Early morning light filtered through frost-raked windows in the practice hall, casting jagged patterns on polished stone. Izen stood beneath the glow, gloved hand resting on the stopwatch hidden in his pocket. It felt heavier today, more urgent. He'd awoken to the first breath of winter, and it reminded him how fast time could shift.
Students assembled at the far end of the hall. Instructors filed in—Caerel, Vareen, and Master Kellan—each wearing expressions sharper than steel. The relics table had vanished, replaced by open space and the rings of practice lines etched into the floor. The air hummed with anticipation.
"Today, your assignment begins," Caerel announced. "You may choose your target—any student willing, under supervision—for a non-lethal test using your relic. Discretion and creativity will be graded equally."
Grins spread across the faces of many. Izen's fingers tightened around the stopwatch. His relic was still unused. His target: Victor Helrow.
Victor leaned against a pillar outside the hall before lessons began. He wore confidence like armor, arms crossed and posture impeccable. His blond hair gleamed, and his pale eyes scanned the room. When Izen approached, his eyes flicked up—curious.
Izen nodded. "You ready?"
Victor tilted his head, just enough. "Whatever you plan, make it interesting."
Izen offered nothing else. Victor gave him that same faint smile that made people trust him—until they realized they weren't sure why. Izen found it unsettling.
Mid-morning, they moved into the testing zone: a small garden courtyard with bare winter saplings. Instructors hovered at the walls. Students watched from behind glass panels. The courtyard felt like a stage; even the crisp wind sounded performative.
Izen waited by a low stone fountain. The stopwatch gleamed tucked inside his jacket. Victor appeared opposite him, relaxed but scanning every angle. They both held their chosen relics in plain sight.
The instructor nodded. "Begin."
Victor took a casual step forward, unsheathing a thin wire garrote. Izen tightened his hand around the vial—the empty relic. Victor smirked. He'd chosen a visible threat; functional, recognizable, but not flashy.
Izen smiled thinly. He uncorked the vial and said quietly, "Watch closely."
He let a single drop of clear liquid fall, landing on the frosted fountain's rim with a tiny hiss. Vapor curled upward. Victor raised a brow.
Izen stepped forward, eyes locked on Victor's throat, voice calm. "One word. Let go."
Victor laughed—cold, amused. "You think an empty vial scares me?"
Izen shook his head. "No. But what I do with it might."
Before Victor could respond, Izen flicked the wrist. The vial shattered, the liquid evaporating instantly into a thick mist. The vapor expanded, rolling across frozen ground to swirl around Victor's feet. Victor blinked, taken by surprise.
Izen moved with silent speed, sliding around behind Victor and touching his garrote-wrist—not to kill, but to freeze his grip. Then he stepped back.
Victor gasped when he finally inhaled the vapor. His eyes went wide. It felt like ice in his lungs.
Izen spoke softly. "Your purpose here… is you protect what's expected. I break what hides behind expectation."
Victor stumbled, dropping the garrote.
The instructors jumped forward.
Caerel nodded first. "Effective."
Vareen eyed the empty vial. "Non-lethal."
Kellan studied Izen's expression. "Creative restraint."
Victor struggled for breath, then straightened. He glared at Izen. This was no longer a game.
"He used vapor to disrupt my system," Victor spat. "Subtle. Absent a killing stroke—almost delicate."
Izen answered calmly, "Yes. Subtle is the point."
That afternoon, Izen overheard whispers as he walked the corridors. Some students admired him. Others criticized him for what they called "cheap theatrics." Victor's followers whispered about him like he was a threat.
Izen didn't mind.
He found Mira near the library entrance. She looked concerned.
"Victor's stirring things," she said quietly. "People are picking sides."
Izen tilted his head. "Let them."
Mira touched his arm. "The stopwatch—did you use it?"
Izen closed his fist. "No. Not yet." He offered a consistent calm. "But I tested something else—and it worked."
That evening, Victor found him in the courtyard before sunset. No garrote this time—just a blade strapped to his thigh.
Their eyes locked across the cold marble floor. The world felt thinner.
Victor approached. "You humiliate me in front of the instructors." His voice didn't carry, but the blade's presence did.
Izen didn't reach for his dagger. He pulled the stopwatch from his pocket.
Victor paused. "What is that?"
"A tool," Izen said quietly. "For when subtleness isn't enough."
Victor's pale eyes flicked at the stopwatch and back. "I'll take that."
Izen didn't respond.
Victor stepped closer. "Give it to me. Now."
Izen smiled. "You want it?"
Victor unsheathed the blade instead. "I want it."
A challenge born in stillness.
Izen pressed the stopwatch into his left hand. He held it out. Victor's blade glinted.
Then Izen clicked the top.
Time cracked.
The courtyard split.
Stasis.
Victor froze mid-step, the blade suspended inches from Izen's chest. His eyes flickered.
Izen felt a subtle tremor through his hand as the stopwatch vibrated against reality's seams. One breath—or more precisely, one heartbeat—later, he clicked again.
Time rushed back.
But Victor never moved.
Because Izen had displaced him—a ghost slide forward, unnoticeable if not observed closely. He now stood behind Victor, holding the stopwatch at nape of neck. Victor's blade fell to the stone.
Students gasped.
Instructors vaulted forward, but Izen pressed the stopwatch back into his pocket.
"No harm," he murmured, stepping away.
Victor swirled to face him, chest rising. A hot rage filled the air.
"You cheat," he spit.
Izen met his glare. "I play by the rules."
He walked away, leaving Victor trembling.
Afterward, Kellan found him in the courtyard.
Imposing despite his years.
"Delaying time?" he said quietly.
Izen nodded. "For a heartbeat."
Kellan studied him. "You risk more than most."
Izen met his gaze. "I'm prepared."
The master nodded slowly. "Then your next lesson begins."
That night, Izen walked to his quarters alone. The stopwatch was heavy in his pocket. He realized power was no longer distant—it was accessible. But stakes were higher now. Victor would recover. So would the others.
Before sleep found him, Izen held the stopwatch by moonlight. The frozen courtyard replayed in his mind. Less mystery. More clarity. Time could be paused. Time could be controlled.
And now, Victor stood as his first true antagonist—someone who understood the academy's favors and expected control of a battlefield.
Izen closed his eyes and whispered, "Let's see who learns faster."