The following matches continued within expectations, powers displaying in color and motion across the arena. 

One student commanded vines and roots. Another disappeared into mirrors. Yet another made gears and metal dance like a puppet show. 

Resonance revealed itself in myriad forms. Every student showed something.

Everyone… except Greyson, who had ended the match before it had even started.

He stood among the crowd, hands folded loosely, eyes attentive yet distant. 

Then—

The display changed again, and the announcer’s voice came.

“Next match. Frost versus—”

Greyson froze, the name striking like a hammer.

Frost.

His breath caught, eyes widening as he took a step forward.

For the second time that day, his body betrayed him. 

His fingers stiffened, his heart stuttering.

Wade turned to him. “Greyson? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Greyson blinked, then inhaled, forcing motion back into his limbs. 

“It’s… It’s nothing,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise.

Then, Frost stepped into view, slowly, each step frosting the ground a little.

And this time, Greyson truly froze.

The boy’s icy blue hair caught the light like polished crystal. His icy blue eyes looked clear and immeasurable in depth. He wore a sleeveless white top and matching shorts, with white bands at his wrists and ankles.

And around his neck—

It’s that long white scarf, so long that the two ends flowed behind him, drifting gently in the air.

Greyson couldn’t remember him. There was no image or memory he could grasp. Yet, every cell in his body screamed.

It’s him. But… who is he?

He didn’t know, but he was sure it was him.

Across the field, a female student laughed lightly, her confidence sharp and dismissive. 

“You look a little too delicate for combat,” she said. “You sure you don’t want to step down while you still have the chance?”

Frost did not respond.

Silence stretched.

The girl scoffed, irritation creeping in. “Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson then, the hard way.”

To the side, the monster strained violently.

It was a wyvern, scaled and winged, utterly ferocious. Its claws gouged the stone as it snapped against its restraints, eyes burning with predatory hunger. Even the air vibrated with its rage.

“Be—”

The leash broke before the announcer finished.

The wyvern surged forward in a blur, charging at the girl, eager to tear and ready to devour.

The female student screamed, completely unprepared, stumbling backward as terror stole her footing.

“Aaaahh!”

The announcer panicked. The audience held its breath.

The monster’s claw was an inch away from its prey.

Then—

The world went silent.

Heat vanished, thermal energy bleeding out of existence as molecular motion came to a halt. The air crystallized.

The wyvern froze mid-lunge.

The girl froze mid-scream.

They had turned into pristine sculptures in an instant. The cold did not kill, but the damage was real. 

The match was over.

The arena was now a field of misty white, the reinforced barriers groaning under the frigid strain.

The announcer froze in place, forgetting to speak.

Students shivered and whispered in fear. 

“What was that?”

“How did he…”

“Is that even allowed—”

Among the hundreds, one pair of eyes did not flinch.

Greyson didn’t know why, but deep within him, something long-buried stirred.

I can’t let him slip away again.

---

Orientation ended soon after. Students in the combat-oriented curriculum were divided into five classifications:

General Combat: Classes A, B, C, and D.

And above them—

Special Unit: Class S.

This class was prestigious and reserved only for those deemed exceptional.

Greyson’s name was called.

So was Wade’s.

And so was Frost’s.

Murmurs rippled through the remaining students as a few more names were called out.

Wade turned around with a grin on his face, ready to celebrate with his new friend.

But Greyson wasn’t even behind him anymore.

He was scouring the arena, eyes scanning and sweeping rows of students. 

The white scarf was gone. 

There was no trace of that pale figure, not even a lingering chill.

He was just… gone.

“He couldn’t have gone far…” Greyson murmured to himself.

He moved out of the arena in hurried steps, past the dispersing crowds. 

But Frost was elusive in a way that defied logic. It was as if the world just folded to let him pass unnoticed. 

Greyson caught no glimpse of the boy he was chasing, frustration tightening his chest as he clenched his fists.

Then—

He stopped. 

He breathed in and out, eyes widening a little before closing them. 

He just… felt… with nothing but instinct.

Greyson let his senses widen. 

The noise faded, the warmth of his own body sharpening into contrast. 

Slow and steady… and there it was, a slight temperature dip, barely noticeable. 

But that was enough.

Greyson opened his eyes and ran, showing no hesitation at all.

His feet soon carried him toward the western edge of the Academy grounds.

There, a massive ancient tree stood, its bark thick and scarred. Its roots looked like frozen waves gripping the earth.

And on one of its branches… there he was.

Frost sat high above the ground, light as snow. A thin layer of frost spread slowly at the area where he sat. His legs hung loosely in the air, the ends of his scarf flowing freely.

He looked almost like a winter spirit, perched between sky and earth.

Frost did not turn when Greyson approached.

He didn’t need to.

After all, heat had a signature, and this one was unmistakable.

Grey…

Frost’s mind was anything but calm. He didn’t know how to face him. He wasn’t even sure if this was a reunion… or something worse.

Greyson stepped closer, slowly, until he stood at the foot of the tree. 

He looked up.

The distance between them was not great, yet it still felt immeasurable.

Greyson swallowed.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why he had come… not exactly. He only knew that staying away had been impossible.

“Frost,” he said softly, his voice careful and gentle. “That’s your name, right?”

The words pierced deeper than Greyson could ever know, but Frost’s expression didn’t change.

Still, the air cooled a degree, and Greyson felt it.

His brows knit together. 

“Have we… met before?” he asked. “Somewhere in Taren, maybe?”

Frost didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.

Time stretched.

Then, finally, Frost spoke. His voice was quiet, cold even, and threaded with something dangerously close to sorrow.

“Go back.”

Just two words.

But they landed heavier than any blow.

Greyson’s eyes widened, his gaze dropping. His hands curled at his sides, fingers gripping like he was trying to seize something intangible.

Above him, Frost looked down carefully, staring at the familiar figure. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to descend, to sit beside him, to touch him just once more.

But if he remembers…

Frost couldn’t finish the thought.

So, he chose distance.

They stayed like that: Frost sitting on the branch, eyes lowered, Greyson standing on the ground, head bowed, hands clenched around unanswered questions.

Between them—

Silence lingered as the breeze passed uninvited.