Astraedus Academy - Combat Arena, Midnight Trial Grounds

  The winds howled unnaturally around the massive combat dome. Artificial stars glittered overhead, crafted by the Academy’s celestial projection system—but beneath their beauty, something more primal stirred.

  Aeon stood in the center of the arena, sleeves rolled up, breath steady. Around him, six figures emerged from the shadows—Vael’s pawns, cloaked in deep-blue battle robes marked with symbols of fractured stars.

  "He's alone," one of them sneered. "This will be quick."

  Before the first attack landed, two bursts of light slammed onto the field beside Aeon.

  Lysira and Darian.

  "Alone? He never is," Lysira said with a grin, spinning her dual shortblades.

  "You guys really think you'd get to beat on our friend without us chiming in?" Darian cracked his knuckles.

  The first blow came from a staff-wielder—electric arcs surging toward Aeon. He shifted, not dodging—but letting the lightning touch him, redirecting it through the palm of his hand into the arena floor.

  Then chaos erupted.

  Blades clashed. Spells collided midair. The sound of magic tearing through wind roared across the dome.

  Vael, watching from the upper balcony of the coliseum, leaned against the railing. His lips curved slightly—not in glee, but in interest.

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  "Let’s see what triggers his next awakening."

  Elsewhere – House of Virelios, Ancestral Wing (Earlier that Day)

  Naelia Virelios traced her fingers along the velvet-lined bookshelves. Her eyes shimmered with echo-memories. She paused at an old family painting—Aeon as a child, standing beside their parents.

  "They never told him," she whispered. "About the Oath of the First Flame. About the Warden of Elysiar."

  Their mother, Seraphelle Virelios, entered quietly. Her golden eyes—just like Aeon's—met her daughter's with solemn weight.

  "He wasn’t ready," she said softly.

  "And if he learns it from Vael first?" Naelia asked.

  Silence.

  "Then we’ve already failed."

  Back in the Combat Arena

  The sixth and final pawn—an illusionist named Vehrin—was the most dangerous.

  He cast Aeon into a realm of shifting memories, illusions of people Aeon had loved, lost, and couldn’t save. A battlefield of regret.

  But then… Aeon stopped running.

  He looked one illusion in the eye—his father, cloaked in shadow.

  "You’re not real," Aeon said. "But the pain is. And pain... is a fire I’ve always walked with."

  His aura burst—limiters cracking.

  He didn’t glow.

  He didn’t scream.

  He simply stepped forward—and reality bent around his footfall.

  Vehrin’s illusions collapsed in a scream of color.

  With a gesture, Aeon raised his hand—and the arena filled with silent flame.

  Flame that didn’t burn—but judged.

  The pawns dropped to their knees, stripped of their shadows.

  Lysira and Darian shielded their eyes, tears unbidden.

  "What... was that?" Darian muttered.

  "Not magic," Lysira whispered. "Something older. Like it looked at us."

  Above, Vael’s smile widened.

  "There he is."

  Astraedus Academy – Infirmary, Later That Night

  Aeon sat quietly, bruised but calm. Professor Varnet walked in, followed by Madame Caltrae.

  "You accessed something you weren’t meant to yet," Caltrae said, folding her arms.

  "What was it?" Aeon asked. Not defiant. Curious.

  "Not a what," Varnet said. "A who. That flame doesn’t belong to gods or mortals. It belongs to the First One. To the one who made the Cosmic Infinite."

  Aeon met his gaze.

  "So it’s mine."

  Neither teacher replied.

  Pain burns. Truth scorches. But from flame, clarity can rise. Aeon’s identity is beginning to slip into view—like stars appearing in a storm-cleared sky. But if he holds that fire too soon… it may consume more than just his enemies.