The grand amphitheater of Arcanaeum Academy was alive with an electric energy, the hum of excitement rising like a crescendo as the tournament prepared to begin. The stadium was a breathtaking sight: an enormous, circular structure carved from obsidian and inlaid with glowing runes that pulsed rhythmically with mana. The seats stretched high into the sky, forming tiers that provided every spectator a clear view of the expansive stage below. Floating orbs of light hovered above, casting a soft, golden glow that illuminated the space without casting shadows.
At the center of the stage stood the host, a tall, commanding figure draped in flowing robes of deep crimson and gold. His presence alone seemed to anchor the swirling energy of the crowd. His name was Archmage Theodric Luminaris, a legend in the world of magic. His sharp, angular face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard streaked with silver, and his piercing emerald eyes sparkled with both wisdom and power. Despite his refined appearance, there was a casual confidence in the way he held himself, his movements fluid and deliberate, as though the stage itself bent to his will.
The crowd quieted as Theodric raised a hand, the mana in his gesture rippling visibly through the air like waves on water. His voice, amplified by a subtle spell, rang out clear and deep, carrying to every corner of the amphitheater.
"Welcome, one and all, to the Decennial Tournament of Arcanum!" he began, his words met with thunderous applause and cheers. The corners of his mouth lifted into a practiced smile, warm and inviting yet laced with authority. "Today, we gather not only to celebrate the unparalleled talent of our mages but to honor the legacy of magic itself."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the vast sea of spectators. His eyes lingered briefly on the highest seats, where high-ranking mages and dignitaries sat in reserved elegance. Among them was Lady Kaelith, her sharp features impassive but her piercing blue eyes observing everything. Beside her, the Archmage of the Obsidian Spire, a wiry elf with silvery hair and a faintly glowing staff, nodded approvingly as Theodric continued.
"As is tradition," Theodric said, his tone shifting to one of formality, "we begin by acknowledging those whose contributions have shaped our world." He gestured toward the dignitaries seated in a grand balcony lined with shimmering banners of the Great Houses. "The esteemed Archmage Seradion of the Starlight Citadel, Mistress Veyla of the Azure Enclave, and, of course, our own beloved Lady Kaelith, who continues to inspire generations of mages."
The dignitaries inclined their heads in acknowledgment as polite applause rippled through the crowd. Kaelith's lips twitched into a faint, fleeting smile, but her attention remained sharp, her gaze flickering toward the stage with keen interest.
Theodric allowed the applause to settle before continuing. "And now, to the heart of the matter: the tournament itself. This grand event tests not only raw magical talent but the wit, discipline, and heart that define a true mage." His voice grew more fervent, resonating with a contagious excitement. "The rules are simple: participants will face challenges tailored to test their mastery over their chosen disciplines. Each will be judged not solely on victory, but on creativity, adaptability, and spirit."
He stepped to the edge of the stage, his robes flowing dramatically behind him. "This year, competitors come from every corner of our world. From the hallowed halls of Arcanaeum to the rugged cliffs of Stormridge Academy, the mystical forests of Elderglow, and beyond. Now, let us meet the champions who will fight for glory!"
The crowd roared as Theodric gestured toward an arched entrance below the grand balcony. From the shadows emerged a line of participants, each walking toward the stage with purpose, their faces illuminated by the glowing runes etched into the floor.
The first to step forward was a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in the striking emerald-and-silver uniform of Stormridge Academy. His dark hair was tied back in a tight braid, and his sharp, angular features were set in a mask of stoic determination. His pale green eyes swept over the crowd with a calm intensity, his posture as solid as the cliffs his academy was known for.
The amphitheater erupted in cheers, the ground beneath them trembling with anticipation. The participants turned toward the stage's center, their expressions ranging from calm confidence to barely concealed nerves.
The stage shimmered, its runes glowing brighter as mana surged through the air, signaling the start of the first challenge.
Eren stood on the grand stage, his hands trembling slightly at his sides, though he clenched them into fists to still them. His brown eyes darted over the vast amphitheater, taking in the sea of faces staring back at him. Some bore expressions of confusion, others of ridicule, and a select few—like those of his bullies—twisted with incredulous disdain. The scattered whispers from the crowd grew louder, a wave of murmurs that rippled through the arena like a rising tide.
Eren's chest tightened, and he forced himself to breathe deeply, his mind racing. How did my name get on the list? he wondered, his thoughts swirling with disbelief. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he looked down at the glowing runes on the stage beneath his feet, almost hoping they might hold some answer.
From across the stage, Ragnar Thornshield's stoic demeanor faltered slightly. The broad-shouldered man narrowed his pale green eyes, his gaze hardening as he studied Eren. His arms crossed over his chest, the metallic fabric of his academy uniform rustling faintly. Ragnar's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a firm line as he exchanged a puzzled glance with Selene, who stood beside him.
Selene Veylinor, the serene druidess of Elderglow, tilted her head, her silver hair cascading like liquid moonlight over her shoulder. Her violet eyes softened with curiosity as she regarded Eren, her ethereal smile fading into a subtle frown. Her bare feet shifted slightly, as though the energy in the air had unsettled her delicate balance. She murmured something under her breath, her melodic voice lost in the growing hum of the crowd.
In the audience, a group of students from Arcanaeum leaned forward, their faces painted with disbelief and barely concealed malice. At the forefront was Kael.
"This has to be some sort of joke," Kael hissed, her voice laced with contempt. "The manaless freak? Here? What kind of farce is this?"
Despite her venomous words, there was a flicker of unease in her eyes. She exchanged uneasy glances with his companions, their confident smirks faltering. They had tormented Eren endlessly for his lack of mana, but now, seeing him standing on this stage—a place reserved for the extraordinary—unnerved them.
Above them, the dignitaries exchanged their own uncertain glances. Lady Kaelith's sharp gaze was fixed on Eren, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the polished armrest of her chair. Her impassive expression betrayed nothing, but her piercing blue eyes glimmered with a flicker of suspicion.
Archmage Seradion of the Starlight Citadel leaned closer to the elf beside him, his voice a low murmur. "Manaless, you say? Impossible. This must be an error—or a very elaborate prank."