Location: The King's Guard Sparring Hall
The air inside the sparring room was thick with anticipation. The walls shimmered faintly with embedded enchantments, ancient barrier magic layered into the stone, reinforced by royal spellcasters over generations. The floor had runes woven through the tiles, glowing faintly beneath the surface, protection seals, made to withstand even the most violent magical assaults.
The ten members of the King's Guard, clad in their training gear, stood in a half-circle, focused and ready. The energy was tense but silent, this wasn't an ordinary drill. It was something more. Commander Dion, sharp in his command, stepped into view. His face was expressionless, but his voice carried with thunderous authority.
"Today's sparring session is more than a match" He began, pacing in front of the group. "I will be watching, not just for strength, but for style, tactics, and magic affinity. Based on your performance, you will be sorted into your class designation within the Guard: Assassin Mage, Healing Mage, Tank Mage, or Summoning Mage"
The guards straightened at his words.
He turned and pointed toward the center of the arena. "First match, the two new additions, Freya versus Rayne"
Rayne, lounging at the end of the line, stretched his arms lazily before strolling into the arena like it was a casual stroll through a park. His posture was completely relaxed, almost disrespectfully so. He twirled his sword once as it materialized in his hand in a flash of dark steel, his expression unreadable.
Freya, on the other hand, moved forward with mechanical precision.
Her red hair was tied back in a braid, her sharp eyes cold and unreadable. She walked with her hands down until she entered the ring, then calmly raised one arm and summoned her weapon, a sleek, silver-bladed sword, runes etched into its edge. Her stance was sharp. Deadly. Trained.
They faced each other. A silent tension simmered. Rayne smirked. "So this is the first time I'm seeing your pretty face"
Freya said nothing. Her eyes didn't even blink.
"You don't talk much, do you?" He added, grin widening"That's fine. I talk enough for two"
Still, no reply.
Commander Dion's voice rang out. "There are no rules. Use everything. The match ends if one surrenders…or can no longer fight. Begin!"
A split second later, Freya moved. She was on him in a flash. The tip of her blade flashed straight for his chest, Rayne barely deflected, stumbling slightly. Her next strike came low, then another high. Each blow a precise, lethal strike, never wasted. Rayne backpedaled, still holding that smirk, but now ducking, weaving.
Her magic ignited. Wind magic, razor-sharp and fast, spiraled around her blade as she slashed sideways, sending a slicing arc of compressed air straight at him. Rayne raised a barrier just in time, but the force sent him skidding back.
Anya watched from the sideline, eyes wide, her heart racing. This was her first time seeing Rayne fight, and she was eager to witness what earned him a spot in the Guard.
Freya didn't let up. She launched again, this time pairing her blade strikes with elemental flashes, wind-enhanced movements, explosive bursts of light that disoriented, slicing kicks that slammed Rayne into the ground, then vanished, only to reappear behind him.
Rayne groaned as he was slammed into a wall, hard enough to crack the reinforced rune tiles, before flipping to his feet. He barely raised his sword before she was on him again. She danced around him like a phantom, her blade kissing skin with shallow cuts each time. His jacket shredded. Blood painted the tiles.
Rayne was bleeding. Battered. Winded. He tried to launch a counter, but she parried it mid-air, ducked beneath his guard, and slammed an elbow into his ribs, followed by a roundhouse kick that sent him flying across the arena.
Commander Dion narrowed his eyes, impressed.
Anya's smile faded. This wasn't what she expected.
Rayne, now groaning on the ground, coughed and tried to push himself up, his face bloodied, armor dented. Freya walked over, standing above him. Sword at his chest.
Rayne looked up with a smirk, coughing blood. "You fight like someone's pissed off at the world…"
She replied at last, voice flat. "You're weak"
Then she turned and walked out of the ring, leaving him there. Her footsteps echoed with finality.
"First round winner, Freya" Commander Dion announced.
Anya stared in disbelief. Was he really…just a B-Class mage? Around her, murmurs began. Rayne still hadn't stood up. And yet, he didn't look ashamed. He smirked, despite the blood, as if satisfied with something only he understood.
The guards barely had time to breathe before Commander Dion's voice rang out again, sharp and cold. "Next match…Miles versus Rayne"
A ripple of confusion spread across the room. Rayne, still sprawled on the floor from his savage match with Freya, lifted his head slowly. His body ached, blood matted his shirt, one eye already swelling. Even his smirk had faded into something tight and bitter.
"You've got to be kidding…" He muttered, groaning as he forced himself up, every joint protesting.
No rest. No time.
Even the other guards looked surprised. This wasn't standard procedure. Normally, each fighter got a short rest, enough time to recover stamina. Not today. It felt personal. Almost like Commander Dion was testing him, or worse, punishing him.
Rayne limped to his spot in the arena, gripping his side. And that's when Miles entered. A youthful face, golden-brown skin, and his dark hair shiny, even though it was a buzzcut. He beamed brightly as he stepped into the arena like a performer stepping onto a stage.
"Hey! Rayne, right?" He said cheerfully. "It's so great to finally meet you, I've been waiting to spar with you since i joined. Oh, and sorry in advance, but please go easy on me, okay? I bruise like a peach…"
He rambled without breathing, practically bouncing on his heels, sword now shimmering into existence in his hand, a sleek silver blade, engraved with intricate runes that pulsed with soft blue light.
Rayne blinked. "Does he ever shut up?" He thought to himself.
Miles grinned wider. "Also, I heard you were really cool and mysterious, oh, and that you fought an assassin mage with the princess! Is that true? I mean, not that I believe everything people say but…"
"Begin!" Commander Dion's command cut the air like a blade.
The transformation was instantaneous. Miles' entire demeanor snapped. The wide grin vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory glare. His cheerful expression flipped into a cold killer's face. His body tensed like a coiled spring, shoulders squaring, eyes narrowing into deadly focus.
Rayne barely had a second to react before…
CRACK!
Miles was on him. Faster than Freya. More brutal. More vicious. His first strike nearly broke Rayne's guard, a diagonal slash so powerful that it rattled Rayne's bones. Rayne staggered back, but Miles pursued, striking again and again with inhuman fluidity, his body moving like liquid steel.
Rayne parried once. Twice. Then lost the rhythm.
SLAM!
Miles twisted mid-air, delivering a spinning kick to Rayne's ribs, sending him crashing into the arena wall. Before Rayne could slide down, Miles dashed forward, vaulted off the wall itself, and brought his sword down like a guillotine.
Rayne rolled just in time, the blade cleaved a deep gash into the reinforced floor.
Magic erupted from Miles' feet, an explosive burst of kinetic energy, propelling him across the ring in a zig-zag blur. He flipped, spun, twisted his entire body mid-air, and rained down attacks from angles that shouldn't have been physically possible. He was like a flash, a master of acrobatics.
Rayne bled. From his lips. His arm. His shoulder. He tried to fight back, blade meeting Miles' with a brief spark, but Miles didn't appear to be just stronger. He appeared more refined, more aggressive. And relentless.
A powerful magic pulse from Miles exploded across Rayne's chest, knocking the wind from him and sending his sword skidding away. Unarmed. Dazed. Staggering. Miles didn't slow. He whirled, caught Rayne's fallen sword mid-dash, and now wielded both blades, his own in his dominant hand, Rayne's in the other.
Dual blades. A whirlwind of steel. Slash—stab—slice—spin—
Blood flew as Rayne's chest was cut open, a deep gash crossing from his shoulder to his ribs. Rayne dropped to his knees, gasping. His vision blurred. The edges of his world grew hazy.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Miles didn't stop. He kicked Rayne's side, stomped him once, twice, knocking the breath from his lungs. Then flipped backward and drove both blades into the floor, right beside Rayne's head, barely missing him. Rayne didn't move. Blood dripped from his mouth. His hands trembled.
And for the first time since he joined the Guard, he looked…defeated. Just as Miles was about to strike again with both swords,
"I…surrender" His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, surprising everyone.
"Enough! He surrenders. Match has ended" CommanderDion called. His tone betrayed no emotion.
Silence. Then, shock. Because the moment the match ended, Miles' face lit up again. His entire expression flipped back to bubbly, cheerful innocence. He pulled both swords from the ground, offered Rayne a hand, and beamed. "That was amazing! Sorry about the bones, man, you good? That cut looked bad. I get carried away sometimes!"
Rayne just stared at him, coughing out blood as he took the offered hand. Miles helped him up with surprising gentleness, one arm slung around his shoulder. "You fought well! I hope we can be friends, oh wait, do you like pie?"
Anya stood stunned. Her eyes wide. Her jaw slightly open.She couldn't believe it. Not just because Miles had practically two personalities, but because Rayne, this mysterious, aloof man she thought had secrets and strength, had been utterly destroyed. He looked…ordinary. Battered. Bloody. Just a B-Class mage, after all.
As Miles helped Rayne limp toward the benches, Commander Dion called the next match, but no one really heard it. All eyes remained on the wreckage of the man who had entered the King's Guard with such intrigue, and the mystery of the boy who smiled like a child but fought like a monster.
⸻
The roars and clashing of steel were long gone, replaced by the low hum of healing spells and quiet breathing. Sweat, blood, and magic still lingered in the air. Every guard stood before Commander Dion, battered, bruised, some barely holding themselves upright.
Except for Anya. She remained at the far end, arms folded, leaning against the stone wall. Observing. Quiet. Her sharp gaze flicked between the soldiers, taking mental notes of her own.
Rayne, still sore and bloodied, stood near the edge of the lineup, the ache in his bones dulled only slightly by a half-hearted healing spell. He said nothing. Miles, grinning as if nothing had happened, gave him a friendly shoulder bump, whispering something about breakfast.
Commander Dion stepped forward, hands behind his back, gaze cutting through each of them like a blade. "You've all had your time in the ring. You've shown me your strengths, your limits, and how you move when pain blinds you and exhaustion drags at your limbs" His voice echoed with authority.
A pause.
Then he began.
"Theo Dawn" He called. A tall, lean man with raven-black hair stepped forward. "Assassin Mage. You rely on shadow magic and misdirection. Quick strikes. Quick exits. Lethal and efficient, and your magic is an attack magic"
Theo gave a single nod, eyes sharp.
"Shuri Greene" The slender girl with sea-green eyes stepped forward. "Summoning Mage. Your spirit bond with the Vulpen is your greatest asset. Refine it"
"Dean Allen" He called. Another nod. "Assassin Mage. Your mobility and focus are near flawless. You blend well with the shadows"
"Bria Smoak" He called. Soft-footed, her hands glowing faintly from residual healing. "Healer Mage. You kept distance, preserved energy, and reacted quickly to injury"
"Michael Lay" He called next. A burly man with a gentle demeanor. "Healer Mage. You pair speed with powerful restorations. Stay close to the front"
"Finn Mikaelsson" He called. The large blond bruiser cracked his neck as he stepped forward."Tank Mage. Your resilience and force-field manipulation make you a wall we can depend on"
"Travis Brown" He called. A quiet man with sharp focus."Summoning Mage. Your control over shadow beasts is great, raw and powerful"
"Miles Veyr" He looked over at him. The boy snapped to attention, still beaming like a sunbeam. "Assassin Mage. Fastest feet, deadliest hands. Control your emotions when the switch flips"
Miles gave a theatrical salute. "Yessir!"
"Freya Lorne" He shifted his gaze to her. She stood straight, arms behind her back. "Assassin Mage. Precision. Speed. You're a silent killer. Use that to your advantage"
And finally…
"Rayne Egan" He called with his eyes falling on Rayne. Rayne's jaw tensed. His wounds still bled under his clothes."Tank Mage"
A few eyebrows raised.
"You took every hit. Every blast. You got back up. A tank isn't just about size. It's about endurance, and your ability to absorb punishment to protect others"
Rayne gave no reaction. He nodded while smiling inside, applauding himself for being able to fool everyone effortlessly, and keeping his persona of a weak mage intact.
Commander Dion stepped back. "These classes are not suggestions. They are your path to survival, and the survival of your team" He began to pace slowly before them, voice rising just enough to command attention.
"Assassins eliminate threats before they reach the team. Healers keep us standing. Summoners bring allies beyond this realm. Tanks take the brunt of the storm" He explained, and then stopped and faced them. "But none of you survive alone. You strategize. You trust. You adapt. Or you die"
A heavy silence fell over the hall. Then his tone shifted, darker. Weighted. "The world is changing. Fast. The enemy has grown bold. They test our walls. They strike from the shadows. They attack with a mission. They've come out from the shadows after being silent for years. Which means we are approaching an inevitable war"
He looked toward the far end, where Anya stood, eyes locked on his. "The King is dead. And with that fall, the attacks on the Princess will not just continue…they'll escalate"
Rayne's brows lowered.
"We are no longer just playing defense. Starting now…we go on the offense" His voice sharpened like a blade unsheathed. "You will train harder than you've ever trained before. For the new members, as of this moment, you are not just new recruits, you are the blade in the dark. The shield at the gate. The last line, and the first strike"
He let the words sink in, and then."Dismissed. Your new squad formations according to your mage class type, will be announced tomorrow. Rest while you can"
The room broke into motion, guards murmuring amongst themselves, limping off, some sharing congratulations or laughs. Others remained quiet, introspective.
Anya watched it all. Her gaze shifted from Freya, who remained calm and unreadable, to Miles, who was already joking with Travis, then to Rayne, who hadn't moved, his eyes fixed on the floor, thoughts unreadable. She pushed off the wall and turned to leave. But in her mind, one word echoed, Disappointed.
***
(Unknown Location. Far Beyond Arcania)
Shadows clung to the walls like living things, refusing to release their grip. There were no torches, no windows. Only darkness. A cold, unmoving silence dominated the chamber, broken only by the steady, slow drip…drip… drip of water echoing from somewhere unseen.
At the far end of the chamber sat a figure cloaked in shadow, perched upon a throne-like seat carved of blackened stone and bone. His form was intimidating, regal, commanding. But his face, his true self, was completely hidden. The way the room was built, it swallowed light where he sat. His silhouette was the only proof he was real.
This was 'The First'
Before him, knelt two young figures. One was a man, Neo the Dark Knight, no older than twenty-three, long dark hair cascading to his shoulders, his chiseled face partially hidden by a sleek, black half-mask. It was molded tightly to his skin, covering from the bridge of his nose downward to his jawline, matte and battle-worn, textured like tactical armor, reminiscent of the Winter Soldier's mask from old-world lore. Every line of the mask was calculated, functional yet sinister, designed to intimidate and obscure. It left only his cold, glowing blue eyes exposed, eyes sharp with anticipation, eyes that hinted at suppressed hunger.
Beside him, a silver-haired young woman, Phoenix the White Sparrow, equally poised and deadly, knelt with her head lowered in the same posture of absolute respect. Her white hair was tied into a single, tight ponytail, falling clean down her back. Her expression was unreadable, but her aura vibrated with stillness, the kind of stillness that only precedes precision violence.
The First leaned slightly forward, his voice slicing through the silence like rusted metal on stone.
"I am…running out of patience" His tone was slow. Measured. Deadly. "The dark mages sent to Arcania…disappoint me. Again and again. They fail. They fall. They break" A low growl escaped him, barely restrained. "But you two…" He paused.
The kneeling man's eyes lifted slightly, a predator waiting for the leash to snap.
"You are my sharpened blades. My trusted assassin mages" The First's words curled like smoke. "It is time. Time to end this delay. Time to bring me what I seek"
The blue-eyed man finally looked sideways meeting the gaze of the silver-haired woman. For a brief moment, their shared glance said everything 'this is it'
They had waited. Trained. Killed in silence. Obeyed without question.
And now? They were being unleashed. The man's voice came first calm, confident, lethal. "We'll get it done. Without fail, my liege"
The woman followed, her voice soft but resolute. "They won't know what hit them"
The First exhaled slowly, like the creaking of ancient iron hinges "Good" A flicker of something almost human curled at the corner of his unseen mouth. "Let the world feel what true fear tastes like…again"
The chamber fell silent once more as they bowed. And in the next breath, the assassins were gone, vanishing into the black, leaving only the echo of their promise behind.