playing defense. Lorcan’s wind magic was too efficient, too relentless. He needed to close the distance, to force Lorcan into a position where his speed and precision could shine.

He charged forward, his ice blades leaving trails of frost in his wake. Lorcan met him with a wall of wind, but Ivan anticipated the move. He dropped into a slide, slipping beneath the gust and coming up within striking distance. His blades flashed, one aimed at Lorcan’s shoulder, the other at his side.

Lorcan twisted, avoiding the first blade, but the second grazed his arm, leaving a thin line of frost in its wake. He hissed in pain, his smirk faltering for the first time. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

He retaliated with a flurry of wind slashes, each one faster and more precise than the last. Ivan deflected them, but the drain on his magic was becoming noticeable. His blades were slower to reform, their edges less sharp. He needed to end this soon.

Lorcan’s attacks grew more aggressive, his wind slashes now accompanied by gusts that threatened to knock Ivan off his feet. Ivan countered with a series of rapid strikes, his ice blades flashing in the sunlight. Each blow was met with a burst of wind, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the air.

Ivan feinted, pretending to stumble as he deflected another wind slash. Lorcan took the bait, stepping forward to press his advantage. In that moment, Ivan struck. He slammed one of his blades into the ground, sending a shockwave of frost racing toward Lorcan. At the same time, he hurled his second blade, not at Lorcan, but at the ground behind him.

The frost wave forced Lorcan to leap into the air again, but this time, Ivan was ready. The second blade shattered on impact, its shards reforming into a net of ice that caught Lorcan midair. The wind mage struggled, but the ice held firm, its structure reinforced by the steady flow of mana from the ground.

Ivan didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a flash, his remaining blade pressed against Lorcan’s throat. The crowd erupted into cheers, but Ivan’s expression remained calm, his breathing steady.

“Yield,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Lorcan glared at him, his pride warring with the reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded, his smirk replaced by a look of grudging respect. “I yield.”

The crowd erupted into applause as Ivan stepped back, his ice blades dissolving into mist. He extended a hand to Lorcan, helping him to his feet. Lorcan hesitated, then took it, his grip firm.

“You’re better than I thought,” Lorcan admitted, his voice low. “But this isn’t over.”

Ivan nodded, his expression serious. “It never is.”

As the crowd began to disperse, Ivan caught sight of Fent standing at the edge of the courtyard. His friend’s expression was unreadable, but Ivan could see the worry in his eyes. The duel had been a victory, but it had also revealed the cracks in Aether’s facade. And Ivan knew that the real battle was just beginning.