Piko - Where every story finds its reader

Zane stood motionless before his dummy for five full seconds. The arena noise faded to a distant hum. Every eye in the Culling Grounds watched the Mana-Null who dared challenge an enchanted construct with nothing but a commoner's knife.

The dummy's runes pulsed in their regeneration cycle. Algiz flared bright for defense, its protective lattice humming. Perthro dimmed as it detected no magical signature to analyze_ust flesh and steel. Thurisaz glowed steady, maintaining baseline repair readiness.

In the observation platform above, Professor Kylus counted the pulse intervals unconsciously. Three-second cycles. Precisely timed. A habit from his war days, when survival meant reading enemy enchantments before they read you.

When the difference between breathing and bleeding out was recognizing the rhythm of hostile magic.

Alistair's voice cut through from the noble section. "Does the trash need a diagram?"

Laughter rippled through the upper tiers. But Garrick didn't join in this time. His combat instincts_oned through a hundred sparring matches_old him something was wrong with Zane's stillness. Predators were still like that. Right before they struck.

Zane began his approach. Not a charge. A measured walk. His knife held low and angled inward in a guard position that Kylus recognized but couldn't place. Something old. Something from before the Academy standardized its training doctrines.

The dummy activated its response protocol as Zane entered its combat radius. Wooden limbs moving to intercept. Arms raising to block. The enchantment anticipating aggression.

Zane didn't retreat. Didn't dodge. He simply stopped walking three feet outside the construct's strike range.

And watched.

The Thurisaz rune pulsed again. Three seconds of standby. Then the flash of bright activation as the enchantment self-repaired microscopic damage from environmental exposure. Then

There.

The 0.4-second dim phase. Energy flowing inward to the core sigil. The inverted rune's fatal flaw laid bare for anyone with eyes trained to see it.

Anyone who understood what the original architects had meant to write, versus what their modern corruption had actually created.

Zane waited for the next cycle. His body language completely calm. When Thurisaz flared bright at its peak, he moved.

The knife left his hand in a single fluid motion. No windup. No telegraph. Just the economical release of stored kinetic energy that came from ten thousand repetitions_cross two lifetimes_ntil the movement became pure reflex.

The blade crossed fifteen feet in the time it took Thurisaz to begin its energy backflow to the core.

It struck the exact point where the inverted Thurisaz rune met the Algiz ward junction on the dummy's chest. The structural weak point where reversed energy flow created a microsecond of negative resonance. Where the enchantment consumed itself.

The dummy's entire runic circuit exploded.

Not literally. No flames. No thunder. Just the cascade failure of interlocking magical structures collapsing in perfect sequence. Algiz shattered first, its protective lattice fragmenting. Perthro died next, unable to analyze its own destruction. Then Thurisaz_he inverted rune creating a feedback loop that consumed the last vestiges of cohesion.

The wooden construct collapsed into inert pieces. Its core sigil cracked and smoking. Zane's knife remained embedded in the exact center of the destroyed rune, its blade still quivering from impact.

The arena was completely silent.

Someone in the Class F section started clapping. Uncertain. Like they weren't sure if this counted as success or catastrophic rule-breaking. The applause died before it could spread.

Professor Kylus stood abruptly. His mechanical arm's whirring was suddenly loud in the silence. His scarred face had drained of all color.

He remembered. A battlefield outside the capital. Xylos's War-Mages using this exact technique_unebreaking strikes targeting inverted defensive sigils_o destroy an entire company of Holy Knights in under a minute.

The technique that had cost him his arm.

Kylus descended from the observation platform. Eight rapid strides. His prosthetic hand moving with unconscious precision as he crossed the arena floor. Students scrambling out of his path.

He reached the destroyed dummy. Retrieved Zane's knife from the rubble with his mechanical fingers. The whirring intensified as servos compensated for the blade's weight.

He examined the strike point with professional precision. The angle. The depth. The timing required to hit that exact spot during that exact vulnerability window. Every detail confirming what his war-trained instincts already knew.

Kylus turned to Zane. His voice was dangerously quiet. "Where did you learn this technique?"

The question wasn't academic. It was an interrogation. Every student in the arena heard it. Felt its weight.

Zane met his eyes with perfect calm. "I observed the rune structure, Professor. The inverted Thurisaz created an obvious vulnerability during regeneration backflow."

He used technical terminology. Specific jargon. Words no first-year student should know_ot unless they'd studied pre-Compact runic theory at a graduate level. Not unless they'd been there when those theories were written.

Kylus's jaw tightened. His mechanical fingers adjusted their grip on the knife. He stared at Zane for three more heartbeats.

Then he returned the blade. Handle-first. The gesture sharp. Controlled.

"Class dismissed," Kylus announced. His voice clipped. Final. "Today's trial results require review."

He strode toward the Academy's administrative wing without looking back. His metal arm leaving a trail of whirring echoes. Students parting before him like water before a blade.

Zane turned toward the exit. Ignoring the stares from every direction. The whispers starting up in his wake. The nobles' shocked faces. The commoners' bewildered hope.

Garrick blocked his path. Just for a moment. The massive student looking down at Zane with something that might have been respect. Or wariness.

"That wasn't luck," Garrick said quietly. Not a question. A statement.

Zane said nothing. He stepped around the larger boy and continued walking.

Behind him, the arena erupted in chaos. Nobles shouting about "flawed enchantments" and "fixed trials." Class F students celebrating. Professors conferring in urgent whispers.

Seraphina watched from her section. Her book forgotten in her lap. Her eyes tracking Zane's departure with the intensity of someone watching a puzzle piece that didn't fit any known pattern.

In the observation platform, now empty except for cleaning staff, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows behind the highest seats. They retrieved a small communication crystal from their robes. Whispered a single sentence in a language that predated the Academy by centuries.

Then they vanished. As if they'd never been there at all.

As Zane disappeared into the corridor leading away from the Culling Grounds, Professor Kylus stood alone in the Academy's security office. His mechanical arm trembling as he accessed the restricted database. His human fingers flying across the interface as he authorized a priority background investigation.

Target: "Zane, no family name."

Authorization level: Headmaster clearance required.

Justification: "Suspected use of forbidden Primordial Arts. Potential security threat. Immediate investigation required."

He transmitted the request. Watched the confirmation appear on his screen. Then he sat back in his chair and stared at his prosthetic arm.

At the scars that wrapped around the joining point between flesh and metal.

At the phantom pain that never quite disappeared_ven after twenty years.

The Archfiend is dead, he told himself. Valerius killed him. I watched him die.

But techniques like that didn't just appear. Knowledge like that didn't get rediscovered by accident. Magic like that came from only one source.

From the man who'd taught an entire generation of War-Mages how to break the world.

Kylus activated his communication crystal. Connected directly to the Headmaster's private line.

"Sir," he said when Valerius answered. "We need to talk. About the new student. About what I just witnessed."

A pause on the other end. Then Valerius's voice, carefully controlled: "My office. One hour."

The crystal went dark.

Professor Kylus stood. Adjusted his uniform with his prosthetic hand. And tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind_he one that had kept him alive through the war_hispering that he'd just watched a ghost demonstrate how it used to kill.