Leaving the Emerald Conservatory, the group followed Edward and the other disciples down a stone-paved corridor shaded by bamboo groves. The next building that came into view stood apart from the rest—it was simple, not as imposing as the others, yet carried a presence that stilled the heart. Carved above the entrance, in flowing script, was a single word: Swarkaksha.
The moment they stepped inside, the trio was enveloped in a tranquil hum. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood, and the deep resonance of "Om—ॐ" vibrated through the hall, echoing from the stone walls as if the very building breathed it.
The interior was open and uncluttered. Rows of woven mats were spread evenly across the polished floor. Along the edges rested veenas, sitars, flutes, and small drums. At the centre stood a graceful statue of Lord Nataraja, captured in the eternal dance of creation and destruction.
Behind the statue stretched a lotus pond, its surface glowing faintly with reflected sunlight streaming through carved lattice windows. White and pink blossoms floated serenely atop the water, their fragrance blending with incense.
A narrow stone path crossed the pond, leading to a raised platform where disciples often sat in meditation, surrounded by the quiet ripple of water and the soft murmur of lotus leaves brushing one another.
Before the pond, seated cross-legged on a mat, was Teacher Sarasvati. Her posture mirrored the divine form itself—serene, poised, a Veena resting across her lap. Around her sat a circle of disciples, each holding an instrument, their eyes closed in meditation as their fingers coaxed soft notes into the still air.
Sarasvati's eyes fluttered open as the visitors entered. Her smile was calm, almost motherly, and her voice flowed like music itself.
"Welcome to Swarkaksha—the sanctuary of the mind and spirit," she said, gently plucking a note from her Veena that lingered in the silence. "Magic is not born from chaos. It flows through silence, through focus, through harmony. Without stillness here—" she tapped her temple lightly with a slender finger, "—your greatest spells will crumble like sand in the storm."
Her gaze swept over the disciples, pausing on Shaun, Natasha, and Sebastian. She rose gracefully, her white robes flowing like water, and set her Veena aside. With a step, she spread her arms and twirled lightly, her movements blending dance with discipline. Even her shadow seemed to sway with divine rhythm.
"Meditation tempers emotion, music sharpens memory, and dance strengthens reflex. Together, they forge a magus who can stand unshaken, even in the heart of battle."
As if on cue, her disciples echoed another long, resonant "Om", the sound rising in perfect harmony, mingling with the gentle ripple of the lotus pond until even Natasha and Shaun felt their breath deepen, their bodies relax.
Finally, Sarasvati inclined her head and smiled. "Should you wish, you may walk this path with us. Join Swarkaksha, and learn not only to weave spells—but to master the one force no enemy can break: the stillness within."
The pond shimmered faintly as a lotus unfolded in bloom, the hall once again returning to its sacred quiet.
**********
The trio followed Edward through the bustling campus until their steps slowed before a massive oval structure towered above every other building they had seen.
"Whoa…" Natasha breathed. "It's… it's bigger than a city block!"
The colossal walls curved upward like a mountain of stone, its surface carved with intricate reliefs. At each corner, enormous emblems gleamed in the sunlight—the eight elemental symbols, etched as if to declare that every force of the universe converged here.
Edward's lips curved faintly. "Welcome, disciples… to the Battle Coliseum—the pride of Silver Heaven Academy."
Even Shaun, who had seen large festival grounds in his village, felt dwarfed. His gaze swept across the arched gates, each one wide enough for dozens to enter at once. The air itself seemed to hum, as though the stone remembered every clash, every cry of victory and defeat.
Guided through one of the main entrances, they stepped into a vast hallway. Dozens of empty stalls lined the walls, shutters closed, their polished counters and painted signs waiting for life.
"These," Edward explained with a sweep of his hand, "burst alive during tournaments. Food, gifts, trinkets—you'll barely be able to hear yourself think when the crowds gather here."
They passed rows of washrooms and corridors before reaching a set of twelve great doors, each carved with distinct symbols. Edward stopped before three, their script sharp and severe: For Participants Only.
"These," he said, pushing one open, "lead below."
A stairwell of stone descended into the earth. The air grew cooler, carrying the tang of steel and herbs.
"This," Edward explained, "is the basement of the Coliseum. Where the fighters wait, breathe, and bleed."
The corridor branched into eight numbered chambers, each lined with benches and racks for weapons. Farther ahead, a modest infirmary hummed faintly with enchantments, its shelves stacked with bandages and potions. A small canteen sat beside it, the ghost of broth still lingering in its emptiness.
"When the Magus Tournament begins, these rooms will be filled with disciples—praying, trembling, sharpening their resolve. And above…" Edward's voice lowered, "thousands of eyes will be waiting to see who rises, and who falls."
Shaun's fists tightened, a flicker of lightning dancing across his fingertips. He could already hear it—the roar of the crowd, the clash of wills, the path he would one day carve upon this ground.
They rose again, climbing until they stood before nine grand entrances. The carvings upon them told their story: three gates engraved with simple human figures, three with noble crests, and three crowned in silver.
Edward gestured. "As you see, these nine gates lead to the spectators' halls. The first three open to the Commoner stands. The next three open to the Nobles and Aristocrats. And the final three…" His tone grew grave. "…open to the Royal Crown Stand. Now, This way."
The disciples followed him through the crown-marked gates, their steps echoing as they climbed. When the doors creaked open, gasps filled the air.
A balcony stretched across the highest tier, its view of the arena so commanding it made other benches below look like shadows. Silver seats with crimson silk cushions gleamed beneath lantern light, faint shimmer of enchantments upon them.
At the western corner, three majestic silver chairs stood, each larger than the rest. "Reserved for the Supreme Mages," Edward murmured. And between them, towering above all, sat two golden thrones, radiant as if forged from sunlight itself.
"For the Emperor and Empress," Edward said, bowing his head slightly. "None enter here without permission. The punishment… is severe."
A hush fell over the disciples. Even Natasha, usually quick with words, could only gaze in silence, her fingers tightening around Shaun's hand.
**********
Shaun stepped to the front of the balcony, his breath catching. Below, the vast oval ground stretched wide enough to host armies, its surface a sea of green grass shimmering beneath the open sky. With no roof to veil it, the golden rays of the sun poured down, gilding the arena in light.
At the very heart of the field stood a square platform of white stone, gleaming as if it had been laid yesterday. The battle ring.
"Finally," Edward said, his voice carrying pride. "This is the place I wanted to show you. The heart of Silver Heaven Academy. Here, the Magus Tournament is held—a trial where disciples test not just their skills, but their very souls."
Shaun's eyes widened. "So… this is the battle arena I've heard so much about? The one renowned across the Silver Heaven Region?"
"I've heard stories too," Natasha whispered, wonder in her tone. "Father always told me this was where great mages fought for pride and honour. I never imagined I'd see it with my own eyes."
Edward nodded with a faint smile. His gaze lingered on the battlefield. "Here, the strongest prove themselves—either rising in glory or being crushed beneath greater power. Each rank earned here carries respect that no title can match."
Shaun's heart pounded, lightning prickling faintly at his fingertips. "I want to fight here one day," he blurted, excitement rushing out. "To stand there… to test myself against the strongest. I can't wait!"
The disciples around him shared his awe, their eyes fixed on the arena. Edward chuckled softly at their enthusiasm, then gestured around them.
"This Coliseum was built after the Ragnarok, to honour the Elemental Gods. Look closely, and you'll see the walls whisper their stories."
Along the curved stone, ancient carvings caught the sunlight—petroglyphs of storms, flames, and divine figures locked in eternal struggle.
"This arena," Edward continued, "is one hundred and fifty meters long, one hundred and thirty wide. It can hold thirty to forty thousand souls. And in the centre—" he pointed toward the white ring—"is the true battlefield. Fifty by fifty meters, raised two meters high, forged from stone slabs so strong even magic struggles to break them."
Edward's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Through the four gates below, contenders walk the tiled paths into the ring. Two enter… only one leaves with victory."
The balcony fell silent. Even Natasha, usually quick with words, gripped Shaun's hand tighter, her gaze fixed on the stage as though she too could already hear the thunder of thousands. After Edward's explanation of the arena, the disciples still stood wide-eyed, their mouths slightly agape.
A boy from a noble family adjusted his glasses with one finger and stepped forward. His light brown hair, trimmed in a neat bowl-cut that brushed just above his ears, framed sharp brown eyes that gleamed with calculation behind the lenses. He wore a red full-sleeve vest over a white gii with golden linings, his waist bound with a black sash, white baggy pants falling into polished black xues.
There was a calm confidence about him, the kind that came not from arrogance, but from the assurance of someone who measured words carefully before speaking. His tone carried a faint edge of curiosity—though the cool glint in his gaze suggested he enjoyed testing others as much as he enjoyed learning.
"Teacher Edward, could you… tell us more? About the history of this place?"
Edward's smile deepened. "Of course. The Battle Coliseum carries a history as grand as its walls. After the Elemental Gods defeated the Evil God Lucius, they remained in this world for some years. In that time, they lived among humans, teaching them the ways of elemental magic—so mankind could protect itself, and this fragile world."
His gaze drifted across the carvings etched into the stone walls. "It was the Gods themselves who built this academy, these halls, even this very arena. Here, they guided humanity's first disciples. Here, magic was passed down as both a weapon and a shield."
The disciples leaned closer, their breaths hushed.
"Over time, the Gods departed, but their legacy remained. Tournaments were held each year to temper new generations. That is why this arena is also called the Forge of Mages—a crucible where raw talent is broken, reforged, and tempered into unshakable steel."
"Forge of Mages?" the disciples echoed, their voices blending in wonder.
Edward nodded. "Yes. It was here that the strongest were chosen to secure the Silver Heaven Region's future. Those who triumphed earned not just power—but a name that would be remembered."
Shaun clenched his fists, lightning itching across his fingertips. "Awesome! I never thought this place would be so special."
Sabastian stepped forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Teacher Edward… have you ever fought in one of these tournaments? What does it feel like, standing on that battlefield?"
Edward chuckled, stroking his chin as though recalling a distant memory. "Yes, I've fought. Thrice, in fact. Though I'll confess, I never claimed the crown. My run usually ended in the quarterfinals—or, on better days, the semi-finals. Still…"
His gaze drifted to the stone ring below, and his voice softened with reverence. "…there is no feeling like it. To step into that arena is to feel the weight of history pressing on your shoulders. The roar of thousands around you, the pressure, the honour—it burns into your soul. And above all, you face opponents stronger than you've ever known. That is what excites me most. Testing new techniques, pushing beyond my limits… losing, but learning."
He paused, then his eyes lit with a glimmer of pride. "And in those years, one name soared above the rest—Sky Empress Noelle. She won the women's division three years in a row. Her strength was monstrous. They called her the Sky Empress because she ruled the skies themselves, and every young woman who aspired to greatness looked to her."
Gasps rippled through the disciples. Even Noa, who often declared she would follow Noelle's path, looked shaken.
Edward's voice lowered, as though unveiling a secret. "And perhaps you'd like to know who stood across from her in those final matches, year after year. Can anyone guess?"
Murmurs spread quickly, the disciples whispering names, tossing guesses into the air. Yet none landed true. Even Noa, cheeks flushed with frustration, shook her head and lowered her gaze.
Edward nodded faintly. "The first year, her opponent was none other than Lady Katherine."
"What?! Lady Katherine?!" voices erupted.
"Yes. At that time, Lady Maya had not entered the tournament. Katherine fought her way to the finals, standing across from Noelle beneath these very skies. But in the end, the Sky Empress prevailed, and Katherine was left in her shadow."
Some disciples exchanged glances, recalling Katherine's cutting pride. Suddenly, her bitterness made a little more sense.
Edward continued, his tone sharpening. "But the years that followed were different. For Lady Maya entered the tournament. Katherine fought valiantly, but she was stopped in the semi-finals by Noelle herself. And so, in the finals, Noelle faced Maya."
The reaction was explosive. "What?! Lady Maya?!" the disciples cried in unison.
**********