SPRING, MARCH 2019
On tournament day, the sky was vibrant blue with wispy clouds. The sun was low in angle, casting long shadows, while the strong wind carried a freezing chill. Defeated students were either in the infirmary or watching other fights on eight platforms.
Cold sweat trickled from Zavian’s temple, a reminder of his chance to face Cramzyn in the final bout after overcoming Brockley. I have to win this fight. I will defeat him.
Their instructor, Grovan, and the arbiter for the first-year fights announced their names. After three months of physical and combat training, both Brockley and Zavian had bulked up, but Zavian had a more sculpted physique and a two-inch height advantage.
“Go, Zav! Win it!” a voice cheered from the crowd, and he smirked, well aware of how it would infuriate Brockley. His glare showed his displeasure. Zavian chose to ignore the hostility and instead looked toward Olesia, spotting her in the crowd, and waving to her with a smile and nod.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” Grovan asked, and both focused on him. “Incapacitate your opponent to win. If your counterpart concedes, you win. But remember, we’re not here to kill. Knock your opponent out without lethal intent. Understood?”
“Understood,” they replied in unison.
“Give your respects,” Grovan ordered, and after a respectful bow to their opponent, he signaled the start of the fight. Zavian glanced at the other platforms, noting students assuming their stances. Second years wielded wooden swords, while third and fourth years used real weapons.
“I’ll be quick to knock you out, Zavian,” Brockley grunted as they circled on the platform. He was successful in defeating his previous opponents with a single strike.
They closed the distance at a measured pace until Brockley lunged forward, ready to strike. Zavian planned to defend by ducking and striking his midsection. However, before he could execute his move, Brockley feigned the attack and swiftly weaved. In an instant, he had him lifted off the ground, throwing him backward onto the platform with a painful impact on his back. Zavian had never expected a suplex in this setting, especially not in a non-wrestling competition.
The impact sent a disorienting shock through him and he struggled to escape his vulnerable position. Using his arms and legs, he pushed himself upright, determined to regain control. Unfortunately, the feeling of his opponent’s arms on his waist returned all too quickly. It was a follow-up attack! Zavian hadn’t had time to recover before another suplex landed him heavily on his shoulder.
 The repeated throws strained his neck and spine, causing his body to tremble. He was on the brink of defeat without a chance to defend. The entire fight hadn’t lasted five minutes. If it were anyone else, he might have recovered quickly. But it was Brockley, and Zavian couldn’t comprehend the level of strength used. He suspected his opponent had used his conjurer ability, as there was no way he’d go down like this if he were a normal human.
The last thing Zavian heard was, “Stop now, Mr. Everest. The fight is over. You’ve won!”
Zavian awoke, feeling lightheaded as he opened his eyes, his mouth dry and bitter.
“Zav!”
He turned to the side, where Olesia’s face lit up as she rose from her seat. With her assistance, he pushed himself into a seated position.
“What happened?” he asked, looking around the room. They were alone in the school’s infirmary. The space was spacious, accommodating over thirty beds, and had distinctive architecture, including high ceilings, large windows, ornate moldings, and a wide foyer.
“Are you feeling all right? You’ve been out for two hours after your fight against Brockley,” Olesia explained, her expression growing somber.
A rush of emotions overcame Zavian as he recalled his humiliating defeat. Frustration brewed from his inability to showcase his skills, and anger simmered as he lost to someone he suspected of being a conjurer without proof. He also felt sadness and disappointment, realizing he’d let Olesia and himself down. The memory of blacking out during the fight only added to his embarrassment and self-doubt. Was unconsciousness becoming a recurring pattern for him? Zavian’s fists clenched as he grappled with his emotions. I can’t let this defeat consume me.
“Zav, are you okay?”
Summoning a small smile, he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t feel any pain in my body.”
She brightened and perched on the edge of the bed. “The doctor here is quite skilled and has a tonic that can heal minor wounds and pain in just a matter of minutes, but it tastes bitter. Much bitter than any medicine.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he rotated his shoulders. “Really? That explains why my body feels light and the bitter taste in my mouth. Uh, by the way, were you here all along?” She nodded. “I see. What happened in the tournament? Did it end already?”
She made a face. “Yeah, but don’t worry. Cramzyn defeated Brockley.” She beamed. “It’ll be great to watch her duel against the Lead Valoure tomorrow. Also, tomorrow will mark our last day at our current year level.”
He looked down. “Yes, it is. . . .” And I’m still in the same rank. Taking a deep breath, he returned his gaze to Olesia and asked, “How about your fight? Are you going to challenge the Lead Valoure?”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, I’ve never challenged him before, and this time is no different. I want to challenge him only when I’m confident that I can defeat him or at least get our duel to a draw.”
Zavian was once again impressed by her and couldn’t help but smile. “You’re certainly setting the best example for me. I’ll do the same.”
She chuckled. “Oh, Zav, it’s my pleasure to see you laugh.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t laugh. I just smiled.”
“I wasn’t aware that smiling has a sound,” she teased.
He shrugged and smiled again, this time silently.
▼
The sky transformed into a vibrant palette of colors, from warm oranges and pinks to deep purples and rich reds. The clouds mirrored the sun’s hues, creating a breathtaking contrast against the darkening sky.
The duels involving students challenging the Lead Valoure had concluded. Zavian could confidently assert that none had come close to matching Cramzyn’s speed and technique. Only she had managed to last a minute against the formidable Valoure, but even she hadn’t secured victory.
Cramzyn initially appeared on par with the Lead Valoure, but it was clear that he wasn’t showcasing even half of his abilities. Chronus Magnum was an exceptional fighter, with outstanding reflexes, impeccable timing, and extraordinary coordination.
Nevertheless, he had commended Cramzyn’s skills and suggested she could be the best fighter among the students in just two more years, an assessment Zavian agreed with. Perhaps, once Cramzyn became an official Valoure, he might have a chance to claim the title of the best.
Zavian now understood the extent of Olesia’s plan. Impressing Chronus Magnum enough to become a Valoure required relentless training and hard work. But before he could achieve that, he had to defeat Brockley.
Late in the evening when most students were likely asleep, Zavian discreetly slipped out of his room. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle light that aided his navigation of the training grounds.
The stillness of the night air helped him relax. The only sounds that broke the silence were the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant chirping of crickets.
Time felt slower, allowing him to take a deep breath and mentally visualize Brockley as his sparring partner.
Reflecting on their previous fight, he understood that avoiding being suplexed required precise technique, impeccable timing, and heightened awareness. The challenge lay in the unpredictability of Brockley’s fighting style, making it hard to anticipate his attacks. To prevent the suplex, Zavian adjusted his stance. He positioned his feet shoulder-width apart and bent his knees, to evenly distribute his weight to make it harder for Brockley to lift him off the ground.
Additionally, he considered breaking his grip. However, with Brockley’s strength, a simple hand technique might not suffice. Zavian needed a more robust strategy. He contemplated hooking his legs with his feet to prevent the suplex or shifting his weight forward, sitting on Brockley’s thigh, and seizing his ankle to unbalance him. This maneuver would cause Brockley to fall on his rear, enabling Zavian to twist his ankle and stomp his knee. While it sounded like a feasible plan, he acknowledged the possibility of Brockley thwarting his efforts, making it vital to adapt on the fly.
Frustration welled up within him as he envisioned the triumphant expression on Brockley’s face if he managed to defeat him again. I need to become stronger.
“Zavian, where are you?” a distant voice suddenly reached his ears. The sound echoed as if it came from a tunnel.
Perplexed, he scanned his surroundings but saw no one in sight. It sounded like Crossvan’s voice, yet wasn’t physically present. How can he hide in this vast open area? Am I hearing things now? He was about to dismiss the voice, but it persisted, speaking to him again. “Zav, it’s me, Crossvan. Where are you? You know we’re not allowed to be outside past ten. Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?”
He continued to look around, wondering where he might be hiding. Where is he?
“I’m in our room. Come back now. We’re responsible for each other. Please don’t risk getting us into trouble.”
Confused, Zavian furrowed his brows and cocked his head. Wait, how is he speaking to me, though? Is he—
“I’ll explain later. For now, just hurry back here.”
Zavian complied, surveying his surroundings as he moved stealthily despite the late hour. He was confident that no one would suspect a student walking around the academy at this time, but caution was wise. He had no desire to receive a three-day detention as a punishment.
Finally, he reached the men’s boarding building, ascended the brick stairs to the second floor, and carefully moved through the corridor. He approached the third door, turned the knob, and entered the room.
Crossvan stopped his restless pacing and let out a heavy sigh. He sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to wrinkle under his weight. The lamp on his bedside table was illuminated, and Zavian observed a worried expression on his face, which quickly turned more serious.
In the year they had been roommates, they surprisingly got along well, largely due to their limited verbal exchanges. They had shared similarities; both were introverted and driven to train harder, with Crossvan being the more easygoing of the two. Being a nice guy, Zavian had wondered during their high school years if Crossvan’s behavior had been primarily influenced by his choice of friends. He should have been more discerning in selecting the people around him, he thought. Why did he even choose to be a bully back then? I guess that was in the past, and his personality had dramatically changed for the better.
“Why did you sneak out?” Crossvan inquired.
Zavian sighed as he took a seat on the bed across from him. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. But why are you up? You were sound asleep when I left.”
“I often wake up during the night.”
“Could you please explain what happened earlier?”
“I’m a conjurer.”
Zavian’s surprise was minimal; it merely confirmed his suspicion. I knew it. Only conjurers possessed such extraordinary— He abruptly halted his thoughts, worried that Crossvan could read his mind.
“Don’t worry, I can’t read minds.”
Zavian was startled by the fact that he accurately responded to his unspoken thoughts. “Well, you can and you just did.”
“No. I can’t read your mind, but I can make educated guesses about what’s in your mind,” Crossvan clarified. “My ability is telepathy; I can communicate with others through thoughts, and I can only read your mind if you allow me to—by responding through my telepathic communication, that is.”
Zavian nodded. “So, why are you here at SVA? And why are you sharing this with me? Aren’t you concerned I might expose you?”
Crossvan smiled. “I’m not worried. I believe you won’t do that. I just want to tell you that not all conjurers are evil. Some, like me, possess harmless abilities, and not all conjurers use their powers to harm people; some protect.”