Adlet left Villa-Sylva at dawn, the mist swirling around the city walls as he set his course toward Tray. The road ahead stretched endlessly, a ribbon of dust and earth vanishing into the horizon. With fourteen days to reach the academy, he had no time to waste. Every step carried him closer to the life he wanted—no, the life he needed.
Each evening, under the faint glow of the Stars embedded in the distant vault above, Adlet honed the Bind Lizard's regenerative Aura. His method was crude but effective. A small cut from his kitchen knife. A sharp breath. Then a slow pulse of green light beneath his skin, knitting the wound back together. The pain was his teacher—and his judge.
It worked. Little by little, the healing accelerated. But no matter how hard he pushed, the discomfort lingered… like a reminder that he was still painfully mortal.
One night, exhaustion gave birth to recklessness. He stared at his hands—one clenched, one trembling—and a daring thought surfaced:
If I have two Guardians, why shouldn't I use both?
He drew in a shaky breath and extended his arms.
Left arm — green Aura.
Right arm — black Aura.
He pictured both powers rising at once. Two wills. Two instincts. Each Guardian responding through the corresponding limb.
For a heartbeat… a glow flickered.
Then—nothing.
Both Auras sputtered out like candles crushed between closing hands. A violent pulse shot through his skull, and nausea rushed up from his gut. His knees buckled as if the very act of trying had ripped something out of balance inside him.
It felt like forcing a body to split into two different beings — a single mind trying to obey two instincts screaming in opposite directions.
He pressed a hand to the ground, breath ragged.
One person. One will. One Aura at a time.
The days continued in quiet solitude. Plains and scattered groves rolled by, featureless and uncaring. Adlet had never been so alone with his doubts—and they grew louder with every step.
What if he wasn't strong enough?
What if this strange growth was beyond his control?
What if he failed—again?
But then came the progress. The whip-like Aura became sharper, heavier. The regeneration faster. Every motion felt more refined. And beneath the fear…
A thrill sparked.
By the time Tray's distant towers emerged on the horizon—etched like jagged stone teeth beneath the eternal Stars—Adlet's stride no longer faltered. He was stronger. Faster. More capable.
And still changing.
He didn't know where that change would lead him…
but he'd already chosen to follow it.
The academy loomed before him, vast and imposing—a stark contrast to the quiet halls he had once walked. The arched gates opened to reveal a sprawling courtyard, bustling with students, competitors, and protectors preparing for the upcoming tournament.
Adlet took it all in: the grand arena, the smooth expanse of polished white stones stretching five hundred meters in every direction, the stone bleachers rising around it in tiers. Though empty now, he could already hear the future crowd's roars and shouts, a chaotic symphony that would fill the air soon enough. In the center of the square stood the combat stage, pristine and waiting, its presence almost oppressive.
He stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the space, the tension already building. The sounds of preparation echoed in the distance as workers set up and competitors exchanged sharp words. His thoughts briefly wandered to the battles to come—the uncertainty of the draw, the thrill of a clean fight, the rush of proving himself.
Shaking off the weight of anticipation, Adlet turned away and made his way toward the towering structure behind the arena—the academy building. The stone steps leading up to the entrance were well-worn by the countless Protectors who had passed through before him. Inside, the air was cool, the scent of old books and polished wood greeting him as he crossed the threshold. The hustle and bustle of the courtyard faded, replaced by the quiet murmur of students and staff going about their business.
He followed the signs that led to the administrative wing, his boots clicking softly against the stone floors. There, in a quiet corner of the building, sat Barno's office—a small, neat room with dark wooden furniture and a large desk piled with papers. Behind it, Barno looked up as Adlet entered, raising an eyebrow in recognition.
"Good day, sir," Adlet greeted, bowing slightly as he approached the desk. "I'm here to register for the tournament."
Barno, the older man behind the desk, looked up, his brow furrowed in surprise. "Is that so? You've been on a mission for only a short time. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Adlet met his gaze, his heart racing, but his face remained calm. "I am. I've trained since my last assignment. I'm stronger now."
Barno's eyes narrowed, studying him with a skeptical edge. "Hmm… I see. Well, show me your Aura."
Adlet exhaled, focusing his mind, and the dark shimmer of the Scarab's Aura began to unfurl around him. A faint hum of power vibrated through the room, nearly imperceptible, but Barno felt it immediately. The boy now radiated strength—a Rank 2's aura, and not just any Rank 2, but an intermediate one.
"Remarkable," Barno muttered, more to himself than to Adlet. "It seems your Guardian has evolved. You've defeated a higher-ranked insect to reach this level."
Adlet stopped cold, confusion rippling through him. He hadn't understood it until now—the beetle's Aura had grown beyond the level of a normal Rank 1. Was that Pami's doing? Or had the Bind Lizard altered it somehow?
He kept his thoughts to himself, letting Barno believe it was the result of his recent combat.
Barno finished his observation, then handed Adlet a parchment. "Your registration is complete. The tournament begins in two days. Prepare yourself. The arena is unforgiving, and the opponents you'll face are far more experienced than you."
Adlet nodded, his mind already running ahead, imagining the arena, the battles that would soon unfold.
"How does the tournament work?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.
Barno looked up from his papers, his expression shifting from indifference to something more akin to amusement. "It's simple. Each participant faces one opponent. The pairings are drawn by lot just before the tournament begins. No one can prepare too specifically for their rival—or try to influence the outcome."
Adlet nodded, taking in the rules.
"And how is victory decided?"
"Three ways," Barno said, counting off on his fingers. "Knockout, surrender, or forcing your opponent out of the arena."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "But be warned—if anyone kills their opponent, they're immediately disqualified and banned from every official tournament for the next two years. So control your strikes. This isn't a battlefield."
Adlet's jaw tightened slightly. He understood. Measure your strength. Don't kill. Win cleanly.
Barno's expression became more serious as he continued. "Now, though we call it a tournament of promotion, in practice, it's more of an exam. You'll only have one match. Your result—whether you win or lose—will determine whether you pass or fail. There's no room for error."
Adlet's heart skipped a beat at the added weight of Barno's words. The pressure of the match would determine everything.
A quiet realization settled in his chest. Just one fight. One victory, and his next goal would be in reach.
The weight of anticipation pressed on him. The roar of the crowd, the gleaming white stones beneath his feet, and the aura of countless competitors—all combined into a suffocating tension. Adlet's pulse quickened.
He was no longer the boy who had first entered the academy. He had changed. Grown stronger, more focused, more attuned to his Aura.
As he stepped out into the courtyard, the cool wind brushing his face, the thrill of the challenge surged through him. The tournament awaited, and though the path ahead was uncertain, it called to him. The capital, the tournament, the trials—he would face them all, head-on.