The hall rang with silence after the final blow.
Eira stood over Sylas, victorious, sweat dripping down her temples and blood smearing her lip. Sylas lay stretched out, arms splayed, chest heaving shallow breaths. For a heartbeat, Avin thought neither of them would rise again.
And then, without warning, Eira’s legs buckled. She dropped beside him, slumping against the floor with a long groan. The two of them lay there shoulder to shoulder—bruised, battered, utterly spent.
Avin sat forward, lips parted. What the hell did I just watch?
That wasn’t a duel. That was a war compressed into a handful of minutes. He could still see Sylas’s calm, brutal fists hammering Eira’s face. He could still see her wild grin when she knocked him to the floor. Every strike had sounded like a drumbeat in Avin’s chest.
Now, both combatants just... laid there.
The crowd, having been whipped into a frenzy, began to scatter into smaller clumps. Voices rippled, whispers bouncing across the golden chamber. But even with the noise, there was an eerie stillness hanging over the trio.
Avin cleared his throat, desperate to shatter the awkward quiet. "Well—"
Because the silence broke on its own.
It started as a chuckle from Eira, faint and raspy, her bruised ribs rattling with each sound. Then, astonishingly, Sylas chuckled too.
And then both of them burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The sound was wild, almost manic. They lay there cackling side by side, unable to lift themselves, shoulders shaking, mouths wide. Their voices tangled together, echoing against the walls until the laughter filled the space like a song.
Avin blinked. They beat each other half to death... and now they’re laughing?
Were they delirious? Did they punch themselves into insanity? Or was this—was this fun to them?
He could only gape in confusion.
Then, without warning, the floor lit up.
Underneath both Eira and Sylas, a green circle bloomed into being. Its edges traced with perfect geometry, symbols spiraling outward like inscriptions carved by gods. Lines curved and crossed, forming sigils Avin didn’t recognize. The circle pulsed, humming with low resonance.
Avin’s jaw went slack as green light flared upward, wrapping their battered bodies in a column of translucent brilliance. It climbed, shimmering all the way to the ceiling, an endless pillar of emerald glow.
Before his stunned eyes, their bruises began to vanish. The swelling around Eira’s eye shrank until her face looked unblemished. Sylas’s split lip sealed itself shut. Their torn knuckles smoothed over, the pain draining out of them like water slipping down a drain.
Avin whispered, "What the hell... this world’s healing is ridiculous."
The memory of his own resurrection snapped back. Miranda’s trembling hands, the surge of power, Bram’s sudden revival after a fatal wound. Life here bent around rules he had never known. Death wasn’t always final. Pain wasn’t always permanent.
And yet... chaos still roamed free. Bandits killed. Monsters attacked. Nobles plotted. Death still lurked in every shadow.
He swallowed. These people are strong...
The words slipped out of him, barely audible. "These people are strong."
The pillar of light faded. The circle evaporated, leaving only glowing motes drifting like fireflies before vanishing.
Eira groaned, rolling onto her side. "Ow..."
The sound snapped Avin back into the present. He jumped up, rushing over, his awkward nerves buzzing in his chest.
He offered a hand. She glanced at it, then clasped tightly, pulling herself up with a hiss of effort. Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone her size.
"My name is Eira," she said, brushing golden strands out of her face. Her grin returned, sharp and prideful despite her exhaustion. "Eira Minerva."
"Avin," he replied. His own name sounded strange on his lips after hearing hers—her noble surname carried weight, history, something ancient. His? It felt borrowed.
He nearly got lost in her gaze before a voice called from below.
Avin blinked. He glanced down to see Sylas still sprawled on the floor, sighing dramatically.
A reluctant smile tugged at Avin’s lips. He reached down and hauled him up. Sylas groaned, then patted Avin’s back three times in quick succession.
Avin nodded. It felt strangely good—like he had been pulled into their circle, however briefly.
A roar tore through the chamber, deep and guttural. It reverberated through the marble underfoot, rattling Avin’s bones. The sound was not merely loud—it thrummed with primal power.
Layered into the bassy rumble was something shrill, almost metallic. A screech hidden within the roar, a pitch that clawed into Avin’s ears. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novelFirｅ.net
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Heads whipped toward the far end of the hall.
Avin followed their eyes.
There, on the raised platform, stood a beast.
It towered three meters tall—ten feet, at least—its body a monstrous fusion. Brown fur rippled across its shoulders, feline muscles bulging under the sheen. Its massive paws ended in claws curved like sickles. From its back stretched wings vast enough to blanket the crowd in shadow, each feather tipped with gleaming talons. And its hind legs—Avin’s stomach flipped—were not feline at all, but avian. Eagle talons, thick and sharpened, dug gouges into the stone platform.
It was a chimera—some unholy mix of cat and bird, stitched together by nature’s cruelty.
Avin stumbled back. His breath hitched. Even from across the hall, fear shot through him like a dagger.
The memories came unbidden. The wolf that lunged at him in his first minute in this world, its fangs sinking deep. The dream-beast that crushed the air out of him. Ashborn’s suffocating strangles, always involving that suffocating image of an animal pinning him down.
Animals. Always animals. Always hunting him.
His muscles tensed to run. To find any way out of this cursed hall. Surely the others would scatter too—surely they would—
Instead of bolting for the exits, the students drew closer. They clustered in a semicircle around the beast, faces alight with awe rather than fear.
Avin’s jaw dropped. "What the hell are they doing? Do these idiots want to die?"
Then his eyes focused. He’d missed something.
Strapped to the beast’s back was a saddle.
And seated calmly in that saddle... was a human.
Avin squinted hard, his crimson pupils narrowing. "What the fuck... who is that?"
The rider sat straight, framed against the shimmering golden ceiling, unfazed by the noise of thousands staring.
"What are you doing? Let’s go."
Eira’s voice jolted him. She beckoned him forward, already moving with Sylas into the mass of students gathering before the platform.
Avin’s heart pounded. He swallowed his terror, forcing his legs to move. He trailed behind them, every step dragging sanity with it.
The crowd pressed close, murmurs swelling. Avin listened, wide-eyed.
"Look at its wings! It’s incredible!"
"It looks so strong."
Avin nearly tripped. Cute?
He turned back to the beast, its talons gouging the platform, its fangs dripping with saliva. Cute? It was nightmare fuel. It was death incarnate.
His hands trembled. "This... thing is cute?"
But when he looked around, he saw nothing but admiration. Eyes shining. Smiles wide. Not a trace of fear among them.
The beast raised its head.
Another roar erupted, louder than before. The screech inside it stabbed Avin’s ears, making him flinch.
The noise of thousands vanished in an instant. The hall fell utterly still. All eyes fixed on the rider and the beast beneath them.
Avin’s throat went dry.
Something was about to happen.