CHAPTER 37: BEFORE THE CHALLENGE

Principal Whitmore sat in contemplative silence, his weathered fingers steepled as he reviewed the reports from Sarah Millbrook’s duel earlier that morning. The viewing crystal on his desk displayed a clear image of the arena below, where Gareth Thorne was desperately weaving between Petra Blackthorne’s relentless stone projectiles. Even from this distance, he could see the tactical awareness in the boy’s movements, though Petra maintained clear control of the match.

He leaned back in his leather chair, a slight smile playing at his lips as he considered the previous event. Sarah’s victory over Roderick Veilmont had been educational. The girl’s time manipulation ability had proven far more refined than her initial file suggested, though still dangerously uncontrolled when pushed to extremes. Veilmont’s family would be nursing wounded pride for weeks, but more importantly, the message had been sent clearly to the established nobility.

’Raw power channeled through pure survival instinct.’

The political ramifications were already manifesting. Three separate communication crystals had activated within an hour of Sarah’s victory, each carrying carefully worded "inquiries" from various noble families about the Academy’s admission standards and ranking methodologies. Lord Veilmont himself had sent a particularly venomous message questioning whether "proper bloodlines" were being given adequate consideration in student placement.

Whitmore’s response had been diplomatically blunt: results spoke louder than nobility, and the Academy would continue to recognize capability over politics that why we used the random ranking allocation this year to fish out the wheat from the chaff.

’Though I suspect today’s second duel will complicate matters considerably.’

He pulled up Gareth Thorne’s comprehensive file. Unlike the frustratingly sparse documentation on Sarah Millbrook, the Thorne family had been meticulously tracked for generations. Mining nobility with a reputation for political neutrality and strategic thinking. Gareth’s father, Duke Thorne, had built the kingdom’s most successful mining operation through careful analysis of geological structures and market conditions.

’The apple rarely falls far from the tree,’ Whitmore reflected. ’Young Gareth has been studying Petra’s combat patterns for weeks. Every technique she’s demonstrated, every tactical decision she’s made. My sources in the student body confirmed he’s been taking detailed notes during her public training sessions.’

The boy’s challenge hadn’t surprised Whitmore as much as it had shocked the student body. The timing was perfect, when the Academy’s social hierarchy was already unstable. Gareth had calculated that today’s atmosphere would provide maximum impact for his dramatic revelation.

’Brilliant strategic thinking. Even if he loses, which he almost certainly will, he’s announced himself as a serious player in Academy politics. The quiet mining duke’s son who had the audacity to challenge the S-ranked monster.’

He stood and walked to the tall window overlooking the Academy grounds, his hands clasped behind his back. From this vantage point, he could see the arena’s protective barriers glowing with contained energy, hear the distant roar of eight hundred students witnessing what would likely be a very one-sided demonstration of power.

’The girl is a weapon disguised as a student. Beautiful, charming, and absolutely lethal.’

The Blackthorne family had invested enormous resources in their daughter’s development, treating her education as a matter of national security rather than personal growth. Private tutors with specialized knowledge, access to sealed techniques that most Academy instructors had never seen, and practical experience in environments that would kill ordinary students.

’Which makes young Thorne’s challenge either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Possibly both.’

He’d reviewed Petra’s file extensively when she’d first arrived at the Academy, Pre-awakening rift exposure under controlled conditions, essence saturation levels that defied normal measurement, and combat training that began before most children learned to walk properly.

’The boy knew this was suicide from a combat perspective. So why do it? What does he hope to accomplish by being publicly destroyed by the Academy’s most dangerous student?’

The answer, Whitmore suspected, lay in the long-term political implications. Gareth’s challenge would force every student in the Academy to recalculate their assumptions about power, capability, and the ranking system. The quiet ones, the overlooked ones, the students dismissed as non-threats suddenly they all became variables that required careful consideration.

’Chess, not combat. He’s playing a completely different game than everyone else realizes.’

A fresh development unfolded on the crystal’s surface. Thorne had managed to create an impressive stone maze, forcing Petra to adapt her tactics. The boy’s earth manipulation was showing advanced tactical applications, and Petra was being forced to demonstrate higher-tier techniques she’d kept hidden.

"Interesting," Whitmore murmured aloud. Perhaps he’d underestimated the mining duke’s son after all. Or perhaps Petra was simply being theatrical, drawing out the demonstration for maximum educational impact on the watching students.

’She does enjoy making an impression.’

’Reputation is often more valuable than victory. Young Thorne may lose today’s battle while winning a much larger war.’

The Academy’s political landscape would shift dramatically after today. Sarah Millbrook’s victory had proven that bloodline nobility wasn’t automatically superior to awakened commoners. Gareth Thorne’s challenge, regardless of outcome, had demonstrated that careful planning and strategic thinking could force even S-ranked students to adapt their tactics.

’The established hierarchy is crumbling faster than I expected. This year’s first-year class is going to be far more interesting than anyone anticipated.’

He was reaching for his tea when the viewing crystal flared with brilliant light. Through the crystal, he watched Petra deliver the final blow to Gareth, sending him crashing into the arena wall. The match was over, as expected. But then something unprecedented happened.

Petra turned to face the crowd, her voice carrying clearly through the crystal’s audio. "I formally challenge Kael Ashford to a duel."

The arena erupted into chaos. Eight hundred students roared in shock and confusion, their voices creating a deafening wall of sound that made the crystal’s speakers crackle.

Whitmore nearly dropped his teacup. For the first time in decades of Academy administration, he found himself genuinely surprised by a student’s actions.

"Ashford?" he whispered, his mind racing through the implications. "Why in the seven hells would she challenge the youngest Ashford son?"

Through the crystal, he could see Petra standing calmly in the center of the arena while chaos swirled around her. Students were on their feet, shouting questions and speculation. Faculty members were rushing to restore order. And somewhere in that crowd, Kael Ashford was presumably deciding whether to accept this unexpected challenge.

Whitmore stood abruptly, pacing to his filing cabinet and pulling Kael Ashford’s folder with practiced efficiency. The file was surprisingly thin for a noble family heir, even a youngest son.

’SS-ranked fire manipulation awakening. Survived professional kidnapping attempt involving spatial manipulators. Minimal formal training documented. Parents focused resources on older brothers until recent awakening.’

But there were gaps in the documentation that had bothered Whitmore from the beginning. The kidnapping incident report was sanitized, containing none of the tactical details that would normally be included for such a serious security breach. The rescue operation was described in vague terms that suggested classified involvement.

’Royal Audience. Temporal manipulation support from Sarah Millbrook. Both targets extracted safely with minimal casualties among kidnappers.’

That last detail had always struck him as odd. Professional spatial kidnappers were typically eliminated during rescue operations, not simply incapacitated. Either the rescue team had shown unusual restraint, or the kidnappers had escaped on their own terms.

’Or the targets weren’t as helpless as the reports suggested.’

He touched the crystal again. "Leo, what’s the crowd’s reaction to Ashford specifically? Any indication he was expected as a target?"

*Negative. Complete surprise among student body. No prior indications of conflict between Blackthorne and Ashford. Students speculating about SS-ranked fire manipulation being the attraction.*

"Speculation," Whitmore muttered. "Everyone’s missing the real question."

"Everyone’s missing the real question," Whitmore muttered, studying Petra’s composed expression through the crystal.

He walked back to the window, staring down at the arena barriers that contained enough defensive abilities to stop an S-ranked attack. If Petra was challenging Kael specifically, rather than simply accepting random challengers, she had a reason that went beyond his documented abilities.

’She knows something the rest of us don’t. Something about the kidnapping incident, or his family’s hidden capabilities, or his personal development since arriving at the Academy.’

That was when Whitmore felt it.

Every hair on his arms stood on end simultaneously, as if lightning was about to strike directly through the Academy’s walls. The temperature in his office didn’t change, but something fundamental in the air itself shifted, becoming thick and oppressive.

’What in the name of...’

The sensation built rapidly, pressing down on him with the weight of something vast and ancient stirring to wakefulness. His military instincts, honed through decades of combat and command, screamed warnings he couldn’t identify or understand.

’Danger. Immediate. Overwhelming.’

He grabbed the communication crystal with both hands, his voice sharp with urgency. "Leo! Leo, respond immediately! Something’s happening!"

The crystal remained silent, its amber light flickering uncertainly.

’Power surge? Ability interference? Or something worse?’

Whitmore’s experience told him this wasn’t a normal Academy emergency. The sensation crawling up his spine was primal, ancient, like the moment before a natural disaster when even animals fell silent in recognition of approaching doom.

’Eight hundred students in that arena. Faculty. Staff. If something catastrophic is building...’

He tried adjusting the viewing crystal’s focus, but the connection began flickering uncertainly, the image wavering between clear and distorted.

Outside his window, the Academy grounds appeared peaceful under the afternoon sun. No visible signs of danger, no obvious threats. But the wrongness in the air continued to build, pressing against his consciousness with increasing intensity.

’Whatever this is, it’s centered on the arena. Has to be. The timing is too precise to be coincidental.’

Principal Whitmore had survived three wars, commanded troops in impossible situations, and faced dangers that would break ordinary men. But this formless dread settling over the Academy was unlike anything in his considerable experience.

Something fundamental was about to change, and he could do nothing but wait for whatever was coming to finally reveal itself.