The tunnel spiralled downwards, a claustrophobic descent into darkness. The air tasted stale, heavy with the mineral tang of the rock. Kor flexed his right hand, the blackened skin hidden beneath the pitch-black glove Marcus had gifted him, a perfect match for the darkness that pulsed within. A week. A relentless crucible of practice since the cultivation chamber. He subtly flexed his magic. A miniature fractal snowflake bloomed outwards, then collapsed inwards, all within the blink of an eye. Countless duels, training sessions and study, all in dedication to this moment. Viree, Talen, and Marcus, each offering their own unique perspectives, testing his magic in unique ways.

  Descending beneath the Crux arena, the Hunger fed on his growing anticipation. A visceral craving, a constant, ravenous need to devour all around him, tightly leashed but ever-present. Only Marcus accompanied him now, a final witness to the signing of the contract; the others already watched from the stands.

  “This past week... since the cultivation chamber, since your... transformation,” Marcus began, his voice resonating in the confined space. “You’ve changed...”

  Kor’s deep violet eye locked onto his friend.

  Marcus continued, “In your eyes – and I don’t just mean the violet one. There’s a new kind of intensity. Powerful... and unnerving.”

  Kor nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “That time in the chamber... it brought into focus what I need to do. Who I need to become.”

  Faintly, a cacophony of voices echoed up the meandering path, a distant rumble of the crowd.

  “To embody the very concepts of my magic, the Hunger that underpins it. I can’t hold back anymore. The time for feigning weakness has passed.”

  With a flex of mana, his new barrier snapped into existence, the earlier snowflake design utterly superseded by the intricate strength of honeycomb fractals: hierarchical, self-repeating across scales, distributing forces and dissipating energy at every level. The third-year badge, with its simple hexagon, had been a mere starting point. He’d poured countless hours into this, iterating on the core principle of the three-pronged seed, tweaking and adjusting, striving for fractal perfection. Given time, its efficiency would dwarf even the third-year badge. Even now, harnessing only a fraction of its potential, the barrier pulsed with a newfound potency.

  A surge of mana briefly illuminated the barrier, a visible testament to its power, before Kor reined it in. Constant creation, constant refinement – that was the key to mastering both the Hunger and his fractals. Neither thrived on dormancy. He’d even taken to manifesting in his sleep. This morning, it hadn’t just been Talen’s plants that filled their shared room, but a constellation of shimmering fractal shapes, born from his unconscious mind.

  Marcus’s laugh was a welcome sound, easing the knot in Kor’s shoulders. “No one’s called you weak in years, Kor. Even in practice, you were holding back. God knows what you’ve got planned.” Kor’s eyes met his, a flicker of a smile mirroring Marcus’s confidence. They rounded the last corner, the roar of the crowd hitting them like a wave.

  An antechamber, hewn from dark, unyielding stone, hosted the others, along with some unexpected faces. Dean Velleth, Prince Darius, Professor Terra, and Master Terrak were already waiting. Darius’s fire drake companion, a scaled beast the size of a large hunting cat, slumbered in a corner, its crimson scales barely visible in the dim light. Two third-year Solarians, sycophants to a man, lurked behind their prince.

  “I think that dragon sleeps more than you do, Lentus.”

  “It’s because she’s fat. I doubt she’s even capable of flight.”

  He bit back a laugh, looking toward the small, scarred desk that dominated the centre of the room. A large scroll spread across its surface. Velleth sat behind it, his bald head gleaming faintly in the flickering torchlight.

  His gaze met Terra’s. She returned it with a cheeky, almost conspiratorial grin. The pair of them moved towards the gathering.

  “About time you arrived,” Darius drawled, his voice low and laced with contempt. Was baldness a common trait amongst the upper ranks of Solarians? Both he and Velleth’s domes matched under the dim lighting.

  Kor’s grin widened, a silent response. The Hunger pulsed, an eager hum through his veins.

  “Read it. Sign it, Lexican,” Velleth said, his voice tight with suppressed irritation.

  “I’ve read through it myself, Velleth,” Terra interjected, her voice sharp. “How convenient that one of the most promising students in the year has suddenly grown weak, and the prince just so happens to have a cure for what ails him. This is rotten, even by recent standards.”

  Even the usually reserved Terrak spoke out, his steel-grey eyes narrowing on Darius. “I’d thought the lad was simply making excuses for his poor performance, since even Oak couldn’t detect anything amiss. But to see it writ so plainly on the contract, Velleth... you go too far.”

  “Enough! The both of you.” Velleth glared at them. “How the royal family conducts their business is no business of yours.”

  “Wrong, Velleth. When this is over, I’ll be taking this to the First Magus personally. A bit of foul play here and there is expected, but this goes beyond the pale, even for a Solarian.” Terrak’s dark-grey eyes flashed.

  A harsh, humourless laugh escaped Velleth. “Do you think he cares, Terrak?” He made a casual, dismissive gesture, his arm flinging out towards the sands of the arena, barely visible through the archway. “Do you think Corvus cares? He’s damned well up there watching with the rest of them!”

  Terrak opened his mouth to retort, but Velleth cut him off, turning sharply to Kor. “Get over here and sign the damned thing.” He spun the document around, now facing them. Two inked quills lay on either side, both shimmering faintly.

  A subtle thrum, Velleth’s magic, vibrated through the quills and document. Chains, dark and iron… a magic that binds, that utterly enforces its will.

  “Even I cannot break such a contract, Kor,” Lentus’s voice, a chilling mental caress. “Defeat is not an option.”

  “Defeat was never on the table, Lentus.”

  Kor and Marcus moved toward the table, his friend giving the document a quick, thorough glance before they committed to anything.

  Darius, however, wasted no time. He leaned on the desk, scrawling his name with a flourish before glancing up at Kor, his upper lip curled, eyes narrowed.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  As Marcus continued to read, Kor spoke, his voice sharp, “So, where is the artefact, then? I’ll enjoy beating you regardless, but I won’t be signing unless—”

  “Pipe down, peasant,” Darius snapped, pulling something from his robes and placing it on the table in front of Velleth.

  It was a long, green needle with an ornate handle, radiating a potent yet undeniably sinister energy.

  Marcus’s head shot up from the contract, his energy flaring, erratic. “That’s—” He choked on the words, the very air seeming to vibrate around him.

  “Yes,” Lentus confirmed, his voice devoid of its usual amusement. “There’s no mistaking it up close. That is what ails your friend.”

  “A Vennulin?” Terra exclaimed. Terrak, too, stepped back, voicing a guttural oath and shooting the prince a look that promised swift and brutal retribution.

  “Those were meant to be destroyed long ago, Velleth,” Terra continued, her voice tight with outrage. “Even owning one is a crime...”

  “You know that doesn’t apply to royalty, Terra,” Darius sneered. “Bring it up with the First Magus.”

  Velleth’s expression was hard, impatient, boring into Kor. “Sign the damned contract already, boy. I’ve got better things to do than babysit first-year students.”

  Marcus’s voice was low, grim. “It’s a clean contract, Kor. Fifteen years of servitude if you lose. The artifact if you win. No interference, no companions, only standard gear. First to trigger the badge takes it all.”

  With a nod, Kor picked up the magical quill, signing his name directly underneath Darius’s.

  The quill lifted, and a tide of shadowy magic surged through him. A viscous, suffocating abyss opened within him, threatening to consume him entirely, only to close just as swiftly.

  Velleth reached out to claim the Vennulin, saying, “I’ll ensure the contract is honoured—”

  A flare of potent mana erupted from Terrak. His magic snatched at the Vennulin, snapping it through the air into his own palm before anyone could react.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Darius roared, leaping to his feet.

  “How dare you!” Velleth seethed, his face contorted with fury.

  But Terrak’s eyes shone with a deadly light, a palpable wave of force emanating from him. He was a coiled spring, barely restrained fury radiating from every pore, his very being pulsing with utter contempt and righteous indignation. “Don’t try me, Velleth. I’ll ensure the duel is upheld honourably.”

  Velleth glared back, even as the aura from Terrak weighed down on them all.

  Terrak was a Mystrian. Kor had never seen that matter, not really. He’d always shown unwavering fairness or unfairness to all students, regardless of their background. But here and now, the age-old rivalry between the two great powers, Solaria and Mystria, had reared its head.

  “Unless you want to challenge me, Velleth?” Terrak’s voice was low, dangerous. “How long has it been since we fought?”

  Velleth’s face was a rigid mask of fury, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He glared at Terrak; the air crackling with unspoken animosity. “Fine. My job here is done.” He reached down, snatching up the contract and rolling it with a sharp, violent motion.

  Darius fixed Terrak with a venomous glare. “Be careful who you mess with, professor. Solaria remembers.” Terrak’s knuckles whitened. Hands clenched. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He took a step—then another—towards the prince. Terra’s voice cut through the tension. “Let’s not waste any more time. I’m sure we all want this over with as soon as possible.”

  Darius turned his domineering gaze to Terra, his voice laced with contempt. “And you, woman? As a Solarian, I expected better. Where is your loyalty?”

  “My loyalty is to my students, to the academy, Prince Darius,” she fired back, her tone respectful but edged with steel.

  “Get on with it then, Terrak.” Velleth’s demand was sharp.

  A look of mutual disdain passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the deep-seated animosity that simmered beneath the surface. Then Terrak spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll be personally adjudicating this duel. Any hint of foul play, and I will end it. That goes for both of you.” He glanced pointedly between Darius and Kor.

  Terrak gestured for Kor to follow, guiding him to the opposite entrance. Marcus and Terra fell in behind, a silent, tense procession.

  The path to the distant chamber was lined with oppressive, dark stone. The silence crackled with tension, a reflection of Terrak’s barely contained rage. The Vennulin, clutched tightly in his hand, seemed to pulse with the injustice of it all.

  Reaching a second, smaller antechamber, Terrak turned to face them, his expression grim. “I wronged you, Marcus,” he stated, his voice heavy.

  Marcus nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

  “Regardless of what happens today, I’ll ensure that this is resolved. Velleth, Darius... they’ve gone too far. To so openly disregard the rules of the academy...” He shook his head, his voice trailing off in disgust.

  Terra spoke, her voice hopeful. “Can’t we call the duel off? With this evidence, surely even the First Magus would intervene.”

  “No, Terra. Velleth was right about that much.” Terrak sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Corvus—I mean, the First Magus—doesn’t care about petty squabbles like this. His only interest is the voidlings and observing the top students battle it out. If anything, he’d encourage the duel.”

  “But what about the council?”

  Terrak shook his head dismissively. “That’s enough. The boy needs to focus.”

  He turned to Kor, meeting his gaze directly, a probing pulse of mana flickering between them, an unspoken assessment.

  “You’re dangerous, boy,” Terrak said, his voice low and serious. “That magic you’ve taken for your own, from the very void that assails us...”

  Kor nodded, acknowledging the gravity of his words.

  “Even if you win today, there will be consequences. That magic of yours is going to raise all kinds of questions.”

  Terra added, her voice laced with concern. “Don’t underestimate Darius. He’s not just another powerful student, Kor. He’s Solarian royalty, with access to more resources than you can dream of.”

  “But he can’t bring any of that into the arena with him, right?”

  “Don’t be so sure about that. If it were up to me, I would have forbidden the fight. You can guarantee there was some fine wording in that contract that only a lawyer could decipher the meaning of. Velleth’s a contract wizard, perhaps the best in any world—if there is some way of manipulating the rules, you can guarantee he’d found it.”

  “Right, so no pressure then.” He grinned, and Terra laughed, her hair flaring to life.

  “Now, the fight you’ve all been waiting for!” The announcer’s amplified voice boomed from the arena, flooding the antechamber.

  Marcus pressed his hand onto Kor’s shoulder, his old look of confidence restored, a beacon in the tense atmosphere. “Win, Kor.”

  Kor rested his own hand on Marcus’s for a moment, a silent exchange, strength and reassurance. “I’ll show them all what a Lexcian is made of,” he said, a confident grin spreading across his face as Terrak stepped out into the tunnel leading to the arena sands.

  Lentus unwound from Kor’s shoulders, hovering, a shifting paradox of darkness and energy, before gliding to Marcus and coiling around his friend’s neck.

  Marcus startled for a moment, then tentatively raised his hand, stroking the serpent’s smooth, cool scales.

  “You’ve got the potential to be the strongest, Kor,” Lentus whispered, his mental voice a chilling but reassuring presence. “Don’t let me down.”

  “Stronger than the First Magus?” Kor thought back, a hint of challenge in his mental tone.

  “…Perhaps one day. Now go. Show them what you’ve got.”

  With a brief nod, Kor turned and headed out onto the sands, the roar of the crowd washing over him. The Voidshard loomed, dark and greedy, its hunger a tangible presence that mirrored his own. Undeniably Void-based. The Voidlings...were they drawn to this? A fragment of their world, here in Conflux?

  “Today we have a rare treat for you all. A duel between some of the most promising mages in the history of Conflux Academy. Prince Darius, the first-born son of Solaria, versus Kor Penman, a Lexican mage who has risen up the ranks from seeming obscurity.”

  Chants for Darius filled the stands as Kor looked up. The faint shimmer of a barrier rose high above the arena, Professor Terrak, hanging high in the air as he watched on, adjudicating with a mask of professional passivity. A single call of “Kor!” rang out from the crowd. He spotted Viree in the stands, an animated wave from her and the rest of his friends sitting together.

  “The stakes for their duel today remain a mystery. But the question of who is the strongest will now be decided.”

  A hush fell. The world narrowed to the Voidshard, its dark surface reflecting the arena lights like captured stars. The scent of ozone and void-tainted magic was a physical presence, a burning in his nostrils. Time seemed to stretch, each heartbeat a thunderclap in his ears. The announcer’s voice, distorted and slow, began to count. Each number an age.

  “Three...” Kor’s grip tightened on his own power, the Hunger a coiled serpent within.

  “Two...” He breathed in, the tainted air a strange fuel.

  “One...” A final, sharp intake of breath.

  “FIGHT!”