The day of the Grand Mid-Year Tournament arrived with a palpable energy that permeated the entire academy. The main training grounds had been transformed. Viewing stands, draped in the colors of the noble houses and the stark grey of GAMA, were filled with students, instructors, and even a few influential dignitaries. It was the most important event of the academic year, a stage where futures were forged and reputations were made or broken.
Ren stood amongst the other first-year contestants, a pocket of absolute stillness in a sea of nervous energy. He was dressed in the simple, unadorned black uniform of a non-affiliated initiate. Under the Elder's new narrative, the whispers that followed him had a new flavor. They called him the "Sleeping Volcano," the "Delayed Tempest." He was a known quantity now, but the knowledge only made him more unpredictable, and therefore, more dangerous.
His name was called for the third match of the first round. His opponent was a boy named Kaelen, a boisterous and well-regarded student from a minor merchant family, a solid Rank 4 Aether Initiate. Kaelen strode onto the arena platform with a confident grin, his Spirit Soul—a "Boulder-Fist Ape"—materializing as a faint, hulking silhouette behind him. He clearly saw this as a chance to make a name for himself by defeating the academy's infamous enigma.
"Don't worry, Ren," Kaelen called out, his voice full of patronizing confidence. "I'll try not to make your awakening too rude!"
Ren simply walked to his position and gave a slight, formal nod. The gong sounded.
Kaelen roared, channeling his Aether. His fists glowed with a thick, earthen yellow light as he charged forward, his movements powerful and direct. He was a classic brawler, intending to overwhelm Ren with brute force before any strange tricks could come into play.
Ren watched the charge, his mind a placid lake. He saw the inefficiencies in Kaelen's technique—the wasted energy in his stomping feet, the slight over-commitment of his right shoulder. He could defeat him in a dozen different ways without ever using his soul's Aether. He could trip him. He could sunder the Aether gathering in his fists. He could humiliate him.
But that was not the mission. The mission was to put on a show.
He let Kaelen close the distance. At the last possible second, as the glowing, rock-like fist barreled towards his face, Ren moved. He sidestepped with an economy of motion that seemed almost lazy, the punch sailing harmlessly past his ear.
In the same fluid motion, he raised a single hand. He did not cloak it in kinetic force or manipulate the air. He did what Elder Tian had commanded. He drew upon the tamed, stable power of his Spirit Soul.
A single, brilliant spark of azure lightning, no larger than his thumbnail, materialized on his fingertip. It did not rage or crackle. It was a point of pure, compressed, silent energy.
Kaelen, having missed his first punch, was already spinning into his next attack. He was wide open.
Ren didn't throw a punch. He simply flicked his finger, as if flicking a drop of water. The tiny spark shot forward. It was not a grand bolt of lightning, but a silent, needle-thin beam of pure azure light. It was so fast it was almost impossible to track with the naked eye.
The beam struck Kaelen not in the chest or head, but on the outside of his right knee, precisely on the Aetheric node that controlled the flow of energy to his lower leg.
The effect was instantaneous. Kaelen's entire body seized up as if struck by a real lightning bolt. His powerful charge collapsed into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble. The earthen glow around his fists fizzled into nothing. He crashed onto the platform, his right leg completely paralyzed by the potent, concentrated shock, twitching uselessly. He tried to push himself up, his face a mask of shock and confusion, but the limb would not obey. He was completely disabled.
The match was over. It had lasted less than five seconds.
A wave of stunned silence rolled over the viewing stands. They had expected a chaotic explosion of power, a wild, uncontrolled outburst. Instead, they had witnessed an act of terrifying, surgical precision. The power on display was minimal—a tiny spark—but its potency and the speed of its delivery were on a level no one could comprehend.
Instructor Borin, who was refereeing the match, stared for a long moment before his training took over. "Winner, Ren!" he bellowed, his voice laced with disbelief.
Ren gave a slight bow towards his paralyzed opponent and walked calmly off the platform. In the stands, Anya Volkov leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, her mind furiously trying to analyze the data. He hadn't used kinetic force. He had used true, elemental Aether. It was a conventional attack, but executed with a level of speed and energy compression that should be impossible for an Initiate.
Nearby, Lin Fei's face was ashen. The freak wasn't just tricky. He was powerful. And that single, terrifying spark looked nothing like the "parlor tricks" he had been mocking for months.
Ren ignored them all. He had followed his orders perfectly. He had shown them a candle flame. But he had used it like a surgeon's laser, proving that even the smallest, most controlled spark of a true storm could be infinitely more dangerous than a raging, artless bonfire.