Namer Academy
Academia city,
Namer Island
15th September 385 Post Global Unification
Eighteen years after the Hailey Incident
Eren stepped out of his first class with a long yawn, rubbing at the corner of his eye as the lecture replayed itself in his head. Runes. Symbols. Laws written into reality. It was strange—exciting, even—to think that the world could be coded. That something as intangible as anima could be compelled to obey through shapes, syntax, and intent. The idea that symbols didn't create power but instead instructed it lingered with him.
There was potential there.
A lot of it.
Not just for spellcraft, but for control—for refinement. For making his power answer precisely the way he wanted it to.
Eren exhaled slowly.
This class might end up being more important than I thought.
It was still early, barely past nine in the morning, and the corridors of Namer Academy buzzed with students moving between lectures. He checked the projected schedule on his amulet, his eyes landing on his next course.
Foundations of Anima Theory I.
Eren frowned faintly. He wasn't sure why he needed it. Anima wasn't something he understood through diagrams or definitions. He understood it by using it—by pushing it through his body, testing its limits, feeling how it responded under pressure. Experience had always been his teacher.
Still, after the first class…
He was willing to keep an open mind.
"Hey," Tony said, catching up beside him. "I'm heading to my next course. What've you got?"
"Foundations of Anima Theory I," Eren replied.
Tony blinked. "Same here."
Eren glanced at him, then nodded. "Cool."
They fell into step together, following the flow of students through the academy's wide corridors. Tony seemed more relaxed now, no longer hunched in on himself the way he'd been earlier. Every so often, he glanced at Eren, as if still trying to reconcile the calm figure beside him with the person who had dismantled three bullies without breaking stride.
The classroom they entered was quieter, more subdued.
At the front stood their instructor—an elderly woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a tight bun. Her posture was straight, her presence understated, but there was something about her eyes that suggested depth rather than frailty.
Without ceremony, she began.
"Anima," she said, her voice steady, "is not merely energy. It is intent given structure, will given continuity."
The lecture unfolded systematically.
She spoke of anima as a universal substrate—how it flowed through body, mind, and soul; how different schools attempted to classify it; how cultivation paths diverged based on philosophy as much as physiology. Charts appeared. Models rotated in the air. Definitions layered upon one another. Eren listened—but not with the same intensity as before. To him, anima wasn't a theory. It was a lived experience. He already knew what it felt like when anima surged too fast. When it burned hot, then settled. When it resisted him—and when it answered. No diagram could teach him that.
Still, he took notes. Not because he believed the class would show him his path—
—but because understanding how others understood anima could be useful. If symbols were laws, then theory was the language scholars used to explain those laws.
And languages, Eren knew, could be learned. Even if you planned to rewrite them someday. As the lecture continued, Tony scribbled diligently beside him, occasionally glancing over when Eren paused to jot something down. For someone who claimed he learned best through action, Eren Walker was paying closer attention than most. And Tony had a feeling—
This wasn't a contradiction.
It was preparation.
That class lasted nearly as long as the first.
By the time Fundamentals of Magic Theory concluded, Eren felt the slow, familiar mental fatigue that came from sustained focus. Unlike Runes or Anima Theory, this course leaned heavily into structure—definitions, classifications, historical models of spellcasting evolution. It was interesting in its own way, but dense.
Tony wasn't in this one.
In fact, Eren didn't recognize a single face in the lecture hall.
So he kept to himself, took notes where he felt it mattered, and ignored the rest. Magic theory, he decided, was useful—but only insofar as it explained how others approached power.
When the dismissal chime rang, Eren stretched and exhaled.
Finally—lunch.
He checked his amulet cell as he stepped into the corridor. A message from Ash flickered into view.
Ash: I'm with Belle. Dining Hall courtyard.
Perfect.
Eren adjusted course toward the Dining Hall, already picturing food—real food, not conjured rations. As he approached the wide entrance, he spotted Tony lingering just outside the doors, hovering awkwardly as groups of students passed him by.
Eren slowed.
He raised a brow and tapped Tony lightly on the shoulder.
Tony yelped, spinning around so fast he nearly stumbled. When he saw Eren, his shoulders dropped in relief, one hand flying to his chest.
"Oh—Eren. It's you," Tony said, exhaling.
"What are you doing?" Eren asked. "You going in or what?"
"Uh… I was…" Tony trailed off, tapping his index fingers together. "…thinking."
Eren snorted softly.
"I'm eating in the courtyard," he said. "You want to join me?"
Tony blinked, surprised—then nodded a little too quickly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
They entered the Dining Hall together, passing rows of tables and students before heading toward the glass doors that opened into the courtyard. Outside, sunlight spilled over stone paths and patches of grass. Students laughed, talked, and lounged in small clusters. The sky was clear, clouds drifting lazily overhead.
Eren took it in for a moment.
I could lie down and sleep right here, he thought.
Spotting Ash and Belle at a corner table, Eren led Tony over. They were already mid-meal, plates full, Belle animatedly talking while Ash listened—occasionally responding. Eren found it mildly surprising how easily Belle had slipped past Ash's usual reserve. She wasn't a stranger anymore.
"You're finally here," Ash said as they approached.
Eren yawned in response and dropped into a seat, dragging a plate toward himself. The surface shimmered, conjuring food at his unspoken request.
Tony, meanwhile, remained standing, hands clasped, unsure.
Ash glanced at him. "Who's this?"
"Oh—right," Eren said around a chicken drumstick. "Tony, this is Ash and Belle. Guys, this is my new friend—Tony."
Tony stiffened.
"W–wait," he said, eyes widening. "You mean Asher Asterion and Annabelle Satou?"
Ash paused mid-bite.
Tony swallowed. "The second-ranked Scholar candidate… and the first-ranked."
Belle smiled pleasantly.
Tony glanced between them, visibly overwhelmed. It made sense—Ash had placed second in the Scholar rankings, Belle first. Combined with their Hunter standings, the two of them were academy standouts.
"And you're Anthony Mangeo," Belle said smoothly.
Her eyes glinted faintly as her grimoire interface finished scanning him through the academy system.
"Third-ranked Scholar candidate," she added.
Tony froze.
"…You knew that?"
Belle tilted her head. "Of course."
Tony looked down, flustered, then managed a shy nod. "Y–yes, ma'am."
Eren watched the exchange with mild amusement, tearing into his food.
So that's how it is, he thought. This place really does revolve around rankings.
And whether he liked it or not—
He was already right in the middle of it.
****
"So," Ash said, tugging off his blazer as they stood at their lockers, "you're already making friends."
Eren shrugged as he changed into his gymwear—light combat pants, reinforced boots, and a sleeveless academy top designed for movement and anima flow.
"Tony's a cool kid," he said. "Timid, but cool."
"That's pretty typical," Ash replied, shutting his locker with a dull clang. "Scholars like him tend to keep their heads down. Especially in a place like this."
Hunter candidates followed a different rhythm than the rest of the academy. Scholar and general courses filled the mornings—structured, academic, restrained. Afternoons belonged to the Hunters.
Training. Combat. Pressure.
After lunch, Tony had peeled off toward his elective courses, leaving just Eren, Ash, and Belle. That didn't last long either. At the entrance to the locker rooms, Belle waved casually and disappeared into the opposite corridor, leaving the two of them to the male side. Eren rolled his shoulders, feeling a familiar shift settle into his body. This was the part of the day that mattered. Their first Hunter course stood out clearly on the schedule:
Hunter Combat Conditioning.
Eren's lips curved faintly.
He'd been looking forward to this one.
They exited the changing room together and followed the flow of Hunter candidates across the academy grounds. The air changed as they approached their destination—denser, charged with latent mana and old battle residue.
The Fracture Arena rose ahead of them.
It was massive. A colosseum-like structure forged from reinforced stone and anima-reactive alloys, its exterior etched with containment sigils and structural runes. Inside, the arena housed a modular combat zone—terrain that could fracture, reshape, and reassemble to simulate forests, ruins, deserts, urban warzones, or dungeon environments at a moment's notice.
This wasn't a classroom.
It was a proving ground.
Ash glanced at the structure, then at Eren. "Looks like people are here already."
Just as Ash had said, students were already gathered inside the arena, spread across the fractured stone floor. Some stood alone, eyes closed, mentally preparing. Others chatted in small clusters, laughter and bravado masking nerves.
Eren's gaze swept the crowd.
He spotted Reo Rykkel among a noticeably larger group than he'd had during the evaluation. Reo was mid-conversation with a girl—Rhea, the same one who had interrupted their fight back then. When Reo noticed Eren, he offered a friendly smile.
Eren answered with a grunt.
Rhea's expression hardened immediately, her brows knitting together as she shot Eren a sharp glare. It lingered just long enough to be uncomfortable.
Eren looked away.
Still holding onto that, he thought.
Belle drifted up beside them, her eyes roaming the immense structure of the arena. She seemed distracted, lips moving faintly as if muttering to herself.
What a strange girl, Eren thought.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Oh—this?" Belle lifted her arm, showing the sleek tablet-like device strapped to her wrist. "I'm talking to my grimoire. Makina."
Eren blinked. "That's a grimoire?"
"Mhm," Belle said casually. "Magitech-integrated. I asked Makina to analyze the arena, but she's struggling."
She tapped the screen, lines of data flickering briefly. "The runes woven into this place are layered and recursive. They're designed to cloak the arena from external analysis."
"On purpose?" Ash asked.
"Absolutely," Belle replied. "Which means whatever happens here is meant to stay contained."
Before Eren could respond, the noise level around them dropped sharply.
The shift was subtle—but unmistakable.
Eren turned just in time to see Victor Jaeger striding toward them, flanked by his usual cronies. Victor's posture was rigid, jaw tight, eyes locked forward.
Eren already knew who he was here for.
Ash did too.
And Ash didn't even look at him.
That dismissal only seemed to pour fuel onto Victor's temper.
"What's your problem?" Eren called out lazily.
He scratched at his ear with his pinky as he spoke, his tone loud enough to carry across the nearby groups.
Victor stopped short and snapped his head toward him. "I've got no business with you, scrub."
His gaze slid right back to Ash.
That did it.
"Then you should mind where you're looking, ginger," Eren said flatly.
The word hit like a spark in dry grass.
Victor's face flushed red as he turned fully toward Eren, his aura flaring dangerously. Mana rippled around him, pressure building.
"What did you just say?" Victor growled.
Before either of them could move—
Someone appeared between them.
"Now is not the time."
The voice was calm. Firm.
It was Nox Havok.
Third-ranked in the Hunter evaluations.
Eren's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't even seen Nox move. One moment, the space between them was empty—the next, Nox stood there, hands relaxed at his sides, presence heavy and undeniable.
Fast, Eren noted. Ridiculously fast.
Victor clenched his fists, aura trembling, but the interruption gave him just enough pause to rein it in. After a tense second, he exhaled sharply and stepped back, shooting Eren one last venomous look.
Eren held his gaze—his desire to pummel this bastard was as strong as ever. Around them, the arena's hum returned as students resumed their conversations, though quieter now. Everyone had felt it. The tension. Eren and Victor were still glaring at each other, Nox Havok standing in their way. At that same moment, Reyna Greyron stepped into the arena.
She felt it instantly—the tension hanging thick in the air, unresolved and volatile. Conversations died the moment her presence registered. One by one, students turned toward her, instincts screaming as the unmistakable aura of a powerful mage washed over the arena like a sudden pressure drop. Rey's eyes moved calmly across the gathered Hunter candidates. They lingered briefly on familiar faces—scions of Great Families. Havok. Jaeger. Names that carried weight, expectations, and ego. And then—
Eren.
The disturbance in the room made sense now.
"So," Rey said, her voice cool and composed as it echoed through the arena. "That explains it."
She stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back.
"Good afternoon. My name is Reyna Greyron," she announced. "I am the assistant to Professor Kinsway. I'll be conducting today's Hunter Combat Conditioning course on behalf of my master."
A ripple of surprise passed through the students.
Rey barely noticed.
This is ridiculous, she thought sourly. Commander Lexa had waved her off without ceremony, telling her to handle the class while she took a nap—as if managing a hall full of volatile Hunter candidates was a trivial errand.
She had known this would happen the moment Alexander insisted she follow her to the academy as her assistant.
If only Master Alastor were here, Rey thought. He'd never have allowed this.
Outwardly, however, she smiled.
"Since this is our first session," Rey continued lightly, "why don't we have a little fun?"
The word alone stirred the room.
"We'll hold a combat assessment," she said. "I want to see how much actual experience you all have."
She snapped her fingers.
With a low hum, shelves of weapons materialized along the edges of the arena—blades, spears, staves, bows, and stranger implements forged for specialized combat. The runes embedded in the stone flared briefly as the constructs stabilized.
"If you're a weapon user," Rey said, gesturing casually, "feel free to choose."
Several students immediately moved, confidence bolstered by familiarity. Those trained in martial disciplines or body cultivation reached for weapons they knew, their movements practiced and eager.
Eren approached the shelves more slowly, eyes scanning the selection—not impressed, but curious.
Before he could reach out—
Rey was suddenly there.
"You shouldn't bother," she said. Eren stiffened, turning toward her. "If I recall correctly," Rey continued, her crimson eyes studying him, "you possess a spirit weapon."
Eren's jaw tightened.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he shot back. The irritation in his voice was unmistakable. He wanted to do his best to mind his tone, but her presence just put him on alert. He couldn't help remembering how she impaled his chest with her palm. Rey met his glare without flinching.
"Oh," Rey said calmly, a faint edge of amusement touching her voice. "Everything. Spirit-weapon users cannot wield physical weapons of the same type they are destined for."
"Is that so?" Eren replied flatly.
His gaze drifted to a gauntlet resting among a partial armor set on the shelf—solid, heavy, reinforced. Close enough. He reached for it. The moment his fingers made contact—
The gauntlet disintegrated into fine gray dust. Not cracked. Not rejected. Erased. A breath later, the rest of the armor followed, collapsing in on itself and dissolving as though it had never existed.
Eren froze.
Rey tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking to his right arm. "Interesting. So your right-arm gauntlet isn't merely your spirit weapon."
Eren stared at the drifting dust, disbelief tightening his chest. He already knew his spirit weapon was incomplete—his grimoire had made that much clear—but this reaction was something else entirely. Slowly, he glanced down at the obsidian ring on his finger.
So that's how deep it goes…
"Fine," Eren muttered.
He turned away from the weapon shelves and headed back toward Ash and Belle, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. Once the rest of the students finished selecting their weapons, Rey clapped her hands once, drawing everyone's attention.
"Well then," she said lightly, "it seems you've all made your choices."
With a snap of her fingers, the arena floor shifted. Stone plates slid apart, runes flaring as a raised podium emerged at the center—a combat stage reinforced with layered containment arrays.
"This is how we'll proceed," Rey continued. "You may challenge anyone you wish."
A ripple of interest moved through the crowd.
"However," she added, "the top five-ranked students may refuse challenges from those ranked below them. They cannot, however, refuse challenges issued by one another."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
Students glanced around, weighing risks, calculating pride against survival. Challenge upward and risk humiliation—or challenge downward and look cowardly.
"If no one steps forward," Rey said pleasantly, "I'll simply assign the matches myself."
Eren's eyes slid toward Victor Jaeger. Victor noticed—and smirked. Eren's fist clenched.
"Fine," Eren said, stepping forward. "I'll challenge—"
"I challenge Eren Walker."
The voice cut through the arena before he could finish. Eren spun around. Rhea Morgarin stood beside Reo Rykkel, rapier already in hand. Her posture was straight, chin lifted, eyes sharp with intent.
"What?" Eren snapped.
Rey's lips curved slightly. "It appears Miss Mogarin has issued a formal challenge."
She gestured toward the stage. "Very well. You two—on the platform."
Eren ground his teeth, anger flaring hot in his chest. His challenge to Victor was gone—overruled before it could even exist. There was no refusing this. He stepped onto the stage opposite Rhea, the stone beneath his boots humming faintly as the containment runes activated. Rhea followed, her rapier angled downward but ready, eyes never leaving him. The arena quieted. Two figures stood facing one another. And whatever plans Eren had for this class—
They had just changed.
"Remember," Rey said, her voice carrying clearly across the arena, "the use of simple magic is authorized. Only simple magic. No elemental spells of any tier."
Her gaze swept across both fighters.
"You are permitted to use your Ability Factors—provided they are intrinsic to your combat style."
That was more than enough for Eren. He barely knew any elemental magic yet. What he did know—what he trusted—was his body, his instincts, and the power he could summon through sheer will. Across from him, Rhea drew her rapier in a smooth, practiced motion.
The thin, double-edged blade hummed as it drank in her anima. A translucent sheath of pink energy wrapped around the steel, sharpening its edge beyond the physical. A heartbeat later, that same anima surged through her body, coating her skin in a refined battle aura.
Eren's eyes narrowed.
Damn it… her aura's clean.
Too clean. He could see it now—the perfect circulation, the absence of turbulence. Her Aura Skin was fully realized, her anima flow precise and efficient. More refined than his own. Eren's control still had rough edges, power pushing against restraint rather than flowing seamlessly.
But that didn't matter. Power wasn't just polish. Eren exhaled slowly. His right fist clenched—and ignited. A blue, flame-like aura coiled around his knuckles, dense and volatile. It wasn't merely anima. It was something heavier, more compressed, as if the energy itself had been forced to kneel.
Rey's eyes sharpened.
That's not standard anima, she realized. It's the same quality as before… Just like the last time he had manifested that gauntlet. The density. The pressure. The presence. He's grown stronger, Rey admitted silently.
Rhea felt it too. Her grip tightened on the rapier as she studied him. Reo believed Eren Walker might be an Irregular—a theory he hadn't voiced lightly. And Rhea trusted Reo's perception. His instincts were rarely wrong. Yet the facts didn't align.
There are only six Irregulars, she reminded herself. All accounted for by the Global Union.
If Eren Walker truly was something else…
Then that makes him the seventh.
But he didn't fit the records. Irregulars were supposed to be monstrous from the start—overwhelming, uncontrollable, unmistakable.
Eren Walker was… focused. Dangerous, yes—but contained. Reo's interest in him didn't make sense.
Eren, meanwhile, spared none of this a thought. He didn't care what Rhea believed, or what Reo suspected. Right now, there was only one thing in his mind.
Win.
He shifted his footing and settled into his stance. Feet spread. Knees bent. Center of gravity low. Arms raised—not rigid, but alive with motion.
Stormwalker Guard.
The sparring stance of his Fa Jin martial art—used for live combat, instruction, and practice confrontation. Balanced between offense and defense, built to absorb force and return it multiplied. This was the stance he intend to use when training with someone.
Rey watched him closely.
I've never seen that stance before, she thought. That's not academy-standard. Not traditional either. Her lips curved slightly. Did he create his own martial art?
The runes beneath the stage pulsed. Two fighters faced one another. And for the first time, the Fracture Arena felt truly awake.
Rhea moved first. Her rapier flashed forward in a clean, linear thrust—direct, efficient, and fast enough to punish hesitation. Eren reacted instantly. He stepped off-line, letting the blade skim past empty space. But Rhea was already adjusting. Her wrist snapped, the rapier retracting and lunging again in a seamless second thrust.
Fast.
Eren pivoted his hips mid-step, rotating just enough to slip beyond the blade's arc. The motion wasn't just evasive—it was deliberate. Each step compressed power into his legs and core, loading his Fa Jin like a coiled spring. Rhea pressed the advantage. She advanced with another thrust, sharper and closer this time, aiming to pin him down.
Eren didn't retreat. He raised his forearm and struck the flat of the blade—not hard enough to clash, not slow enough to be caught. The contact was brief, precise, just enough to deflect the line of attack while siphoning the rapier's rotational momentum.
Fa Jin layered on Fa Jin.
Before Rhea could recover—
Eren released. His fist snapped forward, the stored force detonating in a compact burst that slammed into her shoulder. The impact wasn't explosive—it was surgical, a concentrated discharge that rattled bone and disrupted her stance. Rhea staggered half a step back, eyes widening as the delayed force rippled through her aura.
The crowd inhaled sharply.
Eren didn't pursue recklessly. He reset his stance, breathing steady, eyes locked on her—already reading her recovery, already preparing the next release. This wasn't a brawl. It was a demonstration.
And the fight had only just begun.
Rhea slid back with the impact, boots scraping against the stone as her aura flared to absorb the remainder of the force. Pain lanced through her shoulder—not crippling, but sharp enough to demand respect.
That blow… she realized. Condensed. Layered. That wasn't a normal strike.
Her eyes hardened.
Good.
She welcomed pressure. Rhea exhaled and let her anima surge, the pink sheen around her body tightening, refining. The rapier in her hand seemed to hum as her grip adjusted, fingers relaxing rather than tightening. She flowed back in. This time, her blade didn't move in a straight line.
It curved. A feint—high to draw Eren's guard—then a sudden dip of her wrist as the rapier slid low, angling for his ribs. The strike was elegant, deceptive, driven by years of formal dueling discipline.
Eren caught the shift an instant before it landed. He leaned, not away but through the motion, letting the blade skim close enough to feel the pressure change in the air. His heel twisted, grounding him as his core rotated, storing another coil of Fa Jin.
Rhea didn't stop. She pivoted smoothly, the rapier tracing a tight arc as she turned the missed thrust into a slicing backhand aimed for his neck. The attack flowed without pause—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Eren ducked under it, shoulder rolling forward as he slipped inside her range.
Too close. Rhea snapped her elbow back, driving it toward his temple. Eren raised his forearm, catching the strike and redirecting it just enough to bleed force. The contact sent a tremor through both of them—her refined aura meeting his dense, volatile power. They separated again in a single breath.
The arena had gone silent.
Stone cracked faintly beneath their feet as they circled, both adjusting, both recalibrating. Rhea's steps were light, precise, every movement balanced and efficient. Eren's were grounded and elastic, weight shifting constantly as he loaded and released power in micro-bursts.
He doesn't overextend, Rhea noted. He's waiting for me to commit. In that case...
She changed tactics. Rhea surged forward with a rapid series of thrusts—three, four, five in quick succession—each one aimed to herd Eren rather than hit him. The rapier became a line of pressure, forcing him to move where she wanted.
Eren complied. He gave ground—but on his terms. Each step back stored power. Each pivot wound his core tighter. When the final thrust came, sharper and deeper than the rest, Eren slipped to the side and struck the blade again, redirecting it outward. Then he stepped in. A short punch to her guard—not to hit, but to discharge stored force. The impact exploded against her aura, forcing her to brace. Rhea twisted with it, using the momentum to spin away, rapier flashing as she disengaged.
They reset. Breathing steady. Eyes locked on each other. Neither smiled. This wasn't about dominance anymore. It was about adaptation. And both of them were learning—fast. Rhea moved first again—but this time, she was smiling. Not tauntingly. It was there in the looseness of her shoulders, the confidence in the way she let her blade wander instead of stabbing straight for the kill.
Their footwork began to mirror one another.
Step. Pivot. Slide.
Steel traced arcs that never quite touched flesh. Eren slipped past the rapier's tip by a hair's breadth, his knuckles brushing the edge of her aura without committing. Rhea spun away, skirt flaring as she turned the motion into a graceful disengage. To the spectators, it stopped looking like a fight. It became a dance. Rhea laughed softly as she flowed back in, her voice carrying just enough to reach only him.
"You're not bad, Walker."
Eren ducked under a sweeping cut, rose inside her guard, then checked himself—pulling a punch short as her rapier slid up defensively.
"Focus," he muttered though he still couldn't help smiling too. "You're the one who challenged me."
"Oh, I am focused," Rhea replied.
She stepped in close, blade held low, their auras brushing. For a heartbeat, they were close enough that Eren could see the faint sheen of sweat at her temple, the freckles on her face, and the sharp intent in her eyes.
Then she spoke.
"How about we make this interesting?"
Eren smile deepened as he shifted back, deflecting another thrust. "I'm listening."
"Good," Rhea said, pivoting smoothly around him. She lunged—Eren sidestepped—and as they crossed paths, she added lightly: "If I win, you go on a date with me."
The words hit harder than any strike, making Eren freeze on the spot. She used that chance to attack again.
"What?" Eren barked, barely catching a follow-up cut as he deflected it with his forearm.
Rhea spun away, laughing now, genuine and bright. "Relax. One date. No tricks."
She flicked her rapier, aura flaring as she resumed her stance. "But if you win…"
Eren advanced, pressure rolling off him as his aura coiled tight. "I get what?"
Rhea met him head-on this time, blade clashing against redirected force as she answered:
"You get the right to finish your fight with Reo Rykkel."
The arena stirred. Eren's eyes sharpened. They exchanged a rapid flurry—thrust, deflection, short strike, retreat—each movement cleaner than before, their rhythm accelerating as understanding deepened.
"You're confident," Eren said, breath steady as he released a compact burst of strikes that Rhea narrowly avoided.
"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't," Rhea replied, sliding past him and tapping his shoulder lightly with the flat of her blade. "Besides—"
She stepped back, posture elegant, eyes bright with challenge.
"I want to see what you do when there's something on the line."
Eren smiled. It was slow. Sharp. Dangerous.
"Fine," he said, settling deeper into Stormwalker Guard as his aura flared brighter. "But don't regret it."
Rhea raised her rapier in salute.
"Same to you, Walker."
The runes beneath the stage pulsed harder. The dance resumed—but now, every step carried intent. Not just victory. But consequence. The tempo changed. Not faster—tighter. Eren and Rhea moved as if bound by an invisible thread, each reading the other with growing precision. Every step, every pivot, every feint carried intent layered over intent. Their auras brushed and recoiled, neither giving ground for long.
Rhea pressed in with a flurry—three thrusts in rapid succession, each one designed to force a reaction rather than land a hit. Eren answered with motion. He slipped past the first, redirected the second with a sharp forearm strike, and rolled under the third, releasing a short, controlled burst of Fa Jin that cracked against the stage where Rhea had been a heartbeat earlier.
She twisted mid-air, boots skidding as she landed, rapier snapping back into guard.They were breathing harder now. Sweat beaded at their temples. Hair stuck to skin. The crowd had gone completely silent. Eren surged. This time, he committed.
He stepped in hard, loading Fa Jin through his core and legs, his fist driving forward in a compact arc meant to end it. Rhea met him halfway, abandoning distance and elegance as she closed in. Her rapier flashed—not to strike, but to bind. Steel slid along Eren's forearm, her aura flaring as she used the contact to redirect his punch while simultaneously driving her shoulder into his chest.
The impact echoed. Eren's strike detonated a fraction too late, exploding into empty air as Rhea's counter sent both of them skidding back across the stage. They stopped at the same time. Eren's fist hovered inches from Rhea's ribs. Rhea's rapier rested against Eren's throat—flat side, but unmistakably close. For a breath, neither moved. Then another.
The runes beneath the platform flared brightly.
"Enough."
Reyna Greyron's voice cut cleanly through the arena. She stepped forward, her presence alone forcing the tension to dissipate. Her crimson eyes flicked between the two students, taking in their posture, breathing, and the precise distance of their final positions. A slow smile crossed her face.
"This match is a draw," Rey announced. A murmur rippled through the spectators. Eren lowered his fist, exhaling sharply. Rhea withdrew her rapier and stepped back, her smile returning—this time softer, satisfied.
"Well," she said lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "I suppose that means no date."
"Well, I can always challenge Rykkel anytime," Eren said, turning around to leave the stage. "Nice fight, Mogarin. You were way better than I gave you credit for at first."