The Boy Who Walks Beyond The End

After class ended, Zen spent an hour more practicing his swordsmanship alone in the courtyard behind the training hall, sweat trickling down his forehead, breaths heavy but eyes calm. The dull thump of his blade slicing air gave him peace—but something in the air shifted.

He turned.

"Lyra?" he called softly, surprised to see her searching around.

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She turned at his voice, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "There you are... I was looking for you."

Zen smiled and waved Kyra away, who was walking nearby. "Thanks, Kyra. I'll catch you later."

Then to Lyra, he stepped closer. "Something on your mind?"

Her violet eyes hesitated for a moment, concern written across her brows. "Are you really sure you want to fight tomorrow?"

Zen's smile didn't waver. He nodded. "I have to."

"You know you don't have to. If it feels too much, you can just say surrender, okay?" Her voice was soft, a whisper trying to protect something fragile.

Zen chuckled gently, eyes narrowing with fire. "Surrender?" he echoed, placing his hand on the hilt of his blade. "Lyra, I'd rather die on my feet than kneel in fear."

She looked at him, speechless for a moment. "A-Are you... worried I'm worried about you?"

Zen leaned slightly closer, eyes softening. "Aren't you?"

Lyra's eyes darted away. "Worried for you? Why would I be worried for a reckless idiot like you?"

Zen smiled, and the sound was so gentle it made her cheeks glow.

Time passed as they strolled beneath the sky, eventually taking dinner together under the warm lantern glow. They laughed at small jokes and spoke about everything but the duel, as if trying to delay the inevitable.

When they reached their dorm hallway, Lyra paused.

"Hey... don't think too much about the duel, alright?" she said quietly, gazing at the floor.

"I won't."

She looked up. "Goodnight, Zen."

"Goodnight, Lyra."

---

The Duel Morning

The sun rose golden across the courtyard, scattering its light into the windows of the dining hall. Zen ate with Lyra and Arisella quietly.

"You've got this," Arisella said with a smirk. "We'll be cheering."

"We believe in you," Lyra added, softer but deeply sincere.

As they walked toward the dueling grounds, laughter echoed.

"That's the guy? Hah! This'll be good."

"A commoner challenging Delan? What a joke."

Some students couldn't hold their snickers, watching Zen walk by like he was entertainment. Even a few second-year students gathered on the balcony above, whispering.

Suddenly, the sky shimmered with runes. A professor's voice echoed through the academy.

> "Attention students: Due to today's first-year duel, classes will begin after the match concludes. All are welcome to attend at the Duel Grounds."

Students rushed in.

The Duel Grounds—a stone arena surrounded by ancient glowing pillars—waited like a sleeping beast. It was called The Crescent Pit, a place where reputations rose... or fell.

At the center, Professor Thandor stood, his gray beard and white robe fluttering in the wind. His blue eyes scanned the arena like a hawk's.

He raised his staff. "Today's duel is between first-years Delan Mirros and Zen. It will continue until one of you surrenders."

Delan stepped forward, smirking darkly. "Professor, we can propose a stake, can't we?"

Thandor nodded slowly. "A Combat Contract may be proposed. Do you have a condition?"

Delan's eyes gleamed. "If Zen loses... he leaves this academy. Permanently."

Gasps scattered through the stands.

Lyra's eyes widened, hands clenching her robes. "What...?"

Arisella's jaw tightened, anger flashing. "That snake."

The crowd cheered at Delan's boldness.

Professor Thandor turned to Zen. "And your condition?"

Zen smiled casually, unfazed. "Fifty gold coins from Delan."

Lyra's face twisted. "Fifty coins?! Is he trying to buy the academy's lunch for a year?!"

Arisella smirked. "Bold. I like it"

Some students chuckled while others scoffed.

Professor Thandor raised both hands. "Combat Contract accepted. Duel... begin!"

---

The Duel Begins

Delan raised his staff and muttered ancient incantations. Shards of ice formed mid-air and shot toward Zen like bullets.

"Frost Volley!"

Zen dodged, each blast of ice exploding beside him. He darted left and rolled forward.

"Glacial Bind!"

Chains of frost erupted from the ground, trying to bind his legs. Zen slashed through one, but another caught his side and flung him back.

The crowd roared as Delan advanced.

"Stay down, peasant," Delan sneered. "You can't even reach me."

Zen stood up, wiping blood from his lip. He charged again, zig-zagging to close the distance.

"Ice Bloom!"

A massive frost flower exploded beneath Zen's feet, freezing the ground and launching icicles skyward. One scraped his shoulder, another grazed his thigh.

But he kept going.

He refused to stop.

Blood dripped from his side as he lunged again, only to be flung back by another blast of Ice Lance.

He gasped, body bruised and frostbitten.

From the stands, Lyra's hand flew to her mouth. "Z-Zen..."

Tears filled her eyes. Arisella's fist tightened. "Damn it—stand up, Zen!"

Zen panted. His legs were trembling. Everything blurred. The pain became distant—replaced by something else.

The fog.

That strange, familiar fog began to surge in his head—pain blossoming, agonizing.

Not now... not now...

Then—

A whisper. A pulse.

Zen's eyes widened as the fog burst from his body—black, ethereal, alive. It flowed through his arm, touching his sword.

Only he could see it.

The blade hummed—glowing faintly. The frost around it began to melt.

The dark mist swirled into his chest and limbs, strengthening him. His heart pounded.

Then he moved.

With a roar, he slashed forward.

A black arc of Qi exploded from his sword, melting every shard of ice in its path.

Delan's smirk vanished.

Zen blurred forward—closer—closer—

"No—stay back!" Delan screamed, casting a last desperate shield of frost.

Zen shattered it.

His blade cut through Delan's wand—snap!

Then a strike to Delan's arm—blood sprayed—and his wand fell to the ground.

Zen stepped in and punched.

Once.

Twice.

Delan fell to the ground, trying to cover his face. "STOP! I—I SURRENDER!!"

---

The Aftermath

Silence.

Then a storm of gasps and shocked exclamations.

"He... he won?"

"No way—he won?!"

"That's impossible!"

Lyra couldn't hold it anymore—she cried, her tears falling freely, hands trembling as she looked at Zen.

Her chest ached—relief, pride, pain, all wrapped into one. Arisella stepped beside her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He did it," she said, smiling. "That stubborn idiot actually did it."

Lyra wiped her tears, then smiled too, her lips quivering. "Yeah... he really did."

Zen stood in the center of the arena, blinking through the fog still flowing faintly around him.

Then—

His body gave out.

He fell to the ground, unconscious.

The arena remained silent for a moment before erupting in stunned applause and cries of disbelief. The professor rushed toward him.

Arisella called out. "Quick, get help!"

Lyra ran too, her heart pounding. "Zen!"

The duel was over.

But something darker... something deeper had just begun.