The silence didn't last long.
As Ethan stepped off the dueling ring, the air exploded into chatter. Footsteps slapped the tile floor as several students rushed him at once—eyes wide, voices raised.
"Yo, what was that?!"
"Seriously—were you flying?"
"Never seen wind magic hit like that. Is that a new casting technique?"
"Where'd you learn that kind of output?!"
Ethan's heart was still hammering. He wasn't breathing heavily—his body felt strangely balanced, like Zephyr was still running under his skin—but his mind was already buckling under the pressure.
They were crowding him. Not hostile, not yet—but not exactly friendly either. Just curious. Suspicious.
Demanding.
Valen was the last to step forward, arms folded, her sharp eyes scanning him like a blade looking for the seam in armor.
"That wasn't a typical Gale Rend," she said slowly, carefully. "Level 1 wind spells don't produce that kind of lift or force."
Ethan felt the words tighten around his throat.
