A tiger. Vast and perhaps even ancient in its gaze, its muzzle wet with crimson, looming over a field mouse that had forgotten how to scurry away. The tiger did not roar; it simply breathed, and the exhalation smelled of death.

  Reality snapped back into Libon's perspective.

  "You..." Libon's voice cracked, high and shameful. He cleared his throat, desperate to scramble back atop the pedestal of his nobility. "You think you can stare at me like that, peasant? I'll have you whipped for insolence. I'll-"

  He didn't finish. Paley moved, or tried to, but was instantly encased in a wall of desperation.

  Jurie had thrown her arms around his waist, burying her face in the side of his neck. Adimia grabbed his left arm, Reben his right. Amasha clung to his leg like a barnacle. They were holding him back. All together. Rauba too shy to join and Bacha too sad to think.

  "Paley, no," Jurie whispered, her voice trembling against his neck. "Please. Don't say anything. It'd be the end of us. Please."

  Paley looked to Bacha, wailing into her hands, her spirit crushed by Libon's cruel words. He saw Dillie Li, clutching her shoulder, shrinking away from the world. He looked at Libon, who was now sneering, emboldened by the sight of the orphans restraining their brother.

  "Look at them," Libon had the audacity to laugh, nudging Elhom. "A litter of rats. Pathetic."

  Paley's breath hitched. 'Rip him apart'*

  But Jurie was crying. "Please..."

  The tension left Paley's frame all at once. He slumped, allowing his siblings to feel the surrender in his muscles. "I'm okay," he lied softly. "I'm okay. Let go."

  They released him, though Adimia kept a wary hand hovering near his shoulder. He himself had wanted nothing but to sock Libon's face until his nose broke, but he knew the hell it would bring upon their house. Paley walked past the noble, his gaze fixed on Bacha. He knelt beside his sister, helping her stand, dusting off her skirt with a gentleness at odds with the sheer violence radiating from him moments ago.

  "Let's go," Paley said.

  He ushered her away, forming a rear guard as the group shuffled toward the gate.

  "Running away?" Libon called out, disappointed that the show was over. "That's right! Go back to your hole!"

  Paley stopped. He didn't turn nor speak. He simply visualised the air around the noble. A quick execution technique he had been working on. He visualized a hand, massive and invisible, made of air, gripping the boy by the ankle.

  Up.

  Behind him, the laughter cut off with a strangled yelp.

  Paley kept walking, his eyes fixed forward, but his mind was behind him. He felt the resistance of the weight, then the release as Libon was yanked into the sky. Ten feet. Twenty. Fifty.

  The courtyard erupted in screams. Students pointed upward as the young lord flailed, a ragdoll against the blue sky, ascending higher and higher until he was just a speck flailing in the wind.

  Drop.

  Paley released the hold.

  "Pa—" Adimia closed Jurie's mouth before she exposed Paley.

  He counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. No, that wasn't reliable enough.

  He heard the rising shriek of the falling boy. He felt the air pressure shift. But he had to turn around. Just as the scream reached a pitch of mortal terror, just inches before Libon would have been but a smear on the cobblestones, Paley cast a cushion of air — a hard, flat slam of resistance.

  Thud.

  Libon hit the invisible cushion a foot off the ground, the wind knocked out of him with a sound like a drum beat, before he flopped onto the stone, gasping, alive but traumatized.

  "Don't look back," Paley whispered to the terrified orphans. "Just keep walking."

  But they couldn't escape the aftermath.

  "YOU!"

  The scream was ragged, torn from a throat raw with fear. Libon scrambled to his feet, his fine tailored uniform disheveled, his face drained of blood but filled with a manic, humiliated rage. He pointed a trembling finger at Paley's retreating back.

  "You did that! I know it was you! Scoundrel! Vile peasant!"

  Paley stopped. He turned slowly. The entire schoolyard held its breath.

  Libon staggered forward, pushing past his confused friends. "You tried to kill me! I challenge you! A duel!" He knew he couldn't prove Paley used that Magic; there was no evidence, so he chose the next best thing, "Right now, you gutter-shit! I challenge you to a Mage Duel!"

  Jurie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Paley, no! Don't listen to him!"

  "If I win," Libon shrieked, spit flying from his mouth, "you become my property! You and your stupid Air Magic will serve me until you die!"

  "Paley, let's go," Jurie begged, tugging his sleeve. "We can't fight a noble. His family will-"

  "Jurie," Paley interrupted, his voice calm, terrifyingly reasonable. "If I accept... does that mean I get to beat him up for making fun of Bacha without having to worry about the law?"

  Jurie froze. "I..." Technically, he could.

  "Do it," Adimia growled, stepping up beside Paley. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. "Make him pay, Paley."

  "Yeah," Reben added, exhibiting uncharacteristic cold fury. "You can take him, Paley. Break his nose."

  Paley looked at them. He saw the hurt in Bacha's eyes. He saw the fear in Jurie's. He saw the rage in Adimia's and Reben's. He looked at Rauba, who nodded once, a silent agreement.

  Paley turned back to Libon.

  "I accept," he said.

  The crowd gasped.

  "But," Paley continued taking a step forward, "I have a question before I say my conditions." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Do you own slaves, Libon?"

  Libon blinked, then sneered. He let out a sharp whistle.

  From the shadow of the school wall, five figures stepped forward. They were children, dressed in grey tunics below their uniforms that marked them as his property. Their heads were bowed, their spirits visibly broken. Their families were debt-slaves to Libon's.

  "My entourage," Libon gloated. His father let him keep them to carry his books and other tasks deemed too low for a noble.

  Bacha let out a small cry when she saw one of the slaves, a girl with brown skin, look up. Next to her was Selma, Bacha's friend. Selma's sister was enslaved.

  "Their parents owed us money," Libon said casually, noting Bacha's recognition. "Couldn't pay. So they paid with her. Just like Dillie's family will soon enough." He glanced at the baker's daughter, who went pale.

  "If I win," Paley said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, "they go free. All five."

  Libon laughed. It was harsh and like barking. "Five? For just you? Don't flatter yourself, peasant. The law requires equal value. One of you for one of them."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  It was true. Paley had nothing else to offer except himself. That was how it had always been. But what else could he give to free them? Most of all: why did he care so much? Perhaps he wanted to impress his siblings. Maybe he wanted to embody the Quimnia hero that he was supposedly destined to be. Or... he was trying to compensate. Distract himself.

  "I wager myself," Adimia stepped forward instantly. "That's two."

  "And me," Reben said, stepping up. "Three."

  "Me too!" Amasha piped up, though he didn't quite understand, he knew he wanted to be with Paley on this. "Four."

  Still, it was four against five. The scales were still unbalanced.

  Jurie was hyperventilating. This was madness. On the first day of school, they were gambling their freedom and their lives.

  Bacha wiped her eyes, sniffled, then marched forward and took Paley's hand, planting herself beside him. The last piece. "Me too," she said, her voice wobbling but defiant. "Five."

  Libon's eyes widened. A slow, greedy smile spread across his face.

  "A bargain."

  The contract arrived the next day. It was a terrifying document, drafted on vellum. Jurie read it three times, her hands shaking, checking for loopholes, for tricks that the noble boy was trying to play or trap Paley with. There were none. Its simplicity was brutal. Libon was that confident.

  Winner takes all.

  At the bottom of the page was a small crystal embedded in the paper - a blood-binding vessel. To sign was to pour mana into it. If the loser failed to honor the terms, an inactive spell from the vessel would stop their heart.

  Paley placed his hand on the page. He didn't hesitate. He pushed his mana into the crystal. It flared red and asked him a simple question, "Do you consent to the binding?". He sealed his fate.

  When Madella found out, the cottage shook.

  "Have you lost your mind?!" she screamed, slamming the contract onto the table. It was the first time she had truly raised her voice in anger at him. "You gambled your brothers and sisters? Paley, they are nobles! They have tutors, artifacts, resources, power you can't imagine! Why would you do this?"

  Paley sat quietly at the table with the orphans gathered upstairs away from the chastising. He waited until she ran out of breath, until her anger dissolved and she just sobbed, terrified.

  "I can't let anyone get away with insulting my family," he said softly. He looked up at her, his crimson eyes filled with resolve. "I'm sorry, Mother. But I will win. Even if he is a noble... that does not matter to me. You do. So, I will win. So that no one messes with my sister again."

  The week leading up to the duel was full of exhaustion. It dragged, suffocating.

  Paley stopped hunting. He couldn't afford the travel time, nor the risk of a stray injury from a beast, or not finding one at all and wasting his time. Instead, he turned the cottage into a hub of micromanagement. Chores were less obligations and more drills. Washing the dishes was now about manipulating water to scour grease. Sweeping the floor became an exercise in Air Magic. He moved around like a soldier, his eyes glazed with a terrifying focus.

  In the afternoons, the fields became a battlefield.

  "Again," Paley panted, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow.

  Opposite him, Rauba stood with her hands on her knees, her small chest heaving. The grass around them was in ruin - scorched black in patches from her fire, churned into mud from his earth walls trying to block her attacks.

  "Paley..." Rauba wheezed, her red hair plastered to her forehead. "I... Can I have a minute?"

  Paley looked at her. Rauba was a prodigy; on her first day her instructor had given her special attention for her unusual mana capacity for her age. Her control was intuitive too. But as he watched her struggle to catch her breath, he realized there was a growing gap between them. He was a Quimnia.

  "Sorry," he whispered, the guilt in his chest like a spike. "Rest up, Rauba. I'll cool down some water for you."

  He watched her retreat indoors to a sofa with the cold water, looking back at him with worried eyes. The fields felt too small, too close to the cottage. He couldn't practice here - not with the constraints of possibly hurting them.

  He went to the Mana Zone as the sun began to bleed orange into the horizon. He bypassed the usual hunting trails, ignoring the rustle of prey in the undergrowth, and pushed through until the trees opened up to the lake.

  It was silent here. The water was a flat mirror reflecting the darkening sky.

  Paley waded in. The cold was a shock, biting at his skin, seeping into his trousers, but he welcomed it. It was a sensation he could control. He walked until the water lapped at his waist.

  For hours, he practiced the speed of his casting, creating mind-hand connections so it may only take a snap of his fingers to freeze droplets mid-air. He practiced output, pushing his mana until his veins felt like they were carrying liquid fire, forcing the water to churn and boil around him. It was repetitive work, stripping away the glamour of magic and making it seem more like the military drills that Adimia went through.

  As the moon rose, casting a pale, silver road across the surface of the water, Paley finally stopped. His chest heaved. Steam rose from his skin, mingling with the mist.

  "Is this right?"

  His voice was tiny, swallowed by the vastness of the forest. He looked down at his reflection in the dark water - the black hair, the red eyes. It almost felt unfamiliar now that he had spent so long as the white-haired boy.

  "Gambling their freedom?"

  The contract flashed in his mind. Adimia. Reben. Bacha. Amasha. They had signed their names in too. He had allowed them to put their lives on the table like copper coins.

  His thoughts drifted to the memory of this place weeks ago — the girl made of light. She had seemed so pure, so unburdened. He felt like there was a boulder on his shoulders.

  "I'm scared," Paley admitted to the silence. He hugged his ribs, shivering now that the mana wasn't available to burn hot. "I'm acting tough. I act like I know what I'm doing. But if I lose... they become slaves. Because of me."

  The terror of it broke through and it made him want to scream.

  He punched the water.

  His recovering mana responded and a geyser erupted from the impact point. The water splashed back down into the lake, some of it giving him a short shower.

  "I can't lose," he snarled, his voice rough.

  The fear didn't leave, but it changed. It calcified. It became fuel, burning hotter and brighter in his gut than any flame he could conjure.

  A week after the challenge, the day of the duel dawned: grey and cold, truly marking that they had entered Autumn.

  The school field had been transformed. White chalk marked out a perimeter. Runestones thrummed at the corners, generating a shimmering, translucent dome to protect the spectators. The entire student body was there, a sea of whispers.

  Headmaster Horeb stood in the center, flanked by Master Kalnour and Master Sostal.

  Libon Jeice stood at one end, looking resplendent in custom-fitted dueling leathers, a high-grade wand in his hand. He checked a gold pocket watch with a smirk.

  "Late," Libon announced to the crowd. "Cowardice runs deep in the lowborn."

  "No, my brother overslept," It was Paley's voice.

  The crowd parted. Paley walked onto the field. He wore no armor, just his standard school uniform, the sleeves rolled up. Behind him walked the orphans, holding hands in a chain of solidarity to support their beloved brother, and Madella, who looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Many townspeople had been allowed on grounds for this duel and classes had been halted.

  Paley stopped and turned to Madella. "I'm sorry again," he whispered.

  "Just come back to me," she said, her voice thick, holding his cheek, not wanting to let go.

  Paley stepped into the circle. A barrier came to life, shimmered, and sealed shut behind him, created by Master Sostal.

  Headmaster Horeb stepped forward, his voice amplified by magic. "9:30 am. A Mage's Duel. Combatants: Young Master Libon Jeice and Orphan Paley."

  He turned to Libon. "Lord Libon, do you agree to the condition of the release of the following servants: Negie Shivai, Conta Bastra, Herman Goul, Gieova Navi, and Gorling Don, should Paley win?"

  Libon twirled his wand, a sneer plastered on his face. "Should he win," he emphasized, playing to the crowd, "I will let them go of their service."

  Horeb turned to Paley. The Headmaster's eyes were grave, as though sending a child to his death. "Paley. Do you agree to the conditions of yourself being bound to Libon Reish as a full slave, along with the orphans: Adimia, Reben, Bacha, and Amasha, should you lose?"

  A silence fell over the field. The names hung in the air for Paley. Adimia. Reben. Bacha. Amasha.

  Paley looked at them standing on the sidelines. The doubt crashed into him like a monstrous wave. 'What if I slip? What if he has a spell I don't know how to beat? What if...

  His throat closed up. He couldn't speak.

  "Oi!"

  Adimia's voice cracked through the barrier. He had climbed onto the fence, shaking it.

  "If I were in your shoes, I'd have already started scrapping!" Adimia screamed, tears forming at his eyes. "Are you seriously gonna lose to me at something this easy?! I'm your rival, dammit! Don't you dare freeze up now!"

  Paley blinked. He looked at Libon. He saw the smirk. He saw the slaver. He saw the men on the beach.

  There was no difference. This was just a younger version.

  Paley looked Horeb in the eye.

  "I agree to the conditions."

  Solemnly, Horeb nodded and raised a hand. "Then the duel shall commence after a prayer to our moons."

  Sister Miral stepped forward, her hands clasped. The crowd bowed their heads. Even Madella closed her eyes, mouthing silent pleas. Most of the students, terrified and tired of Libon's bullying, whispered secret and fervent prayers for the orphan boy.

  "O Luneia, carry our prayers," Sister Miral intoned, her voice high and clear. "Divine Saintess of the Moons, beyond the skies to our final home. Hear me. Hear us. O Lunisa, O Lunanna, O Lunastra, hear our prayers. Bless this duel with wisdom and fairness. Let the outcome be just. Shower the victor in your glory."

  She looked at Libon.

  "Selsa," Libon said, placing a palm over his heart, the traditional affirmation.

  She looked at Paley.

  Paley stood silent, staring straight ahead. He did not bow or speak. He would not pray to the moons. They could not help him.

  A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd at his defiance.

  Horeb cleared his throat, holding up a heavy white stone.

  "If there are no objections. The duel will begin once this stone hits the ground."

  He held it high.

  "5..."

  Paley shifted his stance, grounding his heels.

  "4..."

  Libon flicked his wand across his fingers and it transformed into a set of gloves wrapped snugly around his hands.

  "3..."

  The orphans held their breath. Madella was on the verge of fainting.

  "2..."

  Yellow light emanated from Paley's hands as he prepared his Earth Magic.

  "1..."

  Horeb dropped the stone.