The classroom at Rozzlax Academy was a study in contrasts. The walls, lined with polished steel and mana-infused glyphs, gleamed under the sterile light of Voluran sconces. The air was thick with the hum of magic, the faint crackle of energy emanating from the students’ Voluran staffs, and the quiet murmur of hushed conversations. The room was a microcosm of Aether itself—orderly, efficient, and cold.


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    The tension in the hallway was palpable as Ivan and Fent walked side by side, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating off the polished steel walls. The confrontation in the classroom had left a mark, not just on Lorcan and Ivan, but on the entire academy. Whispers followed them as they moved through the corridors, students casting furtive glances in their direction. The divide between the elitist Aethans and those of Millinggardan descent had always been present, but now it was out in the open, raw and unignorable.


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    As the two combatants faced off, the crowd fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Lorcan’s smirk widened, his confidence unshaken. Ivan, on the other hand, remained calm, his gaze steady and his movements deliberate. The duel was about to begin, and with it, the clash of two very similar yet different worlds