Thesis Slayer: Rewritten Flame

When the flames died, silence reigned.

Not the kind of silence born from peace. No, this was the silence that clung to ruins, that sucked the breath from a crowd too stunned to scream. Ash drifted lazily through the air, catching in the golden sunlight like snowfall from hell.

The dueling ring that was once smooth stone, was now scorched black and cracked down the middle.

In the center of it all stood Seyon Amara.

Her hair, wild and glowing faintly at the tips, curled around her face like tendrils of smoke. Her eyes — no longer just violet, but rimmed with gold — stared blankly at the space where Arvid of Stormhall had once stood.

He was on the ground now.

Not dead.

But not standing either.

His lightning, his arrogance, his name…

All burned to cinders.

Someone finally gasped. Then whispered. Then the floodgates opened.

"She didn't even chant—"

"That wasn't just fire... did you see her eyes—?"

"Was that… Mind magic?"

"Impossible. She's just a Flareborn... right?"

From the viewing tower, a panel of instructors sat motionless. Professor Elron, the battle-magic examiner, slowly lowered his monocle with a shaking hand.

"She's not just a Flareborn," he muttered. "She's something else."

---

At the edge of the crowd, Auron Kai watched without blinking. His gaze scanned her aura, her vitals, her mana output — none of it made sense. She should've collapsed.

He stepped forward instinctively… and stopped.

Because someone else moved first.

Xian Yoru.

From the shadows, silent as a falling star, he appeared at her side. Not touching. Not speaking. Just… there. Like a warding spirit. Like death in velvet gloves.

Seyon's knees buckled.

Xian caught her.

Only for a second. Enough to steady her. Enough that no one else dared approach.

Their eyes met. Her pupils were dilated. Heart racing.

He leaned close and said just loud enough for her to hear:

> "You burned too bright too soon."

She managed a weak smirk. "Guess I'm still adjusting."

He didn't smile.

Instead, he looked past her… toward the instructors' tower. Toward the watchers.

Toward whoever had marked Seyon for death once before.

Then he whispered:

> "They'll come for you now."

And Seyon, half-conscious, replied with fire in her voice:

> "Let them."

---

The scent of burnt fabric, singed hair, and old herbs clung to the air. Somewhere, far above the world, a bell tolled—not a real one, but the kind that rings in the soul when something breaks.

Seyon Amara stirred.

Pain laced through her limbs like vines made of glass. Her fingers twitched, bandaged. Her lips were dry. The ceiling was unfamiliar—arched stone laced with glowing glyphs.

Infirmary, her mind registered. Not dead.

Yet.

Auron's voice was the first thing she heard. It sounded low, tired, and sharper than usual.

"Vitals stabilized. Mana flux receding. She's dreaming again—lucid."

Dreaming?

No...remembering.

In her mind, a voice echoed. Cold. Mechanical. Her AI. "Firewall breached. External override... Seyon—run."

Her eyes snapped open.

Light.

Too much light.

"Easy." Auron's hand was already at her forehead, brushing hair back, his expression unreadable. But his other hand clenched a glowing sigil over her chest, measuring her pulse. "You burned through 87% of your mana reserve in under five minutes. The average flareborn collapses at 60."

She tried to sit up.

She failed.

"Relax," he said, gentler now. "You did something reckless. Again."

Seyon forced a smile. "You're one to talk, Mr. I-Downloaded-Myself-Into-a-Human."

He snorted. "And now I have to deal with pain, sleep, and your sarcasm. Truly, I regret everything."

She turned her head slowly. "Did I win?"

His face was still for a second.

"You scorched the dueling pit," he said finally. "They're calling it a 'mana storm'. The arena's out of use for a week."

Seyon blinked. "So… yes?"

"Yes. And next time, try not to set your own uniform on fire."

She laughed once, then winced. "Ow."

But then Auron leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "You weren't supposed to be able to do that."

She met his gaze.

"I don't remember how I did it," she whispered. "I just... felt it. Like my body knew."

He nodded, the look in his eyes less machine, more man. "Your past is bleeding into this one."

She stared at the ceiling. "Good. Because I need it to remember who I'm supposed to destroy."

---

Meanwhile…

Far below the infirmary, in the ancient chambers beneath Virelia's archives, the Council of Echoes convened.

A hooded figure stepped forward, laying down a cracked obsidian mirror.

In its glass shimmered a vision of the duel—Seyon covered in flame, her eyes glowing violet and gold.

"She's awakening," the figure murmured.

Another voice, like wind rustling through pages, responded:

"Then the game begins again."

The Council chamber was carved into the bones of the mountain itself. No torches burned there. The walls glowed with residual magic, casting eerie shadows across the marble floor etched with a thousand forgotten runes.

"She wasn't supposed to survive," the first voice rasped.

"She wasn't supposed to return," whispered another.

"But she did," said the figure holding the obsidian mirror. "And not alone."

They all turned to the flame-like shimmer hovering above the center altar—Auron's face, blurry and flickering, caught in an echo of surveillance magic.

"He's more than AI now. He's anchored."

"And the boy?"

A pause. Even the walls seemed to still.

"Xian Yoru is… watching."

A soft intake of breath. Someone cursed in a tongue that cracked the stone beneath them.

"She must be eliminated before convergence."

"No," said the hooded mirror-bearer. "If we strike now, we only confirm the prophecy. She doesn't remember enough yet. Let her rise… just enough to fall harder."

A cold silence settled. Then:

"Let the next trial begin."

---

Infirmary — Hours Later

The sun had begun to dip, casting golden light through the stained-glass windows of the healing ward. Seyon sat upright now, sipping water with slow, practiced motions. Her body still ached, but her mind buzzed.

Memories. Whispers. Heat.

The door creaked.

Xian Yoru stood in the doorway, a tray in hand—two bowls of thick broth and a loaf of dark bread. His uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder, and for once, his expression was softer… less glacier, more cloud.

"You look like hell," he said, stepping in.

Seyon smirked. "Thanks. You always know how to make a girl feel special."

He set the tray down beside her, eyes never quite meeting hers. "You screamed in your sleep. I could hear it from the east wing."

She blinked. "You were listening for me?"

"I was listening for anomalies," he said too quickly. "You just happened to be one."

She gave him a dry look. "Romantic."

He passed her a bowl. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

"For what?"

He hesitated—just enough for her to notice.

"The next trial is tomorrow."

Seyon groaned. "You're kidding."

"No. The Headmistress accelerated your schedule."

"Because I torched her precious arena?"

"Because you lit up a sigil that hasn't responded in over two hundred years."

Seyon stared. "What sigil?"

Xian's eyes finally met hers. "The one beneath the pit. You activated it when you bled."

Silence stretched between them, warm and uneasy.

"Xian," she asked slowly. "Do you know what I am?"

He didn't blink. "I think you're the reason the world started counting backward."

---

Elsewhere, high in the floating towers of Virelia...

Headmistress Vael stood by her window, watching the last rays of sun fade.

"She's not supposed to be here," came the voice behind her. "We checked every bloodline."

Vael's grip on her staff tightened. "Then check again."