The arena buzzed before Orin ever stepped foot inside it. Students crowded the balconies, the rails, the benches—every vantage point that gave even a partial view. Word had spread fast: a first-year was being tested in a three-match evaluation. That alone was enough to draw half the academy like moths to flame.
Wake folded his arms behind Orin as they approached. "Just act like you don't notice all these people staring at you."
Starke scratched the back of his neck. "Or do notice, but pretend you don't notice that you noticed."
Orin exhaled softly. "That helps. Thanks."
Behind him, Kahn-Ra padded along, tail flicking lazily—too lazily for an apex predator. Students instinctively shifted aside when he approached, even though none of them knew why. Some muttered about how odd it was to bring a bobcat to an evaluation, but no one dared say it too loudly.
Do not look so tense, Kahn-Ra murmured in Orin's mind, his telepathic voice smooth. Humans gather like this around anything they do not understand.
They're not gathering around you, Orin thought.
Oh, they are, Kahn-Ra replied, stretching like an animal who knew exactly how many eyes were on him. They just do not realize it.
Orin avoided reacting. Wake and Starke would ask questions if he did.
Instructor Yoren waited at the center of the arena, hands clasped behind his back. His uniform hung crisp and perfectly arranged—no looseness, no wrinkles. He watched Orin approach with the same sternness he used for every student, but something sharper lingered beneath it.
"Slain," Yoren said. "Step forward."
Orin did.
"You know the rules."
"Yes."
"The first rule?"
Orin's jaw tightened. He forced the words out. "No lethal strikes."
Yoren's gaze narrowed. "And you will abide."
"I know," Orin repeated.
Wake muttered under his breath from behind the observation line, "This guy lives to stress people out."
Starke nodded. "If he ever smiled, I think the sky would crack."
Yoren continued, "Because of your… unusual arrival and unclear classification, your evaluation will consist of three consecutive one-on-one bouts."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Wake grabbed Starke's sleeve. "Three?!"
Starke answered with his whole face rather than words—eyes wide, jaw dropped, mouth tightening into an expression that said: this is nonsense.
Orin didn't flinch. His heart thudded, but he stepped forward.
Yoren gestured toward the far end of the arena. "First combatant. Enter."
A large young man walked out—broad-shouldered, grounded, moving with the unshakable confidence of someone forged through difficult training. His forearms were plated with thick stone-like mineral ridges that glowed faintly under the sun's heat.
He stopped across from Orin and inclined his head.
"Derrin Vos. Stonehide Breaker bloodline."The words were simple, respectful. "Let's make this a proper match."
Orin nodded back. "Orin Slain."
Derrin smiled faintly. "Good. You're calm."
"Trying to be."
Derrin settled into his stance—wide, rooted, fists raised in a guard that looked like it could absorb a battering ram.
Orin mirrored him.
Yoren raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Derrin moved first, surprisingly fast for someone built like a quarry boulder. His jab wasn't a test jab—it was full weight, full intent. Orin caught it on his forearm—
—and his entire arm shuddered.
Stonehide was no joke.
Derrin stepped back, impressed. "Not many block that without flinching."
Orin shook the sting from his wrist. "You hit like a falling wall."
"That's the point."
Derrin came in again, this time with a hook that hummed through the air. Orin ducked under it, pivoted, and struck Derrin's ribs.
His fist hit heated stone.
Pain laced his knuckles, sharp and clear. Derrin grunted—more surprised than hurt.
A few students whispered:
"He hit Vos and didn't break fingers?""He's strong…""Is he a high-tier?""No idea."
Derrin rolled his shoulders. "You're better than rumor said."
"Didn't know I had rumors."
"Oh, you do," Derrin chuckled.
Then he inhaled.
His stance dipped.His plates brightened.His breath steadied.
Something gathered inside him—something silent, contained, controlled.
The stone plates along his forearms and shoulders glowed with reddish-orange heat.
And then—
He exhaled sharply.
Orin felt the pressure before the fist moved.
Derrin's next strike hit like a battering ram. Orin blocked with both arms and still staggered three steps back.
"What was that?" Orin muttered, shaking off the ache.
Blood Surge, Kahn-Ra murmured in his mind. A basic principle for those who are half-mortal and half-monster.
Orin clenched his jaw.He didn't understand it.He had never done anything like that.
Derrin didn't gloat.He simply said, "Don't back down now."
Orin breathed, centered himself, and surged back in.
They collided again—Orin's speed against Derrin's amplified strength. Derrin's heavy blows forced Orin to move sharper, faster. Orin landed a hard counterstrike under Derrin's guard; Derrin grunted and responded with a shoulder check that nearly toppled Orin.
But Orin didn't break.He held his guard.He adapted.
On a final exchange, Orin slipped a punch, stepped in, and thundered a clean blow into Derrin's jaw.
Derrin stumbled.
He shook it off with a laugh.Then raised his palm.
"I yield. You got me fair."
The crowd murmured louder—shocked, impressed, confused.
Yoren nodded once. "First bout complete. Next combatant."
Derrin clapped Orin's shoulder as he walked off. "Let's spar again once you settle in."
Orin nodded. His lungs were burning slightly; his arms tingled from the impact trauma. But he stood tall.
Then she stepped forward.
Selka Ren moved like mist on a river—quiet, fluid, unhurried. Her teal hair flowed behind her, and every movement of her hands left a faint trail of shimmering brine vapor. It curled and drifted off her wrists like soft breath.
She bowed gracefully.
"Selka Ren," she said, voice as smooth as her movements. "Brineveil Whisper bloodline."
Orin bowed back. "Orin Slain."
Her smile was calm, warm, and unsettlingly confident. "Let us see how you move."
Yoren signaled.
"Begin."
Selka glided forward. She did not attack immediately; she circled him, letting her mist trail behind her in a soft swirl that clung to Orin's ankles like cool reeds brushing past underwater.
"You read people well," she said softly as she moved. "But how well do you read what you cannot see clearly?"
Orin stayed light on his feet. "Guess we'll find out."
She lunged—
—and the mist pulsed.
Her palm cut toward his shoulder. Orin blocked. A subtle tug at his balance nearly pulled him sideways. Selka's foot swept toward his knee; he jumped back.
Mist followed her like a living veil.
Starke whispered, "Oh that's not fair—she's everywhere at once."
Wake replied, "She fights like she's made of water."
Selka drifted left, then suddenly appeared on Orin's right. Her heel sliced toward his ribs; Orin caught it on his elbow. She exhaled and spun, mist flaring from her wrists like ribbons of fog.
"Your instincts are unusual," she said.
"You've barely hit me," Orin answered.
A soft laugh. "Then perhaps… I should."
She inhaled deeply.
Her mist thickened.Her body lightened.Her silhouette blurred.
Then she exhaled—
And her whole aura sharpened.
She moved twice as fast—weightless, precise, almost silent. The mist followed her feet with each step, allowing her to glide in ways Orin's eyes struggled to track.
She struck again—Orin blocked, but barely. Mist curled around his arm, tugging at his elbow joint. She swept low; Orin jumped. She redirected; Orin twisted—
And she still grazed him.
"What is that technique?" Orin asked between breaths.
Selka smiled faintly. "Blood Surge. You'll learn it soon."
She moved again, faster.
Orin gritted his teeth. Mist tugged at him from three angles at once—illusion, humidity, pressure. He adapted instinctively, reading her hips, waiting for her centerline shift.
On her next approach, he stepped into her instead of away, catching her wrist and redirecting her momentum.
Selka slid past him, graceful even while stumbling. She turned to face him, breathing carefully.
"You adapt that quickly… without Blood Surge?" she asked, a hint of astonishment in her voice.
Orin shook out his hands. "Didn't know I was supposed to use anything."
She blinked. "…You truly don't know the technique."
He didn't respond.
Selka exhaled softly, mist swirling upward. "Then that makes this far more impressive."
She stepped back and bowed.
"I concede."
Gasps erupted through the crowd.
Orin froze."What? Why?"
Selka smiled genuinely. "Because you fought me evenly while holding yourself back. And you didn't even know you were holding anything."
She walked away lightly, mist trailing behind her in a soft ribbon.
Yoren didn't speak—his stare deepened, unreadable.
Students murmured:
"He beat Selka?""She gave up…""What is he?""He isn't using Blood Surge…""He adapted to a Brineveil?"
Orin felt the pressure building—not from the crowd, but inside himself.Something humming.Half-awake.Not dangerous… yet.
Yoren extended a hand to the far entrance.
"Final combatant."
A crack of lightning snapped across the ground. Sparks rolled from the entrance like crawling insects of light.
Kael Dris strode into the arena with a predatory grin, electricity dancing up his forearms.
He pointed at Orin like he was selecting a prize.
"Nice warm-ups, Slain," Kael said. "But let's see if you can keep up with someone fast."
His smirk widened.
"Try not to blink."
Yoren's hand lifted.
Orin set his stance.
Wake muttered, "Here we go…"
Starke crossed his arms. "This guy's been waiting the whole time to show off."
Kahn-Ra sat behind Orin, tail flicking once.Do not let him sting you too many times.
Yoren's hand dropped.
Kael vanished in a burst of static.