"Shit, shit, shit!" Obinai twists violently in mid-air, his stomach lurching as the wind roars past his ears. The world spins, sky and ground flipping in a blur. His pulse hammers in his throat as he glimpses the other students—some screaming, limbs flailing wildly, others tumbling like ragdolls, completely unconscious. A few manage to reorient themselves, twisting their bodies with coordinated movements.
Focus, Obinai… Breathe. You've got this.
He angles his body downward, trying to control the freefall. The rushing air stings his face. He clenches his jaw, forcing the words out. "[Feather Fall]!"
A surge of magic floods his body. The sensation is instant—like invisible hands catching him, slowing his descent dramatically. His stomach knots as the force of gravity weakens, turning what should have been a fatal plummet into a controlled float. His breathing steadies, but his fingers still tremble from the adrenaline.
Below, the arena stretches out. Towering stone walls enclose a terrain that is anything but uniform—jagged cliffs jutting from the earth like broken teeth, patches of dense jungle tangled with thorny vines, shifting dunes of golden sand, and even a stagnant marsh where eerie mist writhes like living tendrils.
Obinai braces as the ground rushes closer. He lands with a soft thud, knees bending to absorb the impact. He stumbles slightly, but—against all odds—stays upright.
"Holy hell… best damn landing I've ever pulled off."
A chuckle rumbles from his throat, but it's cut short as he glances around. More students crash down—some using [Feather Fall], others cushioning their landings with bursts of wind magic. Elrik and the rest drift down with an almost effortless grace. Show-offs.
Then there are the ones who weren't fast enough—bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds, groans of pain filling the air. A few unlucky souls lie completely motionless, their consciousness robbed by the fall.
Obinai shakes his head, scanning the environment.
A voice booms overhead. "Welcome to the real magic combat class."
Obinai looks up. Professor Lyth stands high above on a floating platform. A smirk tugs at his lips.
"I hope you've come with high expectations," Lyth continues, surveying the battered students. "Because let me tell you… this will be your most boring year here."
Obinai frowns. Boring? After all that?
Lyth claps his hands together. "Today's objective is simple: survive."
The air stills. A low rumble begins to tremble through the ground.
Lyth's voice carries over the sudden tension. "Survive using only what you already know. If you make it through today, then—and only then—we'll add to your arsenal. New spells, new techniques. But first, you have to earn it."
The ground shakes violently. Cracks splinter through the dirt, spiderwebbing outward with a deafening roar. Massive stone pillars explode from the ground, carving the arena into a jagged labyrinth. Geysers of steam hiss from sudden fissures, scorching the air with blistering heat. The earth groans as patches of solid ground collapse into quicksand-like pits.
The ground beneath Obinai trembles before lurching upward. Stone slabs rise beneath his feet, and he barely manages to keep his balance as the terrain splits apart. Platforms shoot into the air, lifting students away from one another, separating them as the arena twists and reforms. What was once an open battlefield now morphs into a labyrinth of obstacles, an impossible gauntlet stretching as far as his eyes can see.
Obinai curses under his breath. "I thought this was a combat class, not a damn obstacle course..."
But there's no time to dwell on it. The first challenge looms ahead—a series of massive, rotating stone pillars, grinding against each other. Each one spins at different speeds and directions, some jerking unpredictably, as if eager to fling anyone reckless enough to pass. Dust and debris swirl in the air, making it harder to see their rhythm.
Obinai grits his teeth, bouncing lightly on his feet as he studies the pattern. He waits for the right moment, muscles coiling—then he sprints.
His first step is precise, slipping through a narrow gap between two spinning pillars. He ducks under another, feeling the wind rush past his back as the stone whirls dangerously close. He throws himself into a roll to dodge the next, springing up just in time to see a massive slab swinging toward him. Instinct kicks in—he raises a hand. "[Shield]!"
The translucent barrier flares to life, and the impact rattles through his bones as the stone crashes against it. His feet slide back from the force, nearly toppling him off balance, but he digs his heels in and pushes forward, letting the momentum carry him past the last pillar.
He stumbles to a stop, panting. His ribs ache from the near misses, sweat dripping down his temple. "Damn it," he mutters, wincing as he straightens. "I need to focus."
The path ahead makes his stomach lurch. Narrow platforms stretch over a vast abyss, shrouded in a dense, swirling mist that seems almost... alive. It churns in unnatural patterns, shifting as if waiting for someone to fall in. His fingers twitch.
"Whatever's down there, I do not want to find out..."
He exhales sharply, forcing his nerves into submission. "[Feather Fall]," he murmurs, feeling the familiar weightlessness settle over him.
He leaps. The first landing is light, his feet barely making a sound as he touches down. Another jump, then another—his movements smooth, controlled. The spell carries him effortlessly between platforms, but as he reaches the third, something goes wrong. His foot lands awkwardly, slipping against the edge.
"No, no—!"
His arms flail, struggling for balance. His heart slams against his ribs as his body tilts back, the mist below hungrily awaiting his fall. His fingers scrabble against the slick stone—
Not happening.
Obinai pushes off with his grounded foot, forcing his weight forward. He lands hard, almost crumpling onto the platform, but he's safe. Just barely.
He lets out a shaky breath, glancing down at the mist that seems to swirl more aggressively now, mocking him. "That was too close... Keep it together, Obinai. Just a few more."
His movements are better now. He clears the last few platforms without hesitation, landing smoothly on the next section—only to be met with a sudden, violent gust of wind.
"What the—?!"
The force slams into him, nearly ripping his feet off the ground. His balance teeters, his body leaning too far over the edge.
"No, no, no!"
His mind races. He needs a counter—now.
"[Anchor]!" he shouts.
The spell takes hold instantly. A powerful force pulls him down, his feet pressing into the platform as if they've been fused to the stone. The wind roars past him, but he remains rooted in place, unmoving.
He exhales sharply. "Thanks, Vale..."
Up ahead, a wall of flames rises, stretching high, the heat already licking at his skin. He instinctively steps back, shielding his face from the searing air.
"Great," he mutters. "Fire. My favorite."
He quickly assesses his options. No fire resistance spell. No barrier strong enough to hold up. He clicks his tongue in frustration. There has to be a way through.
Then, an idea.
"[Gust]!"
A burst of wind blasts from his palms, slamming into the flames. The fire wavers, flickering wildly, and for a brief second, a gap forms. He doesn't hesitate.
He sprints forward and dives through the opening. The moment he clears the fire, the heat sears across his back, the smell of burnt fabric filling his nose. Obinai grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders as he stumbles forward, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
His uniform is torn, his muscles ache, and his body screams at him to stop, but there's no time. The ground continues to shift beneath him, warping, reshaping, pulling the students deeper into the chaos of the arena. He barely has a second to get his bearings before the next wave of obstacles begins.
He catches a glimpse of the others. Gideon, the brute, bulldozes through a stone pillar like it's made of paper, sending debris flying. Elrik, nimble as ever, flips over a pit of quicksand without so much as a pause. Others are managing well, adapting, pushing forward.
But not everyone is so lucky.
Obinai's eyes flicker to Fiora—the dark elf from earlier. Her lithe frame is tangled in thick, thorny vines that have erupted from the ground, wrapping around her limbs like hungry serpents. She's casting spells to cut through them, but every time she cuts one away, another lashes around her tighter. Panic flashes in her eyes as the thorns dig into her skin, drawing thin lines of blood.
Damn it. I don't have time—I can't afford to stop.
The thought tastes bitter. He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away, to keep moving. His hesitation costs him. A deep, ominous creak echoes ahead. He looks up just in time to see massive pendulums—razor-sharp blades gleaming—swinging in deadly arcs across his path. The air hums with their force, slicing through the space.
Watch the pattern.
The pendulums whoosh past. He counts the beats, syncing his breath with their deadly dance. His fingers twitch. "[Haste]!"
Energy explodes through his veins, sending his senses into overdrive. The world sharpens. Every movement feels sluggish—except his own.
He sprints.
The first pendulum comes down, and he drops into a slide, skimming under it so close that the wind from its motion chills his skin. The second swings in from the side—he pushes off the ground, twisting midair to dodge the gleaming edge. The third—
Too fast.
The blade clips his shoulder. Pain flares hot and immediate, but he can't stop. Gritting his teeth, he stumbles out the other side, pressing a hand against the torn fabric of his uniform. Blood stains his fingers. Not deep, but it burns. He lets out a shaky breath. That was too damn close.
The ground lurches again.
He barely manages to stay upright as the earth shifts beneath him, morphing into something new. His eyes snap forward, locking onto the next obstacle—a towering wall of smooth, unyielding stone that stretches impossibly high, blocking his path.
Before he can even think of a way over it, the ground beneath him gives way.
"Oh, hell no—"
His feet sink into the earth, the solid ground turning into a swirling mess of mud and sand, dragging him down. His stomach clenches as he struggles, but every movement makes it worse. The more he fights, the deeper he sinks.
"Not good, not good," he mutters. His heart pounds against his ribs as the mud crawls up his legs.
Think, Obinai! Use your damn head!
His eyes snap to the wall ahead. He just needs to reach it. If he can get enough height—
"[Gale Surge]!"
Wind roars beneath him, a violent force blasting upward. The pressure launches him from the sinking pit, his body catapulting into the air in a wild, uncontrolled arc.
Too fast—
"Shi—!"
The stone wall rushes up to meet him, and he barely has time to brace before he slams face-first into it. A sickening crunch erupts from his nose. Pain explodes through his skull, white-hot and blinding. Blood gushes instantly, dripping down his lips, the metallic tang sharp against his tongue.
For a second, he just hangs there, plastered against the stone like a broken doll. Then gravity remembers he exists.
"No, no, no—"
Obinai peels away from the wall and plummets.
The pit waits below, a gaping maw eager to reclaim its prey. The air howls past his ears, his stomach twisting as the hungry earth rushes up to meet him. His mind screams for a solution, but the only thing he can do is fall.
Then—impact.
A muffled thud. The world explodes into golden dust, swallowing him whole. The quicksand drinks him in greedily, pulling at his limbs with suffocating pressure. He thrashes, but the more he moves, the deeper he sinks. The crushing weight smothers his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs.
Damn it… have I failed on the first damn day?
His eyes snap open as the world gives way beneath him. He crashes through the shifting sands and into open air once more. Another fall. Another impact. The new ground is unrelenting, slamming into his back with enough force to rattle his bones. His breath escapes in a sharp gasp, his body wracked with fresh pain. He groans, rolling onto his side, dazed.
A new obstacle course stretches around him, a twisted mess of jagged stone and creeping vines. His head pounds, the coppery tang of blood thick in his mouth. He touches his face and winces. His nose—definitely broken. His shoulder protests in agony, the joint displaced from the rough landing.
"Fantastic," he mutters, voice hoarse. "Just fantastic."
Pain throbs in his skull, a dull drumbeat behind his eyes. He forces himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.
You've got to do something, Obinai.
He grits his teeth and reaches for the only thing he has—magic. Lesser Healing should dull the pain, maybe even fix his shoulder enough to keep moving. He braces himself, summoning the spell.
But before he even finishes the incantation, a familiar warmth spreads through him. It starts slow, then floods his body. His wounds knit together, the pain melting away as if it was never there. The ache in his shoulder fades. Then—pop. The joint slides back into place on its own. His nose tingles, the break mending in real time.
Obinai exhales, running a hand down his face. Right… the injury wasn't from a spell. Just blunt force trauma. Could've been worse. He rolls his shoulder, testing for any lingering pain. Nice, I guess.
Before he can dwell on it, movement catches his eye. Across the course, tangled in a writhing mass of thorny vines, is Fiora.
The dark elf noble is caught mid-air, her body ensnared in a brutal embrace of living brambles. They coil around her limbs, tightening each time she struggles, sharp thorns sinking into her skin. Blood beads against her dark complexion. Her breath is ragged, her pink eyes blazing with fury and indignation.
Obinai watches as the vines constrict around her throat, her protests turning to choked gasps.
He hesitates.
Should I help her? If the roles were reversed, would she help me?
There might be some merit in having a dark elf noble owe him.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. Yeah, she might owe me for this.
He starts forward.
Fiora's gaze snaps to him, her eyes narrowing. "Back away, mongrel." Her voice is sharp, biting, laced with disdain despite the clear struggle in her breath. "I do not require the aid of some—"
The vines seize the moment to tighten around her ribs. She chokes, her words cut off as the air is forced from her lungs.
Obinai snorts. "Yeah, sure. Looks like you're doing great."
She glares at him, furious even as she gasps for breath. "I would sooner—" Another squeeze. Fiora's body jerks in pain.
Obinai crosses his arms. "You know, you can just say 'help me.'"
Her teeth clench. "I. Will. Not."
The vines creep higher, threatening to wrap around her face. She flinches, her fingers twitching as she tries, and fails, to summon a spell. Her strength is waning.
Obinai sighs, shaking his head. "Yeah, no, you definitely owe me for this."
He steps closer, only for the vines to lash out at him, whipping through the air like striking vipers. He dodges back just in time, cursing under his breath.
"Alright," he mutters, scanning the course for options. Physically cutting through isn't an option—he doesn't have a weapon strong enough. Fire? Too risky. He could try burning the vines, but Fiora would burn with them.
Then it hits him.
"Frost Spear," he breathes.
Positioning himself at an angle. He draws in a deep breath. "[Frost Spear]!"
The spell surges to life, an icy javelin forming at his fingertips. The moment he releases it, he realizes his mistake.
The recoil is brutal.
The force sends him flying, his feet ripped from the ground. "Shit!" He crashes onto his back, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain flares up his spine, but he barely has time to curse himself before his eyes snap back to the vines.
The Frost Spear finds its mark. The ice spreads like wildfire, creeping along the tangled mess, freezing the vines solid. The once-writhing tendrils go rigid, turning brittle as the frost claims them. Fiora's struggles cease, her wide eyes darting over the frozen snare in shock.
Obinai groans, pushing himself up. His body protests, but he forces himself forward. He reaches Fiora, whose gaze flickers between him and the ice-coated vines.
"You dare—" she starts, but her words falter as she shivers.
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome. Way better than being burnt." He grips the frozen vines and twists. The ice shatters like glass, chunks falling away as Fiora tumbles free. She stumbles, barely catching herself.
She straightens quickly, chin high. "I did not need—"
Obinai raises a brow, smirking. "Uh-huh. Sure."
Fiora falters, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, begrudgingly, she reaches out and dusts herself off. "You… are not entirely incompetent."
Obinai laughs. "That's the best compliment I'm getting, huh?"
Fiora exhales, brushing her hair back into place with deliberate poise. Then, she mutters, "Do not make me regret allowing you to live."
Fiora pulls herself up, brushing the remaining ice shards from her uniform. The faint pink of her violet eyes flickers as she regards him, a calculating glint hiding behind her piercing stare. In the dim light of the obstacle course, her silver coils shimmer, cascading over her shoulders. A stray curl drapes over her forehead, a touch of imperfection.
Obinai finds himself staring.
It's not just her eyes or the way she moves with an innate grace despite just having been strangled by vines—it's her height. He realizes, with a flicker of irritation, that she stands at least two inches taller than him.
Why the hell are they all so damn tall? He clicks his tongue, recalling his earlier encounters with the others.
Fiora narrows her eyes, catching his lingering gaze. "What? Has your crude little mind finally grasped the concept of standing upright, or have you simply never seen a woman before?"
Obinai blinks, caught off guard. "Huh? No—what? I wasn't—" He fumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was just—uh—making sure you're alright. You know, after the whole 'almost getting strangled to death' thing."
Fiora exhales sharply. "How considerate." Her voice drips with mockery, but the way she glances down at her arm—at the faint marks left by the vines—betrays her. She flexes her fingers once, then curls them into a loose fist, as if testing her strength.
Obinai raises an eyebrow. "You good?"
She scoffs. "Do I appear otherwise?"
"I mean…" He gestures vaguely at her. "You just got half-murdered by some homicidal plants. Thought you might be shaken up or whatever."
Fiora sniffs, tilting her chin upward. "A minor inconvenience at best. I've endured far worse than mere flora."
Of course she has.
A moment passes between them, filled only with the distant sounds of other competitors struggling through their own trials. Fiora's gaze shifts toward the frozen remains of the vines, her fingers twitching at her sides. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. "You could have left me."
Obinai shrugs. "Yeah. Could've."
She turns to him, her expression unreadable. "Then why didn't you?"
He exhales, tilting his head back as if considering. "Maybe I'm just that nice." A slow, easy grin spreads across his face. "Or maybe I figured you'd owe me one later."
Fiora's lips press into a thin line. She regards him for a moment longer than necessary, then scoffs. "Tch. A debt? To you?" She steps past him, "Don't flatter yourself, human. Your so-called 'kindness' is neither exceptional nor memorable."
Yet, as she speaks, her fingers twitch again—just slightly—as if resisting the urge to adjust the cuff of her sleeve.
Obinai watches her go, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he mutters, following after her...