The crowd hummed with anticipation, eager to see Renic embarrass the blind, fallen noble. Jeers rippled through the benches.

  “He actually thinks he stands a chance,” someone laughed. “Blind to magic and still thinks he can fight?”

  I ignored them and guided the threads in my body to augment my limbs.

  “Don’t worry, Fyrne,” Renic called, his tone thick with mockery. “I’ll make it quick. Wouldn’t want you stumbling around blind.”

  Another voice cut through the noise, a quiet whisper from our instructor’s direction.

  “Prove ’em wrong, young man,” Kael said, surprisingly.

  A small smile crept onto my face. At least someone had noticed what I did in the last exam.

  Renic’s sneer deepened. “What are you smiling at, nobody? You think this is a game?”

  “Be quiet,” I said evenly, “and you’ll see soon enough.”

  Color flushed his face, anger simmering beneath the surface. “You’ll regret stepping into the ring with me, lowborn.”

  Kael’s hand lifted. Then dropped.

  “Begin!”

  Renic moved first. A cluster of fiery spheres spun to life beside him, heat warping the air. He planned to end this quickly, but I couldn’t let that happen.

  I drew my sword as the first fireball shrieked toward me. I parried two, ducked another, weaving through the barrage like a trained dancer. Sparks flashed across my blade.

  Agitation tightened Renic’s jaw. He thrust his hand forward again, threads flaring. I felt their shift before I saw it, the air trembling with heat. I rolled hard to my right, and a tornado of fire erupted where I’d stood a heartbeat before.

  The surprise on his face was priceless. Murmurs broke out in the crowd. The blind boy was still standing.

  He launched another barrage, mixing flame with slashing gusts of wind. The attacks came faster, sharper. I realized he was a pure caster, fire and air woven together for speed and distance. If I wanted to win, I had to close the gap.

  I dashed forward, pushing my augmentation to its limit, but a wall of fire roared up between us. Before I could blink, more sigils ignited; an unrelenting tempest of flame and wind. For what felt like forever, I was on the defensive, dodging, ducking, the heat biting at my skin.

  If I couldn’t see the threads, I’d feel them. That was enough.

  Gathering what focus I could, I poured every ounce of Essence into my legs and sprinted. At Renic’s flick, another wall erupted, but this time I was ready. I pulled water threads into a thin veil and hurled myself through.

  Flame seared my right arm as I broke through to the other side. I hit the ground running, pain burning up to my shoulder as I slashed at him. Water threads snapped into four quick blades, each aimed to break his rhythm.

  He stumbled back, deflecting most with a gust of air, but I pressed harder; strike after strike, giving him no space to cast.

  Renic snarled, weaving a whip of pure flame. It cracked through the air and coiled around my sword, nearly yanking it from my grip. With a sharp pull, he dragged me forward and drove a boot into my chest.

  The blow knocked me off my feet, but I used the momentum to roll and launch myself upright again. The whip hissed between us, bright and alive.

  We clashed, steel against fire, motion against fury. Then he overextended, his whip dragging through the dirt. I caught the opening and swung hard. The flat of my blade struck his temple with a satisfying crack, sending him crashing into the arena wall.

  Gasps rippled through the stands.

  Renic staggered upright, blood tracing a thin line down his cheek. The air around him shimmered, hot enough to distort the light.

  “The blind boy has some fight after all,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Let’s see how he handles real threadwork.”

  The threads around Renic screamed as if they could feel his anger. His whole demeanor shifted, posture, breath, presence. Even the crowd fell silent, sensing the change.

  I kept my distance, uncertain what he meant by “real threadwork.” Then something slammed into my leg, a sphere of fire and wind, faster than any sigil I’d ever seen. The scorching pain was immediate, but I couldn’t linger on it; more were coming.

  I tried to dodge and parry, but these sigils were too fast. He wasn’t firing them one by one anymore; he was layering them, wind and fire woven together, simultaneous strikes. Tier Four spellwork. That shouldn’t even be possible with a provisional seal.

  Each blast burned hotter, moved faster, the air itself becoming his weapon. My body screamed in protest as the barrage continued. I needed cover, now.

  I smashed a fire and water sigil together, flooding the arena in thick smoke. The air turned heavy, muffled. He couldn’t see me now, but I could feel him.

  Using the haze as a veil, I unleashed a flurry of water sigils. He deflected most, but it worked; he was on the defensive for the first time. I pressed the attack, mixing fire, water, and wind sigils to overwhelm him. A ripple of shock swept through the benches.

  “That’s three threads,” a student whispered. “He shouldn’t control three elements!”

  Kael’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, eyes tracking every movement as if trying to memorize what shouldn’t exist.

  Somehow, none of my attacks landed. He dodged or redirected every strike as if he could sense each one coming.

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  Frustration gnawed at me. I had to close the gap.

  Still cloaked in smoke, I surged forward. As his figure came into view, I caught the curve of his grin, like he’d been waiting for me.

  The ground trembled. A cyclone erupted around me, flame and wind entwining into a roaring spiral. The heat clawed at my skin. I threw up a water sigil, but the shield sizzled and popped under the inferno’s pressure. The smell of scorched cloth and flesh filled my lungs.

  I used a jet of water to propel myself free, crashing hard against the ground. Pain radiated through every limb, but I forced myself up. Renic stood amid the blazing ring, smiling like a man possessed by his own threads.

  “Doesn’t look like you’re faring too well, blind boy,” he taunted.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I sent a blade of air that kissed his cheek. A thin line of blood appeared.

  His grin vanished. “Adorable. You really think you belong in this ring?”

  “For once,” I said, “we agree.”

  The crowd held its breath.

  For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then we exploded into motion. Sigil after sigil, flame against flame. He unleashed his tier-four pattern again, but I’d already seen enough. I’d felt the rhythm of his threads during the fight, memorized the sequence and timing. I couldn’t overpower him, but I didn’t need to.

  I slipped my own sigil into the path of his next strike, meeting his cast in midair with perfect precision. His spell hit harder—easily overwhelming mine—but power didn’t matter if it couldn’t land. Each collision nudged his cast wide, sending the flames sailing past me harmlessly.

  Shock spread across his face as his spell veered wide. I pushed forward, closing the distance while he struggled to process what he was seeing. Within seconds, we were clashing at sword’s reach, steel and fire bursting in every strike.

  When I’d endured his earlier assault, I hadn’t just survived, I’d learned. I’d felt the minute shifts in Essence as he threaded his spells. Timing it perfectly, I cast into the space of his forming sigil. The half-shaped pattern and my own collided, destabilizing his and causing it to erupt in a burst of flame.

  His guard faltered. My flame surged through the gap, slamming into his chest and searing his tunic. In the same breath, my blade found his ribs. The force sent him crashing into the ground, motionless.

  For a heartbeat, the arena was nothing but the sound of crackling embers and my own ragged breath. Then the arena erupted.

  “Winner, Vaelyn Fyrne!” Kael’s voice rang out above the roar.

  My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, chest heaving, exhaustion washing over me. I’d done it.

  For the first time in my life, I’d proved them wrong.

  Tears blurred my sightless eyes as the thought sank in.

  Renic was carried off the field, half-conscious, his face twisted somewhere between rage and disbelief. The arena still thundered with noise: jeers, cheers, questions, but it all felt distant. My pulse was still pounding in my ears when Kael stepped into the ring.

  He crouched beside me and offered a steady hand. “Easy there.”

  I tried to stand on my own, but my legs buckled. Kael slung my arm over his shoulder and helped me up.

  Whispers rippled through the stands.

  “How did he do that?”

  “He’s blind, he shouldn’t be able to weave.”

  “That,” Kael said, voice low enough only I could hear, “was one hell of a fight.”

  I managed a tired nod.

  He gave a quiet laugh. “From the looks of it, maybe our Sight Glass was broken,” Kael murmured. “Three elements, Fyrne. I counted. You sure you can’t see threads?”

  I shook my head. “No… I can’t. I just... feel them. Had to make up for my lack of Clarity in other areas.”

  Kael slowed his steps, glancing at me like he hadn’t heard right. “Feel them?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” I said between breaths. “It’s like knowing where the threads should be, and where they aren’t.”

  “That shouldn’t be possible,” he muttered, half to himself. “No one reacts that fast just on instinct, on top of being a tri-element wielder.”

  “Guess I got lucky,” I said with a weak laugh that came out more like a groan.

  Kael chuckled softly, but his eyes lingered on me, thoughtful. “Luck doesn’t explain that performance. But fine, we’ll call it that for now.” He shifted my weight on his shoulder. “Let’s get you to a healer before you collapse for real.”

  The corridors beyond the arena smelled faintly of incense and burnt Essence. Kael guided me through until we entered the infirmary, a room lined with cots and shimmering diagnostic sigils.

  “I’ve got another one for you, Mara,” Kael called as we stepped inside.

  A woman in her late twenties looked up from her clipboard, her brown hair tied in a loose braid. “Kael, you’re going to run these kids into the ground.”

  He grinned. “Part of the learning experience.”

  She sighed. “You could stop the matches before someone gets turned into charcoal, you know.”

  “And ruin the fun?” he said.

  “Your definition of fun concerns me.”

  Before I could comment, she waved someone forward; a young woman with bright blonde hair and sharp green eyes.

  “You’re up, Elaria.”

  The girl approached, trying and failing to hide her nerves. “I’m Elaria. This healing will be part of my practical exam.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’ll try not to bleed too much on your test.”

  She smiled despite herself. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Warm light gathered in her palms. The glow spread through me, and the pain melted away as though it had never existed. My chest loosened with relief; even my breath felt lighter.

  After a minute, the light faded. She exhaled, sweat dotting her forehead. “There. You should be fine now.”

  I flexed my arm, surprised at the smoothness of movement. “Feels like the fight never happened. Thank you.”

  Her smile softened. “No problem. We don’t get to do anything flashy like you combat types, but… at least we get to fix the mess after.”

  I chuckled. “Trust me, that’s the part everyone’s grateful for.”

  Kael motioned toward the door. “Alright, Fyrne. Let’s get you back. The next match is already underway.”

  I nodded, still testing the strength in my limbs. “Guess the exam waits for no one.”

  “Not even the victor,” Kael said, and for the first time, I thought I heard pride in his voice.

  Kael paused at the door, lowering his voice. “By the way, Renic won’t be joining the next round. Using Tier Four patterns without the proper seal violates exam protocol. The Guild Council will handle it.”

  I blinked. “And me?”

  A ghost of a smile. “You didn’t break a rule. You adapted.”

  He left before I could decide if that counted as protection or favoritism.

  The next duel was already raging by the time we stepped back into the arena. Kael gave me a short nod before returning to his seat near the front rows.

  Climbing the stairs, I felt the glances that followed me. They weren’t the usual mix of pity and disdain, more like cautious curiosity. I guess beating a noble didn’t earn respect, only made people wonder how it happened.

  A few seats down, two applicants whispered loud enough for me to hear.

  “They’re saying Renic’s facing suspension. Tier Four patterns without a Charter Seal? Idiot thought his name would shield him.”

  “What about Fyrne?”

  “Kael vouched that it was reactive casting, defensive, not intentional.”

  I didn’t correct them. It was easier that way.

  Halfway up, a familiar wall of muscle blocked my path. Merric.

  “You sure put on a show,” he said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Made my duel look like child’s play.”

  I smirked. “Please. I just studied your performance and took notes.”

  Merric let out a booming laugh that drew a few heads. “About time someone taught Renic a lesson. The fact it was you makes it that much sweeter.”

  “His arrogance did most of the work,” I said. “I just helped gravity finish the job.”

  Merric grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “If any of the girls start lining up after that, you’d better introduce me first.”

  I shook my head, trying not to smile. “You’d scare them off before they made it up the stairs.”

  He barked another laugh. “Fair point.”

  As his laughter faded, I felt it: that quiet, deliberate stare.

  Turning slightly, I caught sight of Lira in the row above us, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her eyes didn’t hold curiosity this time; only calculation, like she’d seen something she shouldn’t have. Maybe she’d noticed what the others whispered about, that my threads didn’t belong to any single element.

  Merric nudged me with his elbow. “Looks like we’ve got an audience.”

  I shrugged, keeping my tone light. “She’s probably just wondering how I survived.”

  But even as I turned back toward the arena, I could still feel her gaze tracing the outline of a question I couldn’t yet name.