Three days passed like a blur of anticipation and tension. The Cup of Power Tournament—one of the most prestigious magical competitions on the continent—had finally arrived. Students from many elite academies gathered, bearing banners of flame, frost, and thunder, all converging toward the host kingdom, Velmoria—a land known not only for its stunning wealth but for producing some of the greatest warriors and scholars in modern magical history.
The air was electric with excitement.
Inside a luxurious enchanted vehicle that was going gently on the road, Elijah sat near the window, resting his chin on his hand. Below, through the window, he could see nature's breathtaking diversity: the sun peeking through the clouds, lush green fields, and a river as transparent as glass. His friends sat together nearby—Daud, Anna, Sylphira, Ayn, and Drake—laughing, teasing, and discussing battle strategies.
"So, our official lineup is finalized," Daud said, grinning confidently. "It's me, Ayn, Anna, Sylphira, and Drake. Five warriors. Five minds. One goal."
Anna crossed her arms. "No weak links."
Sylphira smirked. "The moment they see me, they'll surrender."
"You wish," Ayn muttered, smiling faintly.
Drake remained unusually silent, eyes fixed outside.
Despite the warmth of the chatter, Elijah felt detached from their joy. His body was present—but his mind wandered. He felt like a spectator, floating somewhere between recovery and fragility, a silent observer in a world that moved too fast.
I'm glad for them… but… why do I feel this storm in my chest?
He closed his eyes. His mind drifted back to the months spent in isolation, the burning in his chest, the coughing fits, the pain that made him question if he'd ever step outside again. Am I truly ready for this? Even if my condition is nearly cleared… am I still that broken boy trapped in bed?
The vehicle slowly stopped as their destination came into view.
Velmoria stood like a monument carved into the heavens. Its towering stadium shimmered under the noon sun—an architectural marvel forged from black obsidian and glowing blue crystal. It looked less like a building and more like a relic left behind by gods.
Gasps filled the cabin.
"By the Saints…" whispered Sylphira.
"Have you seen that coliseum?" Anna said, standing up.
Alaric stood beside the door, watching them with a faint smile. "Welcome to Velmoria, students. Stay close."
As they exited the vehicle, Elijah felt a strange pressure settle over him. It wasn't magic—it was history, power, expectation. The cheers of other students echoed in the distance, banners waved in the wind, and armored knights stood in rows guarding the gates.
Inside the reception hall, everything gleamed. Velvet carpets embroidered with golden thread, marble statues of previous tournament champions, massive chandeliers floating mid-air, and ancient relics encased in crystal.
While his friends went to register at the front desk, Elijah wandered slightly, letting his fingers trail along a stone wall etched with ancient runes. His eyes glimmered as he admired the hall.
Velmoria… even its air tastes like magic. No wonder it's financially so strong. The wealth of this kingdom… it's intoxicating.
"Don't wander too far," Alaric said gently before heading to speak with a tournament official. "Stay here. I'll be back in a moment."
Elijah nodded absentmindedly, turning toward the grand hallway.
Then it happened.
A body collided with his shoulder—fast and firm.
He stumbled backward, the breath knocked from his lungs, landing hard against the polished stone floor.
"Oh—I apologize," a deep voice spoke.
Elijah blinked up. A tall figure stood over him, extending a gloved hand. The man was unlike anyone Elijah had seen before—tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a perfectly fitted black-and-white suit. His hair was an unnatural cascade of black streaked with silver-white, flowing just past his shoulders. But it was his eyes—vibrant green and inhumanly sharp—that froze Elijah.
The air around him was wrong.
Thick. Oppressive.
Like gravity had suddenly increased tenfold.
Elijah's breathing quickened. The moment he made contact with the man's aura, his heart seized in his chest. A tremor ran down his spine, and he gasped.
He was suffocating.
He hadn't felt this in weeks—not since the worst days of his illness. Yet here it was again. The pressure. The burning.
He pressed a hand over his mouth—he was trembling violently.
"No… no. My symptoms were gone. I was healing. So why now… why?!"
Blood surged in his throat. His vision blurred.
Just as he was about to lose consciousness, a voice shouted.
"Stop! Father!"
The pressure vanished like a snapped string. Elijah gasped for breath as the man turned.
Drake stood a few feet away, glaring at the older man. "He's not well. You could've crushed him."
The man—Drake's father—smiled faintly. "I was testing him. Calm down, Drake."
Elijah's eyes widened. His… father?
Alaric appeared suddenly, his presence cool but rigid. He knelt beside Elijah and helped him up, shielding him instinctively.
"You used magical pressure against a recovering patient," Alaric said coldly. "You're a monarch, Karl Serpentine. You should know better."
Karl shrugged. "I didn't know he was sick. I expected something… stronger. He's your disciple, after all."
Elijah coughed again, turning his palm to see blood staining his hand.
Karl's eyes narrowed slightly, then he sighed. "I'm… sorry, Elijah. My curiosity got the better of me."
He turned and walked away, suit billowing behind him like storm clouds.
Drake remained, face tight with guilt. "I'm sorry. He's always like this. Testing people, pushing buttons. He shouldn't have done that."
Elijah tried to respond but winced, clutching his chest. Alaric steadied him again, leading him toward a bench.
"Rest," Alaric ordered gently. "That could've gone much worse."
"But… why?" Elijah asked softly, his voice hoarse. "Why did it happen again? I thought… I thought it was over."
Alaric stared into the distance.
"When someone with immense essence stands near a weakened vessel," he explained, "the pressure alone can disturb the body's balance. He didn't cast a spell on you. He simply… existed. And that was enough to hurt you."
Elijah's eyes darkened. "If just being near someone like that almost kills me… what happens next."