The energy on the training ground shifts again. Amy’s awe inspiring performance is replaced by a tense anticipation.
Keyona Baker steps forward, her movements a confident swagger. She doesn’t carry her grimoire; she wears it with pride.
The massive, midnight black scythe, Akan, is strapped to her back. Its wicked, curved blade looms over her shoulder.
She walks to the center of the field and unslings the weapon. Its heavy, metal butt thuds onto the flagstones.
The sound is like a tolling bell. She rests it on her shoulder, a confident smirk on her face.
In the viewing stands, the leaders lean forward. Their voices are a low, interested buzz.
“The other Resonant,” Freya says, her red eyes narrowing in analytical focus.
“Let us see if her power matches her confidence.”
Killian grins, genuine excitement in his eyes. “Don’t worry about her,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“I can tell she’s got good instincts. Aggressive style. I like it.”
Down on the field, Keyona takes her stance. It is not the balanced, formal posture of a duelist.
It is the low, powerful crouch of a predator about to pounce. She holds her scythe in a two-handed grip.
The long, black haft is a natural extension of her body. She takes a deep breath.
She confidently speaks her first command. Her voice is a low, powerful note that carries across the courtyard.
“AKAN! SLICE!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akan + Slice{Skapa en skärande vind med varje slag}
- Phonetic: Akan (Grimoire Name) + Skapa en skärande vind med varje slag (base)
- Swedish Base Spell Translation: “Create a cutting wind with every strike”
She swings the scythe in a wide, powerful arc aimed at the training dummy.
The massive weapon whistles through the air, a blur of black steel.
As the blade cuts through the air, a blade of compressed wind erupts from its edge.
It is visible only as a faint, shimmering distortion.
This invisible projectile, a copy of the scythe’s blade, detaches and flies forward with a high pitched, screaming sound.
The wind blade strikes the training dummy. It slices it in two.
The cut is as clean and precise as if made by a surgeon’s scalpel. The top half of the dummy topples to the ground with a soft, pathetic thud.
The display is a fusion of raw power and magic. Keyona doesn’t pause to admire her work.
She begins to move, her feet a blur on the stone floor. Her scythe is a whirlwind of controlled violence.
With every swing, a new blade of wind is unleashed. A barrage of invisible, cutting force. It reduces the remains of the training dummy to shredded straw in seconds.
Keyona stands amidst the shredded remains of the training dummy. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. The flurry of attacks, a blend of prowess and power, has not winded her.
But as the adrenaline fades, a tremor runs through her hand. She brings a hand to her forehead for a moment. Her confident smirk falters into a wince. Her eyes squeeze shut.
In the viewing stands, Damien makes an analytical observation. “Dissonance,” he says to the other leaders.
“Swedish is a level four for an English affinity. As a Resonant she only experiences level 2, a minor headache”
“She’s feeling the strain. It is noticeable, but manageable for a short burst.”
Ruby nods. “Keyona can handle it. She’s tough.”
Carter watches Keyona. A new respect dawns on him. He knows that feeling, the ache behind his eyes, the static in his brain.
He’s felt it practicing his Mandarin. But to push through it, to have control and composure in front of the most powerful mages in the world… that takes strength. A strength of will.
After a few moments, Keyona lowers her hand. Her expression is a mask of confidence.
She has mastered the pain. Pushed it to the back of her mind. She turns her gaze from the ruined dummy to the jagged rock formations.
They jut out from the edge of the floating city, miles away. She is going to show them what a Resonant can truly do.
She plants her feet, her stance low and powerful. She raises her scythe high. Its wicked, curved blade is a black silhouette against the endless blue sky. She takes a deep breath.
A new, potent energy begins to gather around her. The air itself seems to grow thin and sharp.
She speaks her final command. Her voice is no longer a purr. It is a cold, hard, final declaration.
“AKAN! DESTROY!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akan + Destroy{En destruktiv vind + Which shatters all matter}
- Phonetic: Akan (Grimoire Name) + En destruktiv vind (base) + Which shatters all matter (effect)
- Swedish Base Spell Translation: “A destructive wind”
- English Effect Spell Translation: “Which shatters all matter”
Keyona swings her scythe in a single, massive, horizontal arc. It is not a fast movement. It is one of heavy, deliberate power.
As the blade cuts through the air, it does not create a shimmering blade of wind. Instead, a wave of pure, shimmering nothingness erupts from its edge. It is a distortion in space, a crescent of pure entropy.
It devours the light and sound around it. It is silent.
The wave of un creation flies across the training ground, over the edge of the floating city, and across miles of empty sky. It strikes one of the distant, jagged rock formations. The spire of stone is as large as a 2 story building.
There is no explosion. There is no impact. There is only silent, horrifying deletion. The massive rock formation does not shatter or crumble.
It simply ceases to exist. One moment it is there, a fixture of the landscape. The next, it is gone. It leaves behind only the empty blue of the sky.
The audience is stunned into silence. They have seen fire, lightning, and earth. They have seen physics bent and broken. But this… this is different.
This is the magic of endings.
A power to unmake the world.
In the viewing stands, Killian lets out a low whistle. “Okay. She’s good,” he says.
“YOU GO KEYONA! WOOO!”
Ruby yells, drawing attention to herself. Amy laughs at Ruby’s enthusiasm on the sidelines.
Damien, for the first time, looks impressed. His mask of detachment is gone. It is replaced by pure, analytical awe.
“Her control over the Swedish incantation, even under the strain of Dissonance, is remarkably stable.”
“To wield a Mixed Spell of that magnitude, a spell that fuses two different Creation Class languages… quite impressive, Miss Baker.”
Gabriel’s expression is one of troubled contemplation. “There is a finality to her magic,” he says, his voice a solemn murmur. “A power of endings.”
Keyona stands in the center of the field. Her scythe rests on her shoulder. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm. The backlash from the high dissonance Mixed Spell hits her.
It is a sharp migraine that makes the world tilt. But she does not falter. She does not wince. She simply closes her eyes for a second.
She masters the pain and pushes it to the back of her mind.
When she opens them, her expression is one of pure, terrifying confidence.
Her demonstration is over. She has not just passed her test. She has established herself as one of the most powerful and dangerous mages of her generation.
She has shown them the true, terrifying potential of a Resonant.
Sir Agamor steps forward. His expression is a mixture of awe and paternal concern.
“A devastating display of power, Ms. Baker,” he says, his voice a solemn rumble that echoes across the silent courtyard.
“Your control is formidable. Take your place.”
Keyona gives a sharp, confident nod. She walks back to the line, her movements a testament to the dangerous, beautiful power she now commands.
The other recruits watch her.
Their expressions are a mixture of awe, respect, and fear. The bar has been raised. It seems impossibly high.
A new silence falls over the training ground. This time it is not empty.
It is filled with an expectant buzz of whispers from the audience.
“That’s the last one, right?” one combat agent mutters to his friend.
“The one Killian brought in?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” the other replies, his voice a hushed whisper.
“The one who can use magic like the Director?”
“I heard he got the Mage Killers! I haven’t seen those things in decades.”
“You think he can top what the girl just did? She just erased a mountain sized boulder!”
The leaders in the viewing stands lean forward. Their casual demeanor is gone. It is replaced by intense, focused concentration.
The demonstrations of the other recruits, impressive as they were, feel like opening acts.
All eyes turning to the final recruit in line. The anomaly. The boy with the Mage Killers. Carter Cross.
Agamor stands and speaks.
“Last but most certainly not least. Mr. Cross. Please come forward.”
This should be good. Thinks Miguel.
You’ve trained hard, now prove it. Thinks Damien.
Carter you got this! Thinks Ruby.
Let’s see how much you’ve grown Cross… Thinks Gendric.
Give em hell kid. Thinks Killian.
Gabriel stares, a smile on his face, as if he can already see the future.