The Academy’s morning bell resonated through stone corridors at precisely six o’clock, but before most students had begun their routines, every communication crystal blazed to life simultaneously.

**[ACADEMY ANNOUNCEMENT]**

**FORMAL CHALLENGES ACCEPTED** 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

**Challenge One:**

**Challenger:** Roderick Veilmont (Rank 35)

**Challenged:** Sarah Millbrook (Rank 7)

**Time:** 2:00 PM - Main Arena

**Challenge Two:**

**Challenger:** [Name Withheld ] (Rank 19)

**Challenged:** Petra Blackthorne (Rank 1)

**Time:** 3:30 PM - Main Arena

**All afternoon classes are cancelled. Academy-wide observation is mandatory for both duels.**

**Principal Whitmore**

Helena woke to their crystal pulsing urgent blue light. She read the message twice before nudging her roommate.

"Sarah? You need to see this."

But Sarah’s bed was empty. Helena found her at the window, already dressed, staring out at morning mist clinging to the Academy grounds.

"You saw it," Helena said quietly. They’d been roommates for two weeks, but Sarah remained largely a mystery.

"The whole Academy will be watching." Sarah’s voice held surprising calm. "Both duels."

Helena read again, eyes widening. "Someone challenged Petra Blackthorne? The first place student? Who would be insane enough to..." She paused. "And they’re keeping the name secret for drama?"

Sarah turned from the window. Helena noticed something different in her expression. Yesterday’s terrified uncertainty had hardened into something else.

"At least I won’t be the only spectacle."*****

The boys’ dormitory erupted differently.

"SOMEONE CHALLENGED PETRA?" David Harwick’s shout echoed down the corridor. "THE Petra Blackthorne?"

His roommate Edwin sat reading and re-reading the announcement. "Nineteenth to first in one duel. That’s either genius or suicide."

Down the hall, whispered conversations buzzed behind doors:

"Anonymous challenger. That’s unusual."

"Name withheld? The Academy’s treating this like entertainment."

"Must be confident. Or completely mad."

"Anonymous challenges usually mean they don’t want political fallout."

The dining hall transformed into controlled chaos. Students clustered around tables, breakfast forgotten as they debated what they’d witnessed.

At the high table reserved for top ten students, uncomfortable tension settled. Petra Blackthorne sat alone at the head, methodically eating while pretending not to hear whispers. Her long black hair fell like a curtain around her face, but her knuckles were white where they gripped her fork.

Several seats down, other highly ranked students spoke in hushed tones.

"Should we say something to her?" Jennifer Walsh, ranked fourth, asked quietly.

"What would we say?" Thomas Reed, ranked sixth, replied. "Good luck not getting destroyed by some mystery challenger?"

"Whoever it is has balls," Michael Torres, ranked eighth, observed. "Challenging for first place directly."

At the opposite end of the hall, Roderick Veilmont held court at a table surrounded by admirers. His perfectly styled appearance hadn’t changed, but excitement glittered in his eyes.

"Two duels in one day," he said, cutting his breakfast with theatrical precision. "How delightfully dramatic."

"Your challenge was strategic brilliance," one follower gushed. "Exposing the Millbrook girl’s inadequacy while the whole Academy watches."

"Indeed. Though I admit curiosity about this anonymous challenger." Roderick’s smile sharpened. "Requesting name suppression shows either remarkable confidence or remarkable stupidity."

"Both challenges scheduled so close together," another student observed. "Almost coordinated."

Roderick’s knife paused momentarily. "Interesting observation. Though I can’t imagine what connection a commoner upstart and mysterious challenger might have."

Sarah sat at a smaller table near windows, picking at breakfast. Helena had offered to sit with her. Solidarity Sarah appreciated despite barely knowing her roommate. A few other students joined them, some concerned, others clearly hoping to witness drama.

"You know," Helena said tentatively, "you don’t actually have to do this. There has to be some way to withdraw without penalty."

"Twenty rank reduction for three declined challenges," Sarah replied quietly. "That puts me at twenty seventh. Low enough to lose advanced courses, research opportunities, specialized training."

"Still better than getting hurt," Helena said, though uncertainty colored her voice.

"What if you aged his sword instead of him?" offered another student. "Make his weapon too old to use?"

Sarah appreciated the attempt at help, but her mind kept circling back to the same terrifying question: what if she lost control again? What if she did to Roderick what she’d done to that kidnapper?*****

Morning classes proceeded despite official cancellation of afternoon sessions. Concentration proved nearly impossible.

In Professor Harold’s "Essence Theory and Application," students kept glancing at Sarah while whispering about the mysterious anonymous challenger nobody could identify.

"Miss Millbrook," Professor Harold said gently, "perhaps you’d demonstrate the basic essence flow exercise we discussed yesterday?"

Sarah stood on unsteady legs, acutely aware every eye was on her. She extended her hands as instructed, trying to feel for essence flow that supposedly moved through all awakened individuals.

Nothing.

"I can’t seem to..." she started.

"Perfectly normal," Professor Harold assured her, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Stress can interfere with essence manipulation. Try the breathing technique"

Sarah closed her eyes, attempting to remember the pattern. In for four counts, hold for four, out for four. But all she could think about was Roderick’s cold smile and the way that kidnapper had aged to death under her touch.

Warm sensation suddenly bloomed in her chest. Not pleasant, but not painful. Like touching something sitting in sunlight all day.

"Excellent!" Professor Harold exclaimed. "Can you feel the essence flow now?"

Sarah opened her eyes and gasped. Her hands glowed with faint, pulsing light that rippled like water. "Is it supposed to feel warm?"

"Warm is perfectly normal. Hot or cold would be concerning." Professor Harold moved closer, studying the light around her hands. "Temporal essence often manifests as warming sensation. Try to maintain that feeling. It’s your connection to your ability."

For twenty minutes, Sarah practiced maintaining the glow while Professor Harold explained essence flow theory. It wasn’t much, but more control than she’d ever had.

When class ended, several students approached with questions or encouragement. Others whispered among themselves: "looked stronger than expected..." "maybe the rumors are true..." "still think Veilmont will crush her..."*****

The dining hall was chaos at lunch. Word had spread beyond Academy walls, and faculty had received messages from noble families requesting observation permission. The answer was firm no. Academy business remained internal. But interest only heightened the sense that today’s events would have consequences beyond simple ranking adjustments.

Sarah ate little, stomach twisted with nervous energy. Helena sat nearby. Not exactly together, but close enough to offer quiet support. Her roommate kept glancing with obvious concern, though they’d only known each other two weeks.

"Maybe you could ask Professor Leo for last minute advice?" Helena suggested quietly.

Sarah appreciated the attempts at help, but her mind kept returning to the same question: how could she fight someone who’d trained his entire life when she barely understood her own ability?

What she needed wasn’t strategy. It was to not accidentally kill anyone.

Students began migrating toward the main arena as lunch wound down. Sarah could see them through windows. Small groups walking across courtyards, excited chatter carrying on afternoon breeze.

"It’s time," Helena said softly, voice carrying awkwardness of someone trying to support a roommate she barely knew.

Sarah stood, legs steadier than expected. "Helena? Thank you. For sitting with me."

Helena gave her an encouraging smile. "I’ll be watching. Good luck."

The main arena was unlike anything Sarah had ever seen. Built into a natural depression in Academy grounds, the circular space could seat nearly a thousand on carved stone benches rising in concentric rings around the central fighting area. Protective barriers shimmered above the arena floor—translucent walls of crystallized essence that would contain stray magical effects.

Sarah entered through the competitor’s tunnel, footsteps echoing hollow against stone. The tunnel opened onto a preparation chamber where Professor Leo waited, his military bearing somehow reassuring in the chaos of her thoughts.

"Miss Millbrook," he said with respectful nod. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrified," she answered honestly.

"Good. Fear keeps you alive in combat." Professor Leo gestured to a simple wooden chair. "Sit. We have a few minutes before the duel begins."

Through the chamber’s single window, Sarah could see the arena filling rapidly. Students packed lower tiers while faculty occupied a raised section with the best view. At the very top, Principal Whitmore sat in solitary authority, his weathered face unreadable.

"The rules are simple," Professor Leo explained, cutting through her growing panic. "First blood, loss of consciousness, or formal submission ends the match. The barriers will contain essence effects, but won’t stop physical attacks. Professor Harold is standing by for immediate healing if needed."

Sarah nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the growing roar from above.

"Your opponent will enter from the eastern tunnel in three minutes. When you’re both in position, I’ll signal the start. No weapons are permitted—this is essence and hand-to-hand combat." Professor Leo studied her face carefully. "Questions about the rules?"

"What if I can’t control it? My ability?"

Professor Leo’s expression softened slightly. "Professor Drik is maintaining containment barriers specifically designed for temporal effects. Professor Harold has experience treating accelerated aging injuries. You won’t accidentally kill anyone today."

The words should have been reassuring, but Sarah caught the careful phrasing. *You won’t accidentally kill anyone.* Which meant they were prepared for her to try.

"It’s time," Professor Leo said, checking a timepiece. "Remember—this is combat, not demonstration. Use whatever advantages you have."