The crowd's roar was a creature of its own. Virelia's central hall was packed to the brim, its glass dome shinning as light refracted off the floating banners above. Holograms of two student profiles rotated in the air — one cloaked in a swirling red aura, the other shimmering behind a veil of crystalline frost.
A sharply dressed senior stood center stage, mic floating by his side. His white blazer had the Virelia Institute crest embroidered in gold across the chest, and he wore the smirk of someone born for the spotlight.
"Alright, alright, alright You're about to witness something special," he said, voice smooth as silk, dancing across the speakers with a practiced edge. "This pre-showcase exhibition bout is between two of the most promising first-years we've seen in a while. In the right corner, we got DiMarco — force crest user, level 3, top of the power metrics chart for freshmen this semester."
A cheer burst out. DiMarco raised a fist from his side of the arena — red aura pulsing faintly around him like embers licking his skin. Tall, sharp-jawed, and cocky enough to make the mic feed crackle.
"And in the blue… ahhh, you already know," the announcer grinned, teasing the crowd, "the ice queen herself, Miss Mira Veltman, symbiont crest user, well….., let's just say her numbers broke the board."
Gasps whispered through the air. The holo-cameras zoomed in on Mira as she stepped forward, her posture graceful but imposing. She wore the regulation combat uniform — black with deep white accents — but the purple braids laced into her dark hair and the glowing frost-blue irises set against pitch black sclera made her look like something from another world.
Mira didn't wave. She didn't smile. She just blinked slowly, her expression unreadable as vapor curled off her fingers.
The arena lights dimmed. A beat of silence.
Then the buzzer rang.
The signal was barely heard before diMarco lunged forward like a spring released, muscles coiling and snapping with raw aggression. He was quick — quicker than expected — his boots dragging wind behind him as he tore across the combat floor. One arm pulled back for a crushing blow, the other raised to guard.
Mira didn't move.
He struck. A downward punch aimed at her shoulder. A feint. She saw through it instantly.
She slid sideways, her body tilting with grace that came too easily, her hand flicking his wrist away like an afterthought. In the same breath, she pivoted and slammed her elbow into his ribs. He staggered, breath catching.
A blur — that was all she was.
No aura.
No words.
Just motion.
He recovered, annoyed now, and surged in again with a burst of red energy. A kick, this time — high and fast. But Mira leaned just enough, letting it pass her cheek by inches. The wind from it pushed her hair aside.
Before his foot landed, she stepped into his space.
Her palm struck his chest — not hard, but fast — and diMarco felt his balance vanish. He stumbled backward, boots screeching against the reinforced arena floor.
What the hell? he thought, heart pounding. She's not even using her crest.
Another breath, and his eyes flashed crimson.
The heat spiked.
His force crest flared around him — a red shimmer clinging to his body like a second skin. Cracks formed under his feet as pressure expanded from his core.
This time he didn't rush. He raised his hand, snapped it forward, and a concussive blast erupted in Mira's direction. The kind of hit that could knock a tree out of the ground.
It landed.
Or so he thought.
The smoke cleared and Mira was gone.
He blinked, then heard it.
Crk.
His eyes darted downward. Frost.
Webbing across the floor. Fast. Like silver snakes threading their way toward him. He jumped, but the moment his soles touched ground — they were caught.
Mira's voice finally came, low and quiet behind him. "You paused too long."
He spun.
Too late.
An icy spiral burst upward from the floor, wrapping his legs and climbing to his waist, locking him in mid-turn. He growled, summoned another blast, and the frost shattered.
But Mira was already closing in.
She moved like a whisper through smoke, her hands a blur. Her knee hit his stomach again, but harder. Then her elbow caught his chin, twisting his head sideways. He tried to punch — caught nothing but air.
She slipped under his guard, circled around, and placed a hand on his back.
The ground responded.
Frost cracked outward in a circle from where he stood, swallowing the combat floor in jagged white spines. He tried to leap — only to feel his ankle twist mid-air as ice gripped it again.
He hit the floor with a grunt, rolling across the frozen surface.
"Damn it!" he spat, slamming his palm down and unleashing another force wave. The ice cracked. Splintered. But Mira stood still, a few meters away, untouched — frost twirling lazily around her fingers like dancers on cue.
He stared at her.
Breathing hard.
Sweat trickling.
"She's not normal…" he muttered under his breath, eyes widening. "What the hell are you?"
Mira's eyes glowed — no whites, no pupils, just a haunting glacial light seeping through pitch black.
She raised one hand. Pointed a finger.
Then it pointed donward
Ice exploded from above.
A circular rim of spears rained down like divine judgment — none aimed to kill, but enough to trap, corner, smother.
diMarco braced, aura blazing. He raised both arms, trying to force-push outward, but as the red light left his palms, the spears struck. Not him — but the ground around.
And from that impact, a final eruption of frost encased his legs, chest, arms, even the air around his mouth.
Within seconds, ice bloomed across the arena like a frozen rose, blue light rippling across every tile. The entire floor was engulfed in white frost, glistening and beautiful. At the center stood Mira, stepping out of the haze, not a scratch on her.
He stood — frozen — body locked in place mid-motion, his red aura twitching but unable to break free.
Mira exhaled gently. Walked forward.
She stopped at the edge of the frostline, inches from his immobile figure. Their eyes met — hers glowing like a dying star.
"you came at me with the intention to prove something, so I knew before we even started that I've already won."she said softly.
Even the announcer was speechless for a beat.
"In record time, we have our winner, Give it up for Mira!" he finally roared, and the audience erupted with applause, whistles, and stunned silence.
Somewhere in the crowd, a student whispered, "I heard only omega levels have eyes like that."
"Shhh," another replied. "That's just a rumor… right?"
Minutes Later
DiMarco slammed the faucet handle and splashed his face with cold water. He stared at the sink for a long time, jaw twitching.
"That's it," he muttered, voice cracking. "I trained. I studied. I had power. So why…"
He punched the wall — hard.
"You lose one match and you're already falling apart?" a low voice drifted behind him.
DiMarco spun around. A figure stood near the lockers — cloaked in a long white coat, their face obscured by a breathing mask. Their voice was calm. Clean.
"I can help you. If you want the strength to make that girl kneel."
DiMarco narrowed his eyes. "And what? Sell my soul?"
"No," the figure chuckled. "you'll be offering your service Is all."
He took a step forward, but DiMarco raised a hand. His red aura returned, crackling like static.
"You wanna talk, take off the mask. Step into the light."
"Smart boy," the masked man said.
Then he raised a finger and snapped.
DiMarco's body froze mid-lunge, eyes wide. He couldn't move. Couldn't blink.
"Unfortunately for you," the voice said, stepping forward with a syringe in hand, "I don't do negotiations."
The last sound DiMarco made was a strangled screamed, echoed and muffled as the door slammed shut behind them.
You'd think after helping expose a traitor from the Arcanum Division, I'd at least get a statue on campus. Or a free juice at the Virelia Grind. Or better class schedules. But nah…
It's been class, after class, after class.
Linear Crest Progression. Rift Exposure Safety.
Theories of Variant Evolution. Even one on Interpersonal Development — which, I'm pretty sure, was code for "Don't punch your roommates."
By the time the sun dipped behind Virelia's towering domes, I was on my back in room 202, one leg over the edge of the bed, arms stretched like I'd been crucified by syllabus. My blazer was halfway across the room. My cross chain dangled from my neck, glinting in the orange hue bleeding through the window.
I held it up, watching it catch the light.
The one thing that never changed. The one thing that always felt heavier the longer I stared at it.
Tap-tap.
Knock at the door.
I groaned. "If this is to hand out another flyer, I'm throwing someone into a rift."
I swung the door open, expecting Calvin with a bad idea.
Instead
Alessia stood in front of me, arms folded, looking way too serious for this hour. Beside her were Luan, arms behind her back, swaying gently on her feet — and Willy, wearing that familiar mischievous grin, as if he was waiting for my reaction.
"What now?" I asked, brows raised, voice still half asleep.
Alessia didn't waste time. "Lorenzo's gone."
I blinked. "…Gone where? Lunch? Library? A walk?"
She shook her head. "Vanished. From the infirmary."
That made me pause.
"The infirmary?" I repeated.
Willy chimed in, "He was there recovering from the crest infection, remember? They had him under observation. Room 1-A. But this morning? Empty bed. No record of him being released. No sighting since last night."
Luan nodded slowly. "It's not a prank. Alessia double-checked."
I glanced between them.
A missing level 4 crest user. After surviving a crest infection. No clearance, no logs, no surveillance?
Either this school's security needed a refund… or someone wanted him gone.
I didn't say anything right away. Just turned and walked back to my bed.
"What are you doing?" Alessia asked, stepping in.
I picked up my holo tab and pulled up a document — Lorenzo's file, the one Hailee had smuggled from Arcana. I scrolled to the last medical entry.
I turned my head, expression unreadable. "We start tonight."
Willy cracked his knuckles. "I'll get the snacks."
Alessia raised a brow. "Snacks?"
"It's his coping mechanism" I said with a shrug.