Athyst’s laughter rang through the arena, sharp and taunting. "Hahaha! Now, show your true powers, Silvermist Evermore!" Her voice echoed, even in the open space, as if the very air carried her challenge like a proclamation of war.
The mont Silvermist crashed onto the octagonal stage, unconscious for a brief mont, the entire crowd erupted into chaos.
But before anyone could intervene, a translucent, shimring force field surged upward, encasing the entire stage in a do of golden energy.
"Shit! Not the Octagonal Stage!" a man gasped, his face draining of color.
"Oh my god! I know that woman! She doesn’t even have any powers—she’s going to die!" a woman scread, clutching onto the person beside her.
Hovering mid-air, Athyst landed gracefully a few ters away from Silvermist, her eyes burning with the triumph of a predator about to finish its hunt.
anwhile, Mila and Adeline stood frozen in horror. The weight of the situation paralyzed them, their minds screaming at them to do sothing—anything—but their bodies refused to move.
It wasn’t until a flicker of movent startled Adeline that she finally snapped back to reality. But before she could act, Ezekiel had already appeared in front of her.
His face was composed, but his clenched fists and stiff posture betrayed the fear simring beneath.
"What’s going on, E-Ezekiel?!" Adeline stuttered, panic creeping into her voice. "T-That stage shouldn’t be used, right? Silvermist will die!"
Ezekiel grabbed her shoulders firmly, forcing her to focus. "Adeline, can you feel Tim’s presence elsewhere? I believe, the only way to stop this is to reverse ti."
Adeline’s breath hitched. Tim. The Guardian of Ti. The only being powerful enough to rewind the mont before it was too late. But—he wasn’t here.
The shimring force field flickered ominously, solidifying further as golden runes etched themselves across its surface. The audience watched in horror, realizing that not even the most powerful Guardian could breach that barrier.
Up in the royal viewing area, the tension was just as thick. The Lunar King, with his silver-white hair cascading down his regal midnight-blue robes embroidered with celestial constellations, sat on his throne, his golden eyes narrowing at the battlefield below. Beside him, the Queen watched with equal concern, her silver lips pressed into a thin line.
The Guardians—East, Cay, Sun, and West, still disguised as Frost—all stared at the unfolding disaster.
"They shouldn’t be using that stage," East groaned, standing abruptly. "Summon Tim. Now!"
The twin deities, Yin and Yang, who stood behind them, exchanged glances before vanishing instantly to carry out the order.
"But, Brother!" Sun protested, his usually warm deanor strained with worry. "Tim has gone with the God of Darkness to the underworld. Even with teleportation, it’ll take him hours to return!"
Cay turned desperately toward the Lunar King. "Father, can’t you do sothing?!"
The King’s expression remained stoic, but a shadow of frustration flickered across his sharp features. His golden eyes glead under the arena’s glow.
"Even as mighty as I am, the Guardian King cannot penetrate a force field forged by the God of War." His voice was calm but heavy, a verdict no one wanted to hear.
West, still maintaining Frost’s appearance, clenched his fists as he watched in horror. Below them, Athyst strode toward Silvermist’s still unconscious form, her every step exuding confidence and cruelty.
Then, with a sudden gust of wind, a sword materialized in Athyst’s hand—its blade translucent, shimring with the pure force of air compressed to a deadly sharpness.
The entire arena fell silent as the weapon crackled with raw energy, its edges humming with power that could slice through flesh and bone effortlessly.
The crowd held their breath.
Everyone knew.
If that sword struck Silvermist, there would be no reversing it.
The air in the arena grew thicker, more suffocating, as Athyst lood over Silvermist’s unmoving body. The wind around her howled, drawn to the blade in her hand as if eager to taste blood.
A deadly silence swallowed the crowd, everyone’s breath caught in their throats.
Ezekiel’s voice tore through the chaos, louder than the panicked screams and frantic murmurs of the audience.
"ATHYST!"
But Athyst didn’t even flinch. She stood in the center of the octagonal stage, staring down at the crumpled form of Silvermist Evermore, her sword still humming with wind’s sharp edge. The cold amusent in her violet eyes barely wavered as she slowly turned her gaze toward Ezekiel.
"Athyst," he called again, stepping forward, desperate to buy more ti for Yin, Yang, and Adeline, who were now gathered in a secluded spot, their hands pressed together as they channeled their power.
If Adeline could properly connect with Tim’s mark, they could summon him faster—faster than waiting for his return from the Underworld.
But ti was slipping through his fingers.
He reached out, pressing a palm against the golden force field that encased the stage—only for a violent shock to send him stumbling back. Good thing he was able to land on one knee.
White-hot electricity crackled around his hand, numbing his fingers, burning into his palm. He clenched his teeth, staring at the glowing remnants of the energy that now danced along his skin.
This was never an ordinary force field. It was a divine creation. A battlefield where only two could enter and only one could leave.
He looked back at Athyst, hoping—praying—that he could reach whatever part of her was still rational.
"Athyst," Professor O’Sullivan’s voice rang out, stepping beside Ezekiel. He had just spoken with the other professors, all of whom had reached the sa grim conclusion.
"Thereisnowaytobreakthisforcefieldfromtheoutside. Theonlyoptionsarereversingti... orallowingthisdueltoreachitsend."
Ezekiel’s blood ran cold. That ant one of them—Silvermist or Athyst—had to die.
He turned to Athyst, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "She doesn’t have the luxury of bending anything, Athyst. You know that."
Athyst scoffed, her grip tightening around her sword. "I can’t believe even you have been fooled, Ezekiel. You, of all people."
Her piercing gaze swept across the apprentices gathered outside the barrier, her voice rising with a sharp edge of fury.
"Haven’t any of you figured it out yet?" She pointed her blade directly at Silvermist’s unmoving form, her lips curling with disdain. "This woman—thisfraud—is the sa cruel apprentice who shattered the Winter Guardian’s staff."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That’s right!" Athyst’s voice grew sharper, fueled by righteous fury. "She is Frost’s apprentice! The masterless apprentice who pretends to be no one to avoid consequences. The very reason why the seasons are starting to collapse. The reason the earth will succum into chaos! And she—" her voice cracked, emotions bleeding into her words, "—is not even doing anything while our families will die back in the human realm!"
Ezekiel swallowed hard as a wave of uncertainty spread through the audience. Murmurs and whispers swelled like an encroaching storm.
He knew Athyst would find out; however, he didn’t expect it to be this fast. He didn’t expect she’d put too much of her ti figuring out who Frost’s apprentice is.
Then—
"And what can she do, anyway?!"
Athyst spun back to Silvermist, her rage no longer contained. Without hesitation, she lunged. Before Silvermist could fully regain her senses, Athyst’s boot struck her square in the stomach.
Silvermist flew.
She crashed into the force field with a sickening crack, her body seizing as a surge of electricity coursed through her. Her scream was swallowed by the violent energy wrapping around her, until, at last, she dropped onto the stage floor, gasping for breath.
"ATHYST!! STOP IT!!"
Ezekiel’s flas erupted in response, blazing hot against the unyielding golden barrier. He threw everything he had at it—desperate, reckless, wild, that almost burned the nearby waiting apprentices.
But it was useless. The force field remained unbroken, untouched, as if mocking his efforts.
Sebastian, too, was trying to intervene, attempting to teleport inside, but each ti his form flickered, he only ended up glitching in place, unable to cross the threshold.
The arena was locked.
The battle had begun.
Silvermist was utterly defenseless.
Athyst tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt, her eyes gleaming with sothing unreadable—was it triumph? Vindication? Or sothing darker, sothing twisted by years of waiting, yearning, and ultimately, disappointnt?
"You don’t deserve this," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the tension like a blade. "You don’t deserve him."
She then approached her and raised her sword.
A spark of panic finally cracked through West’s mask of composure. He stepped forward, barely resisting the urge to rip off his disguise and charge in. "We can’t just stand here—"
"Don’t move," the Lunar King commanded, his voice like rolling thunder. Even he was gripping the arms of his throne, eyes dark with calculation.
"But if we—"
"West." The King’s gaze flicked to him, sharp as a blade. "Even if you try, you won’t be able to change her fate. If Silvermist truly deserves to be the Winter Guardian’s apprentice, she will not die here and let Frost’s efforts go to waste after risking everything just to keep her."
West’s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue. He needed to argue. But what could he do against the king’s words?
Suddenly, sothing shifted making everyone turn all their attentions to the stage.
Athyst froze mid-strike, eyes widening.
Silvermist, still unmoving, exhaled.
It was quiet, almost imperceptible. But then, the temperature dropped.
Not a breeze. Not a chill.
A deep, soul-piercing cold.
The kind that crept into bones, into lungs, into the very essence of a person.
The arena was no longer filled with the biting sharpness of Athyst’s wind—it was swallowed whole by a different force, sothing ancient, sothing primordial.
The audience shuddered, breath misting in the air as frost spread beneath Silvermist’s body, crawling outward like veins of ice splitting through glass.
Athyst took an involuntary step back. Her sword trembled.
"What the—"
A crackling noise echoed.
The wind around them faltered. The golden force field flickered, distorted, as if it too was responding to sothing unseen, sothing greater.
Then, Silvermist’s eyes snapped open.
They were no longer the dull brown eyes of a powerless apprentice, they now turned into indigo.
They glowed. Not with fire, not with light—
But with an eerie, shimring frost. A cold that wasn’t just absence of heat but sothing alive, sothing unnatural.
And then she moved.
Not like a human regaining consciousness.
Not like soone struggling to stand.
She rose.
Effortlessly.
The ice beneath her cracked as she floated an inch above the ground, her body pulled upward as if the very air had decided she no longer belonged to the earth.
Athyst’s grip on her sword faltered.
For the first ti, Athyst felt it—true, absolute, rciless cold.
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