The arena was alive with a tension so thick, it could be felt in the air itself. The sun hung high above, casting its scorching rays on the vast expanse of the battleground. The cheers of the crowd reverberated through the stands, but Lian’s mind was focused solely on his next opponent—Lyra, a young mage with a reputation for mastering the art of illusion.

  He had heard whispers about her abilities, how she could twist reality itself, making her opponents fight ghosts instead of the true battle. He steeled himself. This match would be unlike anything he had encountered before.

  As the battle began, the moment Lyra raised her hand, the world around Lian shifted.

  The arena seemed to shimmer, and then it was as if the earth itself had split open. He was no longer standing on the sand, but instead, surrounded by towering walls of twisted, dark stone. A chilling wind whipped through the air, its cold breath making his skin crawl. But the strangest thing—no one was watching from the stands anymore.

  Lian blinked, his heart skipping a beat. He could no longer see the bright lights of the arena, nor hear the deafening crowd. It was as if the whole world had turned to shadows, and there was only one figure—Lyra—standing amidst the darkness.

  "Is this your idea of a game?" Lian's voice was steady, though his pulse quickened as he tried to understand what was happening.

  Lyra's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Game? This is reality, Lian. Your reality, now."

  A soft giggle followed, a haunting sound that seemed to echo from every direction. Lian’s mind spun as the illusion grew more elaborate. The world around him became a shifting maze of impossible landscapes—walls that seemed to pulse and breathe, trees with twisting faces, and the ground cracking open, revealing dark pits of swirling shadows.

  The voices in his mind began to whisper, taunting him, trying to break his concentration. His senses were overwhelmed, disoriented. What was real? What was fake?

  "Focus," he murmured to himself, grounding himself in his breath. Don’t let her control you.

  But the illusions kept coming—whispers in his ears, cold hands brushing his skin, figures appearing and vanishing in the blink of an eye. He could hear Lyra’s voice now, coming from all directions, each word laced with mockery.

  "You’re just a boy from a village," she purred, her voice impossibly soft and loud at the same time. "You think you can stand against me? Against my illusions?"

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  Lian’s head spun, his feet seeming to shift beneath him as though the ground itself was alive. But there was something else. Deep within him, the Dragon Mana Crystal pulsed—a quiet, rhythmic hum. He let it guide him, feeling its power connect with his own. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the steady beat of his own heartbeat, the way his breath seemed to synchronize with the crystal’s pulse.

  He could feel the illusion around him, like a living thing, wrapping its tendrils around his mind, but he knew better than to fight it directly. He’d learned long ago to sense the flow of magic, and illusion was just that—magic.

  His senses sharpened. The oppressive heat of the air was not real. The cracked stone beneath his feet? An illusion. The voice in his head? Fake.

  He opened his eyes, and though the world was still twisted, it was no longer as disorienting. Lyra was standing in front of him, her form blurry at first. She smirked, raising her hand as another wave of illusions tried to smother him. Her eyes gleamed with excitement.

  Lian’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

  "I see you," he said, his voice low and unwavering.

  Lyra’s eyes narrowed. "What? How?"

  Lian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool air as his mana flowed into the surroundings. The shifting world around him grew more stable, and then, with a single pulse of energy, he shattered the illusion surrounding him. The world snapped back into focus.

  Lyra gasped in disbelief as the towering walls dissolved into thin air, the dark forest vanishing into the light. She staggered back as the real world returned—sunlight blazing down on the sand beneath them, the cheering crowd surrounding them once more.

  But the most shocking thing to Lyra was that Lian had remained standing, not the broken, disoriented shell she expected. His eyes were fixed on her with an unwavering gaze, his body calm, his breath steady.

  "I wasn’t born yesterday," Lian said with a smirk, the words sharp as a blade. "You’re not the only one who knows how to bend reality."

  Lyra’s lips curled in frustration. "Impossible!" she hissed, her hands crackling with energy. She raised her arms, summoning another barrage of illusions to envelop him. This time, she sent mirages of Lian attacking himself, images of him slashing at shadows, colliding into each other.

  Lian didn’t flinch. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, and in the span of a heartbeat, the real world came into sharp focus. His connection to the Dragon Mana Crystal grew stronger, and the pulse of energy surged through him.

  He moved like lightning, his hands sweeping the air as the illusions flickered and dissolved before they even had a chance to take root. Lyra’s eyes widened, realizing that Lian was no longer seeing the illusion. He was seeing through it.

  In one swift motion, Lian was there, standing face to face with her. He didn’t speak, didn’t taunt. Instead, he raised his hand, the mana coursing around his fingertips. With precision honed through months of training, he fired a single blast of energy—straight at the heart of the real Lyra, the one standing before him.

  The crowd gasped as the blast hit, sending Lyra flying backward, her illusions collapsing in on themselves as she was knocked to the ground. She gasped, her breath catching as she struggled to rise. But Lian was already walking away, his victory clear.

  The referee’s voice echoed through the arena. "Victory to Lian!"

  The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, but Lian didn’t hear them. His mind was already somewhere else—on the battlefield ahead, on the tournament, and on what he would have to face next.

  As he stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow, he couldn’t help but glance toward the stands. His eyes found Serina’s. She stood, her hand resting on the railing, her eyes wide with admiration and something else—something deeper.

  For a moment, time seemed to slow. The world around them faded away. She smiled at him, and Lian’s heart fluttered. But just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone.

  He turned and walked off the battlefield, his mind racing with thoughts of his future—both in the tournament and beyond.

  ---

  Serina’s voice echoed in his mind as he walked away. "I knew you were more than just a boy from the village, Lia

  n."

  And for the first time, Lian wasn’t so sure she was wrong.

  ---