CHAPTER 100: DATE RUINED [3]

The pulse of energy crashed into the tip of Lyrium’s greatsword, a blinding explosion of light and sound.

Sparks flew, debris scattered in every direction, and the air around him seemed to warp like water over heat.

"...Ha! Not bad, not bad at all,"

Lyrium muttered, twisting the blade to deflect a second strike.

"I was hoping you’d make this interesting. A little chaos, a little drama. Perfect for a Tuesday, or whatever day it is when the world decides to throw tantrums at me."

The entity didn’t speak.

It moved, pulsated, and shifted in ways that made the air itself feel unstable, almost alive.

Its attacks weren’t predictable, but Lyrium was already reading the rhythm, matching it with subtle shifts in stance, arcs of his blade, and quiet, precise sparks of lightning coiling along his arms.

"You know,"

He said aloud, voice casual despite the tension,

"For someone, or something, that just appears and screams ’danger,’ you’ve got style. Elegance. Grace. I’ll give you that. But..."

He twirled the sword lightly, almost mockingly.

"...you lack a certain... etiquette. Introductions. Names. A proper challenge. Poor form."

A deafening shockwave erupted as the entity lunged forward.

Lyrium barely sidestepped, the force pushing his coat back like a storm of shadows.

Sparks hissed along his sword, but the blade held firm, vibrating as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.

"See?"

He said, voice low, teasing.

"I told you, this baby’s mine. And we play by my rules. Oh... you didn’t read the fine print?"

A flicker in the smoke caught his attention, a shadow moving far above, at the edge of the plaza, careful, deliberate.

For a moment, Lyrium’s focus sharpened beyond the fight itself. Something... or someone... was observing.

"Hmm,"

He muttered, voice barely audible over the chaos.

"...someone likes a front-row seat."

The entity paused, hovering midair, energy coiling around it like a living storm.

Lyrium’s eyes narrowed, a faint smirk curling his lips.

"You’re curious, aren’t you?"

He said softly.

"Oh, don’t worry. I love an audience. Makes the performance more... thrilling."

The energy pulse surged again, faster this time.

Lyrium met it head-on, sparks cascading along his sword, arcs of lightning flaring outward in controlled bursts.

Then, from the edge of the smoke, almost hidden in the shadows, a figure stirred. Cloaked, careful, and watching with unmistakable intensity.

Lyrium’s head tilted slightly, still fighting, still moving, but his instincts whispered:

Watching... calculating... observing...

"...Ah,"

He said with a low chuckle, not looking directly at the figure.

"...So you’re here. I wondered if anyone would actually show up. Figured it would be chaos, debris, screaming civilians... and maybe someone bored enough to spectate. Looks like I was right."

The figure stepped slightly forward, just enough for the faint glow of their eyes to catch in the corner of the smoke-choked plaza.

Lyrium didn’t stop moving, didn’t pause his blade, but the corner of his mouth curved with amusement.

"Ohhh, I like this,"

He said, voice soft but carrying the weight of a challenge.

"Watching me test myself against... whatever the hell you are. Not participating. Just... watching. Classic. I appreciate that kind of professionalism."

The figure shifted, finally revealing the faint outline of a tall man, robes brushing the ground lightly, hands clasped behind his back.

Eyes sharp.

Observant.

Calculating.

Lyrium’s smirk widened slightly.

"...Well now, look at you. I almost feel honored that someone of... your, uh... reputation decided to take an interest."

He flicked the sword, sparks dancing across the plaza, keeping the energy pulse in check.

"...Yes, yes. That’s it. Stay in the shadows, watch, learn. But don’t touch the fun. This is my show, my rules. And ohhh... I bet you’re enjoying this way too much already."

The figure shifted again, slow, deliberate, moving from behind the wreckage just enough to stay unseen yet completely visible to anyone paying attention.

The faintest smirk curled their lips as they tilted their head, hands still behind their back.

Lyrium’s voice was calm, teasing, almost theatrical now:

"You know... normally, I’d ask for applause. But considering the circumstances, I suppose your silent critique will have to do. Still..."

He glanced toward the shadow, his eyes sharp.

"...Keep watching, Professor Darcyroix. I promise, you won’t regret it. Not that you have a choice."

The smoke twisted between them, hiding most of the plaza, but the tension was palpable.

Lyrium’s energy surged, sword humming like it was alive, ready for the next strike.

The pulse of the unknown entity reacted instantly, sensing his confidence, measuring him, taunting him.

"...And now,"

Lyrium said, a grin forming despite the danger,

"Let’s see who blinks first."

And for the first time in the plaza, the three forces, the unknown entity, Lyrium, and the silent observer, were all fully aware of each other, the battlefield set, the suspense taut like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap.

*****

Darcyroix’s POV [The time around When the Mana Distortion Happened in near the Cafè]

The evening settled over the academy like a soft, golden cloak.

I was alone in my office, the hum of mana crystals the only sound accompanying my quiet musings.

My desk was scattered with reports, ledgers, and the faint scent of old parchment.

The hour was peaceful, or at least, it should have been.

And yet... something felt wrong.

A pulse.

Not just a fluctuation in mana, but a distortion. One that twisted the very air around it.

I sensed it first in the core of the academy, a subtle quiver in the elemental wards, a shift so slight that most would dismiss it.

But not I.

My senses, honed through decades, felt the magnitude.

It was coming from the plaza district.

The café area.

Curious.

Alarmed.

Calculating.

I rose from my chair, stretching my fingers as the air around me thickened with expectation.

A disturbance like this, this magnitude, didn’t appear for no reason.

It wasn’t chaotic, not exactly.

It was deliberate.

Measured.

And intelligent.

"Interesting..."

I muttered, my voice low, almost drowned by the quiet of the room.

"So, the storm begins without warning. How predictable, yet... exhilarating."

Reality bent slightly at my will.

A ripple through space and time, subtle but enough to transport me.

One blink, and the plaza was beneath my eyes.

The sight that greeted me stole my breath for a second.

Smoke coiled like blackened serpents.

Debris spun lazily in the air, propelled by some invisible force.

The screams of the civilians were distant, almost irrelevant to the primal pulse I sensed.

This... this was bigger than the Anomalous Rift three years ago.

Much bigger.

My fingers brushed the edge of my cloak.

I didn’t move yet.

Observation first.

Analysis second.

There was a lesson to learn here, a pattern, a rhythm.

Whoever, or whatever, was at the heart of this didn’t merely wield energy.

It lived in it.

And it was reacting.

I leaned against a shattered wall, letting the evening wind curl around me, carrying dust and fragments of panic.

Thoughts ran like ink in water, slow and deliberate.

Power doesn’t ask for permission.

Power doesn’t apologize for the destruction it leaves in its wake.

Power isn’t bound by law, by morality, by time itself.

Those who wield it, whether they know it or not, are either swallowed by it, or they bend the world to their will.

And this boy... this Blackwood... he doesn’t yet know the limits of his storm.

But the storm knows him.

Curious... isn’t it? How the universe always tests the ones who matter the most.

How it sends calamity, not to punish, but to see who dares to walk through fire and remain unburned.

How every anomaly, every creature, every pulse of energy is a reflection, not of the world, but of the one standing against it.

And here I am.

Watching.

Waiting.

Patient.

Because power... real power... reveals itself only to those who choose to face it, not flee.

Only to those who understand that every threat is also an opportunity.

Every enemy is also a teacher.

Every explosion is also a question: Are you ready to answer it?

I felt the ground tremble, and my eyes caught a figure moving through the smoke.

Lightning coiled faintly along his arms, his coat a shadow of liquid black, his movements calm, measured, yet charged with energy.

Lyrium Blackwood.

Even from this distance, I could feel the surge of his presence.

The anomaly, whatever it was, recognized him.

Anticipated him.

But still, it pulsed with intent, ready to test him, to draw out every ounce of his skill and reaction.

I let a faint smile curl at my lips.

Watching someone like him confront something far beyond normal comprehension... it is both terrifying and... exquisite.

"So... it begins. The storm runs toward the hurricane. Let’s see if even the storm can survive what comes next."

I straightened, adjusting my cloak, and stepped fully into view of the plaza.

The debris shifted around me, distant explosions echoing in the evening air.

And then I saw him, Lyrium, running straight toward the heart of the anomaly.

Every motion precise.

Every step a declaration: I will face this.

And I... would watch.

Because some battles... you cannot interfere with.

You can only witness. And sometimes, the witnessing is the most thrilling part of all.

*****