The arena fell silent.

Kara Voss rose from her seat with the easy confidence of someone who’d been fighting in front of crowds since she could walk.

Her gauntlets were already strapped on, the leather worn smooth from years of use. She rolled her shoulders as she descended the steps, and faint embers danced in her wake.

Damon stood. Across the arena, he caught Matthew watching him. The smug grin was still there, but it had thinned.

Kara was his sister. Whatever their personal dynamic, she was still family, and Damon was about to fight her in front of everyone.

He walked down to the sparring circle. The barrier runes pulsed brighter as he stepped inside, the air thickening with contained mana.

He carried no weapon.

The equipment rack near the circle’s edge held training blades and practice staves, but he walked past them.

His body was the weapon now. Sovereign’s Thunder didn’t need a sword.

And if he wanted to show everyone his new self, walking in unarmed would make the stronger entrance.

Kara met him at the center.

Her pale gray eyes studied him with open curiosity. Up close, her gauntlets gleamed with fresh polish, the metal plates layered over heat-resistant leather. A faint wisp of steam curled from the vents along the knuckles.

"Try not to crack my gauntlets," she said. "They’re expensive."

"I’ll aim for everything else then."

"Good answer."

Professor Cain stepped between them, his bandaged arm hanging at his side. His red eyes moved from Kara to Damon, lingering on Damon’s bare hands.

"No weapon, Persival?"

"No, sir."

Cain’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

"Standard dueling rules. The match ends when one combatant yields, is rendered unable to continue, or is forced out of the circle." He gestured at the glowing barrier. "The runes will absorb stray abilities, but don’t test them. I’ve seen students lose limbs trying."

He stepped back, raising his good hand.

"Begin."

Kara didn’t rush in immediately. She circled instead, her boots scraping softly against the metal floor. Embers dripped from her gauntlets like water from a leaky faucet, each one hissing as it struck the ground.

"No sword this time," she observed. "You fought the goblins with one."

"Things change."

"That they do." She stopped circling. "I’m not going to go easy on you just because we’ve partied together."

"I’d be insulted if you did."

She closed the distance in three quick steps, her right gauntlet igniting mid-stride.

A hook punch screamed toward Damon’s face, flames trailing from her knuckles in a bright orange arc. The heat reached him before the fist did, a dry, scorching pressure against his cheeks.

Damon sidestepped. His uniform jacket fluttered from the near-miss, the fabric singeing at the shoulder. The dodge felt almost leisurely, but the flame’s reach was longer than her arm.

Something he’d need to account for.

Before he finally chose to strike back, he wanted to see what she was capable of, and, more importantly, let everyone else see it, before he dismantled her.

Kara didn’t disappoint.

She pivoted on her front foot, using the momentum of her missed punch to spin into a low kick. Flames erupted from her shin, a crescent of fire that swept toward his legs.

Damon jumped backward, the heat licking at his ankles.

"You’ve got good footwork," she said, already pressing forward again. "But is that all you can do, or can you actually fight?"

She came at him in combinations now. Jab, cross, low kick. Jab, hook, knee.

Each strike trailed fire, and each fire left afterimages in the air that made tracking her next move harder than it should have been.

The temperature inside the barrier was climbing. Sweat beaded on Damon’s forehead and dripped down his temples.

He ducked under a jab, sidestepped a second, then caught her third strike on his forearm. The impact rattled through his bones, hot enough to sear his sleeve.

She was strong.

The force behind her punches wasn’t just magic; it was physical power backed by years of conditioning.

Her flames weren’t for show. They carried real weight behind them, each hit landing like a sledgehammer wrapped in a furnace.

But she wasn’t faster than him.

Damon stopped retreating.

He stepped into her next punch instead of away from it. His left hand caught her wrist mid-strike, the heated metal of her gauntlet burning his palm even through the contact.

He redirected the punch past his shoulder, feeling the flame trail singe the air beside his ear. His right hand came up, palm open.

Just a basic palm strike, no lightning, no enhanced damage.

It caught her in the chest and sent her skidding backward. She caught herself after several feet, one hand pressed to her sternum, her breathing heavier than before.

Damon shook out his left hand. The palm was red, already blistering from the brief contact with her gauntlet.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Just making sure I don’t kill you."

"Arrogant, huh?"

"Well, let me just show you what I mean."

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

Damon raised his hand, and two bolts of lightning tore across the arena at terrifying speed. Kara reacted on instinct, leaping backward as the bolts scorched the floor where she’d been standing.

"When did you—?!"

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

Damon didn’t let her finish. More bolts chased her before she could regain her footing, but she dodged again, dropping low to avoid a strike aimed at her chest.

Damon was already there.

His fist hovered inches from her stomach. He could have driven it home, but he wasn’t confident in her durability.

He pulled the punch instead, no lightning and definitely no Sovereign’s Strike.

’Just a punch for now.’

The blow echoed across the arena, a sharp crack that sent dust spiraling outward in a perfect ring. Kara doubled over with a choked gasp and dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach as she crumpled to the floor.

Professor Cain stepped forward, glanced at Kara’s kneeling form, then raised his hand.

"Victor: Damon Persival."