The impact sent Irene skidding backward across the clearing.

She didn’t let herself fall.

Her hand drove into the ground, tearing through the soft dirt, stopping the momentum before she could be thrown any farther. Steam hissed from where her palm met the earth, flames dancing across her fingers even as she steadied herself.

Elara’s chest heaved. That attack drained her. Ten percent of her reserves, compressed into a single blow.

It should have been enough to at least knock her down for a few seconds.

But Irene stood.

A red bruise spread across the center of her stomach, darkening even through the scorched fabric. Her breathing came shallow, uneven. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth.

And then her silver hair fell forward, hiding her eyes.

Something changed.

Elara felt it instantly.

Something shifted. Pressure started to build around Irene, like standing next to a volcano about to erupt.

Then the flames emerged.

They were not the usual Ashbourne red-gold.

These flames were pure white.

Elara’s skin prickled despite the distance between them.

Heat rolled across the clearing in waves, distorting the air itself. She could almost feel the fire, even though it hadn’t touched her yet.

Beside her, Mira’s eyes narrowed. Her body dropped lower, shifting into a defensive stance without hesitation.

Elara knew what this was.

The Lockhart family taught her of the other families in their lessons, even if she was from the branch family.

This was the Ashbourne family’s bloodline art.

To think Irene awakened it at such a young age.

Irene straightened slowly.

Her silver hair lifted as the white flames grew stronger, spreading from her core outward, wreathing her shoulders, arms, legs – her entire body was covered in flames. The fire moved like it had a will of its own, curling and flickering in random patterns.

Then her eyes opened.

They weren’t gray anymore.

They were pure white. No iris. No pupil. Just burning, empty light.

Elara’s breath caught in her throat as she braced herself.

Irene’s voice came soft. Too soft for a battlefield. But every word could be heard clearly.

"I underestimated you."

The white flames pulsed once, then settled into a steady, dangerous glow.

"That was my mistake."

Irene raised her scythe. The white fire spread along the weapon’s edge, coating the steel without consuming it.

Her gaze was fixed on Elara and Mira.

"It will not happen again."

Irene moved first.

She was somehow even faster than before.

Elara barely threw up a barrier.

The white flame struck, and instead of exploding outward, it clung to the mana.

Spread.

Ate through the mana layer like acid.

Heat seared her palms, blistering skin beneath the protective magic.

She gasped and stumbled backward, her hands trembling in searing pain.

My hands were a second away from turning into a burnt crisp.

Beside her, Mira attacked instantly.

Threads of water whipped toward Irene from the side, attempting the same binding that had worked twice before.

But the threads didn’t even get the chance to get close.

They evaporated instantly.

Steam filled the area between them as Mira’s spell dissolved mid-flight, the sheer radiating heat from Irene’s white flames too intense for water to survive proximity.

Mira’s eyes widened, shock breaking through her usual calm.

Irene capitalized without hesitation.

She twisted, scythe cutting a wide arc through the steam and smoke.

The blade didn’t need to touch them. Flames whipped and thrashed violently from the scythe. White, impossibly hot flames.

The heat alone forced Elara and Mira apart, driving them to opposite sides as the ground between them scorched black.

Elara hit the dirt hard, rolled, and came up gasping.

Her ribs ached.

Her shoulder screamed in pain.

Every breath tasted like ash and smoke.

This isn’t working.

The same strategy wouldn’t work twice.

They couldn’t bind Irene directly – not when those flames would destroy anything close enough to matter.

They couldn’t overpower her. Irene’s attack power – and even her defense – was far beyond the both of them in every way.

And they couldn’t waste time trading blows.

Not while Iris continued synchronization behind her.

Elara glanced toward the statue.

The light around it pulsed stronger now, steadier.

The mana flow between Iris and the dual nodes smoothed visibly, the flickering instability beginning to settle into rhythm. Minutes. Maybe even less.

Class S was going to win.

Unless–

Elara met Mira’s gaze across the clearing.

Mira’s jaw tightened. No words needed to be said. Mira was smart. She nodded once, understanding her task.

They couldn’t beat Irene.

But they didn’t need to.

Elara charged.

She poured mana into her legs, her fists, her voice – everything loud, reckless, obvious. That was the point.

Irene’s scythe came down.

Elara blocked with a hastily formed barrier, and white flame chewed through it instantly.

The follow-up strike burned into her shoulder, searing cloth and flesh alike.

She bit down a scream and kept pushing, kept attacking.

She had to appear too dangerous to ignore.

Behind Irene, Mira moved.

Not toward Irene, but toward the statue.

Her water magic spread low across the broken ground, thin threads hidden inside the steam and dust kicked up by Elara’s reckless assault.

Irene noticed it too late.

One of Mira’s threads slipped past her guard, lashing toward the statue’s base where Iris knelt, regulating the mana flow.

The water struck the channel – barely enough to disrupt – but it was enough.

Iris’s eyes snapped open.

The synchronization stuttered violently.

The statue’s light flickered, dimmed, and the mana flow between the nodes convulsed like a living thing choking on poison.

Across the battlefield, Grace turned.

Her expression shifted – no longer calm, no longer controlled.

For the first time since the war began, Grace looked shaken. Almost unsure.

Class S had lost precious time.

Elara staggered back, her mana reserves hovering near twenty percent.

Her entire body screamed.

Burns covered her shoulder and ribs, her hands trembled uncontrollably, and the pain made it hard to think clearly.

But she had to push through. Victory was right there, she couldn’t let a little pain stop her.

Mira dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. Her face was pale, her water magic spent.

Between them, Irene stood with her white flames burning hotter than ever, scythe raised, silver hair lifting as heat distorted the air around her.

But Class S had staggered.

The rest of the battlefield wasn’t looking good for them either.

Class B had the upper hand against class S with the help of the other two classes.

Soon they would receive reinforcements.

Elara gulped as she saw Freya step forward.

Her sister’s expression was warm as always, and she stared directly at Elara.

Elara steeled her heart.

Now they just had to stall.