The second week at the academy accelerated quickly.
Orientation dust settled into a packed schedule of lectures, practicals, and subtle social maneuvering.
Lucien and Elara maintained their morning routine—brief strategy talks over breakfast—before diverging into their respective year groups.
Lucien’s first-year load felt relentless: back-to-back Mana Theory, Combat Applications, and History of Divine Interventions.
One afternoon, in a mixed first- and second-year Combat Applications class held on the sprawling eastern training fields, Lucien found himself without Elara’s direct backup for the first time in weeks.
The instructor, a burly retired knight named Captain Harlan, paired students for sparring drills.
Lucien drew a tall, broad-shouldered second-year named Darius Voss—son of a minor baron with a reputation for bullying lower years and a strong fire affinity that made him a nightmare in close combat.
The session started fast.
Captain Harlan barked orders, and students spread out across the field.
Lucien’s heart rate spiked as Darius swaggered over, cracking his knuckles with a smirk.
The older boy towered over him, muscles honed from extra training, flames already flickering faintly at his fingertips.
“Well, well.
The little Nightshade whelp,” Darius drawled loudly enough for nearby students to hear.
“Heard your family got jumped on the road recently.
Pathetic.
Need big sister to hold your hand in class too?”
Oh great.
Meathead McFirefist over here thinks he’s hot shit.
Bro looks like he benches carriages for fun while I was dodging traffic two timelines ago.
This is gonna suck.
Panic mode activated—do not engage, do not engage!
Lucien kept his expression neutral.
“Just here to train, Voss.”
The spar began.
Darius came in hot—literally.
A fast punch wreathed in flames forced Lucien to dodge sharply, shadows flaring instinctively to blunt the heat.
The older boy laughed, pressing the advantage with heavy, aggressive strikes.
Lucien’s training with Elara showed; he used reinforcing shadows to absorb blows and create distance, but Darius was stronger, faster, and far more experienced.
“You call that shadow play?” Darius taunted after landing a grazing hit that singed Lucien’s sleeve.
“Your sister’s the real talent.
You’re just the family embarrassment.” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Students gathered to watch.
Whispers spread.
Lucien’s mind raced in full unhinged panic while he circled warily.
This guy is built like a miniboss.
I’m out here doing shadow arts while he’s on roids and fire magic steroids.
Elara’s probably watching from somewhere, testing if I’m actually worth the sibling upgrade.
If I lose badly, it’s back to square one.
If I win—yeah right, keep dreaming.
Lock in or become barbecue!
He countered with a decent shadow bind on Darius’s leg, tripping the bigger boy momentarily.
The crowd murmured in surprise.
Darius recovered with a roar, unleashing a wave of flames that forced Lucien into a desperate roll.
Smoke rose.
The fight dragged on—intense, uneven, but Lucien held longer than anyone expected, using precise holds and evasions drilled during those long sessions with Elara.
Captain Harlan finally called time before it escalated further.
Darius wiped sweat from his brow, glaring.
“Not bad for a runt.
But you’re still weak.
I challenge you to a proper duel.
Next rest day.
No holding back.”
The field went quiet.
Formal duels were allowed but risky—especially against a stronger opponent.
Lucien’s stomach dropped.
A full duel?
Against this walking bonfire?
I’m so screwed.
My shadows are gonna get roasted like marshmallows.
Elara, if you’re watching, this is your cue to— nope, she’s probably sipping tea and grading my performance like a sadistic instructor.
Thanks, sis.
He straightened, breathing hard.
“Accepted.”
Murmurs rippled louder.
Darius grinned viciously and stalked off.
As the class dispersed, Lucien spotted Elara leaning against a distant pillar, arms crossed.
She didn’t intervene.
Her expression was unreadable—watching, assessing.
Testing.
Later that evening, back in the dorm wing, Elara found him in a quiet courtyard.
She moved with her usual grace, seventeen and every bit the upperclassman.
“You lasted longer than I expected against Voss,” she said, voice carrying both appraisal and faint approval.
“The binds were cleaner.
Our training is showing.”
Lucien rubbed his singed sleeve.
“He’s way stronger.
The duel’s going to be brutal.”
Elara tilted her head.
“It will.
And you’ll handle it.
Or you won’t.
I wanted to see if you could stand on your own.” A small, almost proud smile touched her lips.
“You didn’t embarrass the name.
That’s progress.”
She’s proud?
In her villainess way?
This timeline is wild.
I went from panicking delivery boy to earning grudging respect points.
Still gonna get my ass kicked though.
Send prayers—or better shadows.
They reviewed techniques late into the evening, Elara adjusting his forms with critical but patient guidance.
The upcoming duel loomed, but so did their growing partnership.