The Tournament Committee War Room was high in the central spire of the Academy, but the shouting was loud enough to rattle the stained glass windows.

Around a massive, polished obsidian table sat the leaders of the visiting delegations. Headmaster Joric of the Iron-Clad Academy sat like a boulder, his arms crossed, watching the chaos with a grim amusement. Next to him, the High Arcanist of the Clockwork Mages, a woman whose left eye was replaced by a whirring brass lens, was on her feet, slamming a metal-gloved hand onto the table.

"This is a violation of the Charter, Subsection 4, Paragraph 9!" Arcanist Vex hissed, her mechanical eye zooming in and out as it focused on Alistair. "The roster was locked at dawn! You cannot simply drop a new combatant into the arena mid-match! The boy is an illegal variable! His mana readings during the intermission spiked higher than a reactor core!"

"He is a student of Azurefall," Alistair said calmly, though he looked tired, rubbing his temples. "He was listed as 'Missing in Action', not 'Deceased'. His return restores his eligibility automatically. Check Subsection 5."

"Eligibility?" scoffed the Matriarch of the Sand-Walkers, her face hidden behind a veil of gold chains. Her voice was like dry leaves. "He shattered a Domain Spell with physical mass! He spoke a Command that silenced a fifty-thousand-person crowd! He used a form of magic that doesn't exist in our codex! He is not a student, Alistair. He is a danger."

"He is a danger to your students," Joric rumbled, a grin splitting his beard. "Because he beat them. I say let him fight. If he breaks the rules, we disqualify him. If he breaks your faces, you should have trained harder. Isn't that the point of this alliance? To find the strongest?"

"This is not a brawl, Joric!" Vex shouted, pointing a brass finger at him. "This is a sanctioned tournament! We are trying to build a Vanguard, not a slaughterhouse! We demand his disqualification on the grounds of unfair advantage!"

The heavy double doors groaned open.

The room went silent.

Elara Zephyrwind walked in. She wore her simple blue instructor's tunic, but today, she didn't look like a retired librarian. She looked vibrant. The gray pallor of exhaustion was gone, replaced by a healthy, terrifying glow. Her violet eyes swept the room, and every Headmaster—even Joric—stiffened.

She didn't take a seat. She walked to the head of the table and placed her hands on the obsidian surface.

"You are debating the eligibility of my son," Elara said. Her voice was low, pleasant, and utterly lethal.

"Elara," Vex stammered, sitting down quickly, her mechanical eye whirring nervously. "We... we are simply upholding the integrity of the brackets. We must ensure a fair playing field."

"Integrity," Elara repeated, tasting the word like it was spoiled milk. "You are afraid. You saw what he did to the Sand-Walkers, and you realized your champions might not be the strongest in the room anymore. You want to disqualify him because he is an anomaly."

She leaned forward. The air pressure in the room dropped, the candles flickering blue.

"Disqualify him," Elara whispered. "Go ahead. Cite your Charter. But know this: if you remove Kairen Zephyrwind from this tournament, Azurefall withdraws from the Alliance. Today. Now."

The Headmasters gasped.

"You can't be serious," the Sand-Walker Matriarch hissed, standing up. "The Demon King is mobilizing! The Void Hand is active! We need the Scribe! We need your walls!"

"Then you take the son," Elara said, straightening up, her eyes blazing. "We are a package deal. You want the Azure Devil on your wall? Then you let the Catalyst stand in your ring. There is no negotiation."

She turned to leave, her robes swirling. "Do we have an accord?"

Silence stretched in the room, heavy and suffocating.

"Fine," Vex muttered, looking away. "He fights."

"Good," Elara said, not looking back. "Round Two begins tomorrow. Try not to be late."

The mess hall was chaos.

Every table was full, and every eye was turned toward the corner where Squad 7 sat. Students from the East were sketching Kairen in notebooks. Northern students were pointing and whispering about his "gravity blade." Even the cooks were peeking out from the kitchen.

Dain Ragnor was trying to act like a bodyguard, sitting with his back to the room, expanding his shoulders to block the view. "Eat your eggs, Kai. Ignore them. They're just vultures."

"Kind of hard to ignore," Kairen muttered, poking at his toast. "I feel like a zoo animal. Is that guy drawing me?"

"You dropped from the sky like a meteor," Ilya said, cutting her sausage with precise, surgical strokes. She didn't look up. "You broke a mental domain with your face. What did you expect? Anonymity? You're the main event now."

Kaelan sat quietly at the end of the table. He hadn't touched his food. He kept glancing at Kairen, then looking away, his one hand gripping his fork too tightly. He felt like an impostor. He was the one who had failed; Kairen was the one who had returned as a god.

"They're looking at you because you're strong," Kaelan whispered, mostly to himself. "They're looking at me because I'm half a mage."

Kairen noticed. He stopped eating.

He stood up. The entire mess hall went silent, waiting to see what the "Hero" would do. Would he make a speech? Would he summon a sword?

Kairen picked up his chair. It scraped loudly on the floor, a harsh sound in the quiet room. He dragged it around the table, squeezing between Dain and Kaelan. He slammed it down right next to the one-armed mage.

He sat. He bumped Kaelan's shoulder with his own.

"Hey," Kairen said.

Kaelan jumped, startled. "Uh... hey?"

"Pass the salt," Kairen said.

Kaelan blinked. He looked at the salt shaker sitting right in front of him. He looked at Kairen. "That's it? You come back from the dead, you scare the Alliance, and you want salt?"

"Eggs are bland," Kairen shrugged, grinning. "And you're hogging it. Just because you beat a lightning mage doesn't mean you get all the seasoning."

Kaelan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A small, genuine smile cracked his anxious face. He passed the shaker.

"Here," Kaelan said. "Don't choke on it."

"Thanks," Kairen said, shaking it over his plate. "So, who's next? Who do we have to beat? I haven't seen the updated bracket."

"The Glacial Spire," Lia said, her voice small but steady. She smiled at Kairen, grateful for the normalcy. "The Ice Witches."

"Ice," Kairen mused, chewing. "That could be tricky."

"Tricky?" Dain snorted. "They float, Kai. They don't even touch the ground. They rain hail the size of anvils. How do we hit them if we can't reach them?"

"We don't," Kairen said, taking a bite of eggs. "We make them come down."

"How?" Ilya asked, finally looking up.

"Gravity," Kairen said. "It's a harsh mistress."

An hour later, they were in the private training courtyard.

"Show us," Dain demanded. He had his shield up, his stance wide. Ilya had drawn Eclipse, the black blade drinking the sunlight. "You said you have a new sword. Let's see if it works against real steel. Don't hold back, ghost boy."

Kairen stood opposite them. He wasn't wearing armor. He looked relaxed, his hands hanging at his sides.

"I won't," Kairen promised. "Ready?"

"Always," Ilya said.

She vanished into a shadow-step, reappearing behind him, slashing low with her Moon-Steel blade. It was a kill shot.

Kairen didn't turn. He just reached over his shoulder.

SHING.

The Essence Blade appeared in his hand, instantaneous and bright.

"Earth."

The blade turned black. He didn't swing it; he just dropped the tip to the ground behind him.

CLANG.

Ilya's sword hit the Essence Blade and stopped dead. The sheer density of the "Earth" form absorbed all the kinetic energy. It was like hitting a mountain. Ilya's arm went numb, vibrating up to her shoulder.

"Too heavy," she hissed, leaping back.

Dain charged from the front. "Shield Bash!"

Kairen spun. The black blade vanished.

"Water."

The Essence Blade turned translucent, fluid. As Dain slammed his shield forward, Kairen didn't block. He flowed around the shield, his blade bending like a whip, wrapping around Dain's guard and tapping him gently on the helmet.

Tink.

"Dead," Kairen whispered.

He stepped back, dismissing the blade. It dissolved into light.

Dain lowered his shield, grinning. "Okay. That's cool. Earth for weight, Water for flow. What else?"

"Fire, Wind, Lightning, Ice, Light, and Void," Kairen listed. "The Eight Forms. I'm still working on mixing them."

He looked at Kaelan, who was watching from the bench, looking dejected again.

"Kaelan," Kairen called. "Get in here."

"I can't," Kaelan said, looking at his stump. "I can't cast fast enough. I saw you move. You're too fast. I need two hands for the complex seals."

Kairen walked over to him. "Open your eyes, Kaelan. Your real eyes."

"What?"

"Look at me." Kairen opened his Third Eye. The indigo light flared in his pupils. "I see the mana around you. It's pooling in your shoulder. You're trying to push it through a limb that isn't there. You're wasting time trying to be who you used to be."

Kairen placed a hand on Kaelan's chest. "Stop trying to cast with your hands. Cast with your Core. You don't need fingers to freeze water. You just need Will. How does the ice feel?"

"Cold," Kaelan said. "Sharp."

"Then be sharp," Kairen said. He pointed at a training dummy. "Don't throw a bolt. Just decide it's frozen. Like you did in the arena against Vance. You didn't use a hand seal then. You just used your anger."

Kaelan frowned. He looked at the dummy. He stopped trying to make the gestures with his phantom hand. He just focused on the sensation of cold.

Freeze.

SNAP.

The dummy didn't get hit by a ball of ice. It simply turned white, frosted over instantly.

Kaelan stared. "That was... instant."

"Conceptual Magic," Kairen said. "My mom taught us. You're the only one who really got it. You don't need hands, Kaelan. You're dangerous because you're broken. You have nothing left to lose."

The next morning, the bracket was posted.

Round 2: Squad 7 (Azurefall) vs. The Coven of the Glacial Spire.

Squad 7 walked down the main hallway toward the arena preparation rooms. The air grew cold before they even saw them. Frost crept along the walls.

The Coven floated toward them. There were five of them, all tall, pale women with white hair and eyes like chips of blue ice. They didn't walk; they hovered six inches off the ground on discs of spinning frost.

Their leader, Iclyn, stopped in front of them. She looked down at Kaelan—literally looking down from her floating perch.

"So," Iclyn sneered, her voice like cracking ice. "This is the 'Hero Squad'. A brute, a shadow-rat, a weeping healer, and a cripple."

She laughed, a cold, tinkling sound. "You should have withdrawn, little boy. The Spire does not play games. We will freeze your blood before you can even speak a spell. You are outmatched."

Dain stepped forward, his hackles rising. "Watch your mouth, witch. You're talking to the victors of Round One."

"Luck," Iclyn dismissed. She looked at Kairen. "And who are you? The water boy? You don't even have a mana signature. Are you the mascot?"

Kairen put a hand on Dain's chest, stopping him.

Kairen stepped forward. He didn't flare his aura. He didn't summon his blade.

He did the opposite.

He engaged the Second Seal. He Closed the gate.

Instantly, his presence vanished. To the witches, he looked like... nothing. A normal, non-magical boy standing in a hallway. There was no mana. No pressure. Just a kid in a tunic.

Iclyn blinked, confused. "Where... where did his aura go?"

Kairen smiled. It was a polite, terrifyingly calm smile. He stepped closer to her floating disc.

"I'm the one you should be worried about," Kairen said softly.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the cold air.

"Because you can't freeze what isn't there."

He walked past them, signaling his squad to follow.

"See you in the ring, ladies," Kairen called back over his shoulder. "Bring a coat. It's going to get chilly."

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