CHAPTER 32: FEAR & RESPECT

Sarah stood on unsteady legs and walked toward the arena entrance. The tunnel stretched forever, but then suddenly she stepped onto packed earth of the fighting area, and sound hit her like a physical wall.

Nearly eight hundred students were on their feet, cheering and shouting. Some called her name—whether in support or mockery, she couldn’t tell. Others were clearly betting, passing coins as they debated odds.

The arena floor was circular, perhaps thirty feet across, with thin white powder line marking center. Sarah walked to her position on the western side, heart hammering so loud she was certain the entire Academy could hear it.

Then Roderick emerged from the opposite tunnel.

If Sarah looked like a terrified carpenter’s daughter playing at nobility, Roderick looked born for this moment. His Academy uniform was pristine, blonde hair perfectly styled despite afternoon breeze. He moved with fluid confidence of someone who’d trained for formal combat since childhood.

The crowd’s energy shifted as he took position. Where Sarah’s supporters were scattered and uncertain, Roderick’s were organized and vocal. Chants of "VEIL-MONT! VEIL-MONT!" echoed from upper tiers where wealthier students sat.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Professor Leo’s voice carried easily across the arena, amplified by essence. "Our first duel of the afternoon! Challenger Roderick Veilmont, rank thirty-five, versus defender Sarah Millbrook, rank seven!"

The crowd roared approval. Sarah tried to find Helena in the sea of faces but couldn’t focus on any individual. Everything was noise and motion and growing certainty she was about to be humiliated before the entire Academy.

"Combatants, assume ready positions!"

Roderick dropped into perfect fighting stance—feet positioned at precise angles, hands raised in what Sarah recognized from last night’s frantic reading as "the Vanguard Guard." Every line of his body spoke years of training and absolute confidence.

Sarah had no idea what her ready position should look like. She raised her hands awkwardly, trying to remember breathing exercises from Professor Harold’s class.

"Begin!"

Roderick didn’t attack immediately. Instead, he began circling her slowly, movements fluid and controlled. Sarah turned to keep him in sight, but felt clumsy and reactive compared to his predatory grace.

"Nervous, Lady Millbrook?" Roderick’s voice carried clearly across the arena. "Perhaps you’d prefer to yield now and save us both some time?"

The crowd laughed—not maliciously, but the sound still cut through Sarah’s composure like a blade. She tried to respond but found her throat too tight to speak.

Roderick’s smile widened. "No? Very well then."

He moved with lightning speed, closing distance in two quick steps. His first strike was a testing jab toward her shoulder—fast enough to be dangerous, controlled enough to avoid serious injury if it connected.

Sarah stumbled backward, barely avoiding the blow. Her heel caught on uneven earth and she nearly fell, windmilling her arms for balance.

More laughter from the crowd. Sarah’s face burned with embarrassment.

"Come now," Roderick said, continuing his slow circle. "Surely the girl who killed a man with temporal ability can do better than that?"

The words hit Sarah like a slap. The reminder of that terrible day—the kidnapper’s eyes as decades of life fled his body—sent a surge of emotion through her chest.

Heat bloomed in her hands.

The essence glow that had taken twenty minutes to achieve in Professor Harold’s class appeared instantly, wrapping around her fingers like golden fire. The crowd’s laughter died as temporal energy made the air itself shimmer.

"Ah," Roderick said with satisfaction. "There we are."

He struck again, this time with real intent. His fist moved toward her face with trained precision—a blow designed to end the fight quickly and cleanly.

Sarah’s hand came up without conscious thought, catching his wrist.

The effect was immediate and terrifying.

Roderick’s perfect skin began to wrinkle. His blonde hair darkened, then went gray, then white. Lines appeared around his eyes, deepening by the second as years of aging compressed into moments.

The crowd’s cheers turned to horrified gasps.

"Sarah, stop!" Professor Harold’s voice cut across the arena. "Release him!"

But Sarah was lost in the same panic that had consumed her during the kidnapping. Memories of that terrible day crashed over her—the man’s desperate struggles, the way he’d crumbled to dust, the certainty that she was a monster who killed with a touch.

Roderick’s eyes widened in terror as his youthful strength began to fade. He tried to pull away, but Sarah’s grip was locked with desperate strength.

"I can’t!" Sarah screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I can’t control it!"

The barriers around the arena blazed to life as Professor Drik poured power into the containment field. Professor Harold was already moving, preparing emergency healing magic.

But in that moment of absolute panic, something shifted in Sarah’s mind. This wasn’t the kidnapping. This wasn’t life or death. This was a duel with rules and safety measures and professors ready to intervene.

She didn’t have to kill him.

Sarah looked down at Roderick’s aging face and made a choice that surprised even her.

She let go.

Roderick collapsed backward, his body partially returned to proper age but still bearing marks of temporal acceleration. His hair was streaked with premature gray, his face lined with years that hadn’t existed moments before.

But he was alive. Conscious. And absolutely terrified.

"I yield!" he gasped, voice hoarse. "I formally yield!"

The arena fell silent except for Sarah’s ragged breathing. She stared down at Roderick, seeing the fear in his eyes—the same terror she’d seen in the kidnapper’s face before he died.

"Wait," she whispered, then louder, "Wait, let me—"

Sarah dropped to her knees beside Roderick, her hands hovering over him uncertainly. "I can try to reverse it. I think I can—"

"Don’t touch me!" Roderick recoiled, scrambling backward across the arena floor. "Stay away from me!"

The crowd watched in stunned silence as Sarah knelt in the dust, golden essence still flickering around her trembling hands.

"I’m sorry," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I didn’t mean to—I can fix it, I think—"

Professor Harold was beside Roderick instantly, healing magic flowing over temporal damage. "Hold still," he instructed. "The aging effects are partially reversible, but I need to work carefully."

"Winner," Professor Leo announced, voice carefully neutral, "Sarah Millbrook."

No one cheered. The silence stretched until it became oppressive, broken only by Professor Harold’s quiet healing incantations and Roderick’s labored breathing.

Sarah looked up at the crowded stands and saw fear in hundreds of faces. Fear of her. Fear of what she might do if pushed too far.

’They’ll never see me as anything but dangerous now,’ she realized with sick certainty. ’Monster’ was written in every expression, every wide-eyed stare.

But as Professor Harold helped Roderick to his feet—aging effects mostly reversed, though he still looked several years older than that morning—Sarah caught sight of something else in the crowd.

Respect.

It was there in some faces. Not many, but enough. The kind of respect that came from witnessing real power wielded under impossible pressure.

Roderick straightened with as much dignity as he could muster, but his earlier arrogance was gone. In its place was the hollow look of someone whose fundamental assumptions about the world had just been shattered.

"Well fought," he said quietly, though his voice shook.

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The golden essence around her hands finally flickered and died, leaving her feeling drained and empty.

As medical staff escorted Roderick from the arena, Professor Leo approached Sarah.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. "Is he...?"

"He’ll recover fully. Professor Harold is excellent at temporal healing." Leo studied her face carefully. "How do you feel?"

Sarah considered the question. How did she feel? Terrified. Exhausted. Guilty for what she’d done to Roderick. But underneath it all...

"Different," she said finally.

"Good different or bad different?"

Sarah looked up at the crowd again. Most were filing out, already discussing what they’d witnessed. But some remained, watching her with expressions she couldn’t quite read.

"I don’t know yet," she answered honestly.

Professor Leo nodded. "You have thirty minutes before the next duel begins. I’d suggest you find somewhere quiet to recover."

As Sarah walked toward the competitor’s tunnel, she scanned the crowd but couldn’t spot anyone who might be the mysterious challenger. Whoever they were, they’d chosen to remain hidden until their moment arrived.

*****

The arena buzzed with nervous energy during the intermission. Students clustered in excited groups, rehashing every moment of Sarah’s shocking victory. The betting had already shifted dramatically for the upcoming match—many who’d dismissed the anonymous challenger were now reconsidering their positions.

In the preparation chamber beneath the arena, a figure sat in perfect stillness. Unlike Sarah’s nervous energy thirty minutes earlier, this challenger radiated calm confidence. Dark eyes studied tactical notes written in precise handwriting, though the pages contained information that would have surprised most observers.

*Petra Blackthorne - Rank 1*

*Ability: Unknown (Suspected: Void Manipulation)*

*Combat Experience: Extensive (Hidden)*

*Weakness: Overconfidence in perceived superiority*

*Strategy: Force early ability revelation, exploit gaps in defensive positioning*

The figure closed the notebook and stood, moving with fluid grace toward the arena entrance. The anonymous challenger had spent weeks preparing for this moment, gathering intelligence, studying patterns, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Soon, the Academy would learn exactly why someone ranked nineteenth had dared to challenge the holder of first place.

And Petra Blackthorne was about to discover that her carefully guarded secrets weren’t as hidden as she believed.