Adom stared at Naia's outstretched hand. Time seemed to slow as his brain processed what was happening.

Being singled out wasn't unusual for him, but being challenged to a duel by a Tirajin diplomat's daughter on her first day? That was new.

The entire room had gone completely silent. He could practically feel the weight of everyone's stares boring into his back.

The logical part of his mind—the part that had survived decades of experience condensed into memories that sometimes felt like someone else's life—assessed the situation clinically. Combat-capable species. Unknown magical affinity. Probable diplomatic training.

But the thirteen-year-old part of him—the part that still sometimes forgot he was actually eighty—felt a simple, undeniable spark of curiosity.

What's her angle?

Naia hadn't moved. Her hand remained extended, amber eyes fixed on his with an intensity that suggested she wouldn't be deterred easily. The slight curl at the corner of her mouth hinted that she might be enjoying his hesitation.

Adom mentally shrugged. What the hell. He'd faced far worse than an impromptu duel with a mysterious foreign student.

"Sure," he said, taking her hand. Her grip was firm, her skin surprisingly warm—warmer than any human's would be.

The collective gasp that followed made him wonder if he'd accidentally agreed to something more serious than a supervised classroom duel. Very dramatic.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam hissed beside him, but his friend's tone lacked real alarm. It was more the obligatory protest of someone who'd long since accepted that Adom would do exactly as he pleased. "You don't know anything about her abilities."

"That's rather the point of a duel, isn't it?" Adom replied quietly.

Naia's smile widened, revealing more of those delicate fangs. "I'm glad," she said, her voice carrying just enough to be heard by the nearby rows. "I worried you might be a coward."

"Ha!" Adom couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I think caution and cowardice aren't the same thing," he said, rising from his seat.

He stood, and suddenly became acutely aware of just how tall she was. The top of his head barely reached her shoulder. At thirteen, his body had barely hit the growth spurt that would eventually bring him to his adult height. Naia, meanwhile, easily topped six feet, her slender frame making her appear even taller.

"Sylla, sit down!" "Are you insane?" "She'll crush you!"

The comments drifted up from various parts of the room. Adom ignored them as he gestured for Naia to lead the way down to the arena floor.

As they descended the steps, she leaned slightly closer. "I've heard quite a bit about you, you know," she said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather rather than preparing to fight. "Commander Sylla's son. The boy who survived a high-ranked dungeon."

Adom raised an eyebrow.

"They say you emerged with white hair," she continued. Her eyes flicked to the stark white streak that ran through his otherwise dark hair. "Though I confess I expected it to be more... complete. I imagined your entire head turned white from whatever horrors you witnessed."

"Sorry to let you down," Adom said dryly. "I'll try for a more theatrical trauma next time."

That surprised a laugh out of her—a light, elegant sound that seemed at odds with her imposing appearance. "You're funny. I wasn't expecting that."

They reached the arena floor, their footsteps echoing slightly on the polished stone. The space seemed larger from down here, the tiered seating rising around them like the walls of a pit. Every face was turned toward them, every conversation hushed.

"I do appreciate your willingness to accept my challenge," Naia said, her tone shifting to something more formal. "It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't immediately assume I'm to be feared or avoided."

"Is that what usually happens?" Adom asked, genuinely curious.

A flicker of something—annoyance? resignation?—crossed her features before her composure returned. "Let's just say your classmates' reactions were not unexpected."

Professor Crowley appeared beside them, crystal amulets in hand. "Since you two seem eager to provide our first demonstration, let's proceed." He handed them each a protection amulet. "Place these around your necks."

Adom slipped the crystal over his head, feeling the cool weight of it against his chest. It hummed faintly, responding to his proximity.

"Remember," Crowley addressed them both, but his eyes lingered on Naia, "this is a controlled exercise. The objective is demonstration of skill and adaptability, not injury."

Naia nodded respectfully. "Of course, Professor."

"The rules are simple," Crowley announced, loud enough for all to hear. "Combat continues until one participant yields, is rendered incapable of continuing, or until I determine further engagement would serve no educational purpose." He stepped back, gesturing to opposite sides of the arena. "Take your positions. When I signal, you may begin."

As they separated, Naia rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Her tail flicked with what appeared to be excitement, and when their eyes met across the arena, she winked at him.

Adom responded with a slight nod and a small smile of his own.

He was curious about her abilities, certainly, but didn't overthink her motives. She was probably just another combat junkie looking for a decent fight. The Academy was full of them—people who collected interesting opponents like trophies. His dungeon survival story had obviously put him on her list of people worth challenging.

From across the arena, Naia took her position with the poised confidence of someone thoroughly trained in formal combat. Her posture was perfect, her expression composed.

Crowley raised his hand, preparing to give the signal.

The room held its breath.

Crowley's hand began to descend.

[Flow Prediction] activated.

Time slowed to a crawl. The world around Adom sharpened into hyper-focus—every detail, every movement, every flicker of energy suddenly outlined with crystal clarity.

Naia was already moving.

The average human reaction time is about a quarter of a second—250 milliseconds from stimulus to response. Naia had started her spell before Crowley's hand had dropped even an inch. She was operating at least twice that speed, her mind-to-magic pathways clearly well-developed and heavily trained.

Embers formed around her palms without any visible weaving gestures. No finger movements, no verbal components. Just pure mental construction. Most mages needed at least some physical focus to channel mana properly. A well-practiced spell took under a second to form if you could hold the construct clearly in your mind, but this—this was high-level weaving.

Under her feet, a heat shimmer appeared—the beginnings of a propulsion spell. The construct was efficient: minimal energy waste, perfect form. She wasn't planning to run at him. She was going to launch herself, closing the distance in a fraction of a second.

The angle of her body, the slight coiling of her muscles, the distribution of her weight—all told him exactly where she'd land. At least three feet in front of him, right hand leading with what would likely be an enhanced fire strike.

Crowley's hand continued its descent, now halfway down.

The embers around Naia's hands had grown into small dancing flames. Based on their color and intensity, she was using a mid-level fire technique—hot enough to cause serious pain, but not lethal. Good control. She was taking this seriously but being mindful of the classroom setting.

Her center of gravity was shifting forward. Her weight was distributed 70/30 between her back and front legs. She'd push off that back foot, using it as her primary launch point. Her legs were her anchor, her foundation. Take those away, and her entire attack sequence would crumble.

Time to move.

Crowley's hand completed its downward arc.

"Begin!"

Naia launched forward exactly as he'd predicted—a crimson blur propelled by flame.

One second.

Adom weaved two spells simultaneously: [Stone Grip] flowing into his right hand, [Wind Shield] forming around his left. The spells snapped into place immediately.

Two seconds.

She was halfway to him, her trajectory perfect, right fist wreathed in flame and cocked back for a devastating strike. Her eyes widened slightly—she hadn't expected him to remain stationary.

That was her first mistake.

As she entered his range, Adom stepped slightly to the left. Her momentum carried her forward, her punch slicing through empty air where his head had been a split second before.

Two and a half seconds.

His right hand shot out, [Stone Grip] activating as his fingers clamped around her throat. Not squeezing—just controlling. His left hand caught her fire-wrapped fist, [Wind Shield] neutralizing the flames on contact.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Using her own momentum against her, Adom pivoted sharply, sweeping her legs out from under her with a low kick to the back of her knees.

Without her legs to stabilize her, Naia's balance collapsed instantly.

Three seconds.

Adom drove her downward, slamming her back against the arena floor with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs. The impact echoed through the arena like a thunderclap.

Before she could recover, he had a spell primed above her face—a concentrated ball of pressure that would cause no permanent damage but would definitely hurt if released.

Naia lay there, pinned, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her chest heaved as she tried to regain her breath.

Adom blinked, surprised by his own efficiency. He'd expected more resistance, more... challenge. He'd fought thugs in the Undertow who'd put up a better fight. He'd prepared himself for a difficult battle against this diplomatic daughter from a warrior race, and yet...

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I guess a kid's still a kid.

Naia's surprise faded. "I yield," she said, her voice steady despite her position.

For a frozen moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The entire room seemed to be processing what they'd just witnessed.

Then chaos erupted.

"Holy crap, did you see that?" "He just—in like three seconds—" "Did anyone even see what happened?"

Sam, meanwhile, had launched from his seat, applauding wildly with a triumphant grin spread across his face. He caught Adom's eye and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Adom returned the gesture with a subtle thumbs-up of his own.

"Sam, please sit down," someone nearby groaned. "You're blocking the view."

Sam responded by applauding even louder while remaining firmly on his feet.

Professor Crowley watched it all with a thin smile, making no immediate attempt to restore order. He seemed to be studying the reactions as much as he had studied the brief duel itself.

On the arena floor, Naia pushed herself up onto her elbows, then to her feet with a fluid motion that suggested she wasn't badly hurt, just winded. She stood for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck where it had impacted the floor, then looked at Adom.

She smiled and extended her hand again, the gesture different this time—horizontal. Was there a meaning behind that?

Adom took it without hesitation. Her grip was noticeably firmer than before.

"You're much stronger than you look," she said, not bothering to lower her voice despite the ongoing commotion around them.

"I hear that a lot."

Naia shook her head, her small horns catching the light. "No," she said with conviction. "I don't think you do." She flexed her hand, the one he'd caught mid-punch. "You didn't use Fluid. No enhancement spells at all. Just raw physical strength and technique."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly. "Tirajin are naturally much stronger than humans—it's not boasting, just biology. Even a half-grown Tirajin like me." She gestured to herself with a quick flick of her tail. "I wasn't expecting you to take such a physical approach. Most humans rely on spellwork when facing my kind."

"Oh, uh, maybe I'm not most humans?"

Did that sound too cocky? I definitely sounded cocky.

"Clearly not." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "And thank the one God for that. Most humans are terribly boring."

Professor Crowley had finally moved to the center of the arena, raising both hands for quiet. The excited chatter continued unabated.

"SILENCE!" he commanded, his voice amplified by a subtle pulse of mana.

The room fell instantly quiet, a few students wincing at the volume.

"The winner of this demonstration duel is Adom Sylla," Crowley announced, gesturing toward Adom. "A clear victory through excellent tactical assessment and efficient execution."

A few students started to clap, but Crowley silenced them with a look. "This is not a theatrical performance. It is an educational exercise. You would do well to consider what you observed rather than merely react to it."

He turned to Naia and Adom, lowering his voice. "Miss Lazarai, are you injured?"

"No, Professor," she answered promptly. "Just my pride, perhaps. And that will heal quickly enough."

She looked at Adom again. "Thank you for the match. I'd very much like to fight you again—and understand exactly how I lost so quickly." Her smile broadened. "I have much to learn, it seems."

"Sure," Adom said easily. "Whenever you want."

"Tomorrow?" she asked immediately.

"I... Uh..." He was taken off guard. Was he even free tomorrow? Probably not, maybe he'd jus-

"I insist." Naia pressed.

"Tomorrow works." Adom finally said. This wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe he'd get to make a new ally, even.

Crowley turned his attention to Adom. "Mr. Sylla, I must say you've improved considerably since I last observed your combat abilities." The professor's gaze was penetrating, assessing. "Your response time and technique were... notably advanced."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm pleased to see you can defend yourself so effectively now."

The professor glanced between them, then addressed Naia again. "Miss Lazarai, do not be discouraged by this outcome. Mr. Sylla here has unfortunately had the benefit of real battle experience—with his life at genuine risk—unlike any other student in this classroom." He paused. "Experience is often a more effective teacher than formal training, though considerably less pleasant."

"I'm not discouraged, Professor," she said, her tail swishing. "I'm motivated."

Before Adom could respond, Crowley clapped his hands once. "Back to your seats, both of you. We have more duels to observe today."

As they walked back toward the tiered seating, Lucia Wei leaned over the railing. "Sylla! Did you practice all summer or something?"

"Or something," Adom replied vaguely.

A few rows up, someone whispered loudly enough to be heard: "Maybe it's the white streak in his hair. It's like... magic power stored in there or something."

"That's not how magic works, you idiot," their neighbor hissed back.

"Then how did he move so fast?"

"Maybe he's just good?"

Naia chuckled beside him. "Your classmates are very creative with their theories."

"You have no idea," Adom muttered. "Just wait until tomorrow's rumors."

*****

Adom and Sam cut across the Academy grounds, taking the most direct route to the Krozball pitch. The sun was high in the sky, mid afternoon. Some first years were practising their weaving in the gardens, while others were going to the library. Early semester was always calm.

"So let me get this straight," Sam said, still processing everything Adom had told him about the duel with Naia. "You just... what? Saw her attack before she even launched it?"

"Pretty much." Adom shifted his training bag to his other shoulder. "Once [Flow Prediction] activated, her movements became obvious. Like watching someone try to sneak up on you in slow motion."

"And you just... caught her fist? A Tirajin's fist?" Sam's eyes widened. "You know they're supposed to wrestle adult dire bears for coming-of-age rituals, right?"

"I think that might be an exaggeration."

"My cousin swears he saw one lift a big cart to retrieve a coin underneath."

"The one that also swears he dated a mermaid?"

"That was a misunderstanding! She had very scaly skin!" Sam protested, then waved it away. "Beside the point. Physically restraining a Tirajin is crazy. I still don't fully understand how those passive skills of yours work."

"Which part confuses you?"

"Mostly the energy consumption." Sam adjusted his glasses. "When we first talked about [Silverback's Might] and [Healing Factor], you mentioned your metabolism runs hot, but you don't seem to be constantly ravenous."

Adom glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. "My body's operating at optimal efficiency now. I eat more, sure, but the conversion rate is incredible."

"Like how incredible?"

"Remember when I came back to the dorm with those deep cuts and bruises a couple days ago? They mostly were gone by morning."

Sam whistled low. "And that didn't put you in an energy deficit? Healing that fast should have you eating like a troll."

"That's the fascinating part. My system extracts and stores energy from food much more efficiently than before. I only need significant extra calories when I'm actively healing or pushing my strength to the limit." Adom flexed his hand. "The rest of the time, my consumption is just moderately higher than normal."

"And your muscles?"

"Same principle, different application. They look normal but perform at levels no human should be capable of."

"That's..." Sam stopped walking, his face scrunched in concentration. "Actually, you need to teach me that transmutation technique you used."

"I... don't think it's a good idea to try it. I know I did, but I was kind of desperate with Shadowfade syndrom an hour away from me." Adom motioned for them to keep moving. "I almost died."

They passed under the shadow of the all new Arcanum Tower, its spire reaching high above them. Students moved in orderly patterns across the grounds.

"You know what's weird," Sam said after a moment, "is how much lighter you seem now."

"Lighter?"

"Yeah. Like, ever since you told me everything—about your past life, the reincarnation, all of it—you just seem... I don't know, less burdened." Sam gestured vaguely at Adom's posture. "Like you're not carrying it alone anymore."

Sam wasn't wrong. There was something freeing about having someone who knew everything, someone he didn't have to lie to or edit himself around.

"It helps," he admitted. "Being able to talk openly with you."

"Must have been exhausting, keeping all that bottled up."

"You have no idea."

"Actually, I do have some idea," Sam said, more seriously than his usual tone. "I'm the one you talk to now, remember? And I gotta say, your life story is a lot to process."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize. It's fascinating." Sam's voice dropped to an excited whisper. "I'm friends with someone who's literally lived another lifetime. Do you have any idea how cool that is?"

"Is that all I am to you?" Adom asked dryly. "A walking historical curiosity?"

"A walking historical curiosity with combat skills and secret identities." Sam grinned. "Best. Friend. Ever."

They rounded the corner past the Alchemy building, and the Krozball pitch came into view. A few figures were already running drills on the field.

"Speaking of your past knowledge," Sam said, his tone becoming more thoughtful, "were you expecting the Tirajin to show up like this? At the Academy?"

Adom shook his head. "Never happened in my timeline. Not even close."

"And that worries you."

It wasn't a question. Sometimes Sam was too perceptive.

"Yeah," Adom admitted. "It means things are diverging from what I remember even more. Political alignments, alliances, maybe even major events."

"So your future knowledge..."

"Is becoming too unreliable." Adom kicked at a loose stone on the path. "In my timeline, the Tirajin were isolationists. They barely traded with the Empire, let alone sent diplomatic missions or enrolled students in the Academy."

"From what I've heard, Naia's father is a cousin to their king. One of the most influential people in their nation."

"Where'd you hear all this?"

"Dinner hall. I talked to a few people after the duel. Diplomat kids." Sam adjusted his glasses. "Apparently, they're here to finalize some kind of alliance with the Empire."

"An alliance?" That was definitely new. In Adom's previous life, the Tirajin had maintained strict neutrality during the coming conflicts. Their involvement would change everything.

"Mutual defense pact, from what I gathered. They share a border, after all."

"Against what?" Adom asked, though he suspected he already knew.

"The rising orc tribes in the east, for one. The Farmusian empire, and also the dungeon breaks." said Sam. "They're becoming more frequent. Three major incidents in the last year alone."

Dungeon breaks. Early signs of the World Dungeon stirring. In his past life, they'd started the same way—isolated incidents growing steadily more common until they became near-constant emergencies.

The pattern was unmistakable. Within a few decades, they'd be happening weekly, then daily. The precursor to what he'd come to know as the end times.

"It's starting," he murmured.

"What is?"

"The pattern. The build-up." Adom shook his head. "It'll get worse."

Sam studied him for a moment. "You know, sometimes I forget that you've actually lived through catastrophic events. That you're not just theorizing."

"Lucky you," Adom said grimly.

They walked in silence for a few paces before something small and white fluttered down in front of Adom, landing on the pathway between him and Sam.

"What the—" Adom began, before both boys looked up.

A raven perched on a nearby branch, its feathers glossy black in the afternoon sun. It tilted its head, regarding them with one beady eye, then opened its beak.

"Student Adom Sylla!" the bird announced in a voice that somehow managed to be both croaky and officious at the same time.

Adom raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Letter delivery from Biggins!" The raven ruffled its feathers importantly.

Sam sighed dramatically. "These ravens are getting more insufferable by the day. Last week, one dropped a small package directly on Professor Orlaf's head during lecture. Didn't even apologize."

The raven scoffed loudly, flapped its wings, and soared away without another word.

Adom laughed as he bent to pick up the folded paper.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing. Just—" Adom's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. "You're having a feud with the messenger birds."

"Oh, please," Sam rolled his eyes. "Just read your letter."

Adom unfolded the paper, immediately recognizing Biggins' distinctive handwriting—looping and elegant, yet somehow giving the impression of being scrawled in a great hurry.

MY DEAR BOY!

SIMPLY MARVELOUS NEWS! I couldn't possibly wait until your next visit to share this positively ELECTRIFYING development! (

I've secured you a SPONSOR with the House of Merchants! The Honorable Madame Faraday herself! Yes, THAT Faraday—terrifying woman, magnificent taste in teacups.

Do pop by the shop when convenient. We have DETAILS to discuss, PLANS to finalize, and I've acquired a new tea blend that tastes like sunshine filtered through cloud vapor. Or possibly just jasmine. My palate isn't what it once was after all.

Yours in anticipation, The Astonishingly Clever (And Modestly Humble) Mr. Biggins

"WHOO!" Adom whooped, startling a group of first-years practicing nearby. He folded the letter and tucked it carefully into his inner pocket.

Sam eyed him curiously. "Good news, I take it?"

"That's sponsor number two," Adom said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "Someone named Faraday. Madame Faraday."

"Wait, The Madame Faraday? She basically owns half the shipping routes to the Southern Isles!"

"I didn't know that."

Sam whistled. "Impressive. Her guild's ranked among the top ten seats I think."

Adom gave him a playful shove. "Two sponsors. We're almost there, Sam. The Wangara Guild is going to happen."

"Just the Lightbringers left then?"

"Just the Lightbringers." Adom started walking again, his pace quickening.

They continued toward the Krozball pitch, which was now fully visible ahead. Several players were already running drills, their movements quick and precise. Hugo stood at the center, clipboard in hand, barking occasional instructions.

"Speaking of following," Sam said, "you're going to be late if we don't hurry."

They jogged the rest of the way, arriving just as the team was gathering for a huddle. Hugo spotted them and broke away, making a beeline for Adom.

"Adom!" he called waving at both of the boys. "Perfect timing. Coach wants to see you."

"Coach Viriam?" Adom asked, setting his bag down. "I thought I'd meet him at the next regular practice."

"Change of plans. He's here now, and he's particularly interested in seeing you in action."

"Why the sudden interest?" Sam asked.

Hugo shrugged. "Word gets around. Not every day a third-year bests Serena in a duel." He glanced over at the field where the tall fifth-year was demonstrating a blocking technique. "Though I'd recommend not mentioning that to her face unless you enjoy pain."

"Noted," Adom said dryly.

"Anyway," Hugo continued, "we've got some good news. Remember our missing Runner position?"

"The one we didn't have during tryouts?"

"Filled as of this morning." Hugo said with a wide grin. "Coach wants to run some plays with the full lineup, see how everyone meshes together."

"Sounds good," Adom said. "Who's the new guy?"

Hugo started to answer but was cut off by Sam suddenly nudging Adom in the ribs—hard. Adom turned, following Sam's gaze toward the equipment lockers at the edge of the pitch.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure was emerging, adjusting armor plates. Even though his face was partially obscured by the helmet he was securing, there was no mistaking that particular way of rolling his shoulders.

Damus.

His eyes locked with Adom's across the pitch, and he scoffed visibly, turning away.

"Our new Runner," Hugo confirmed, apparently oblivious to the tension suddenly crackling in the air. "Coach says he's got the best acceleration he's seen in years."

Well, Adom thought, as Damus began walking toward them. This should be fun.

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