The Extra's Rise

The Artifact Synthesis Race buzzed with tension as sixty students filled the open-air workshop, a sprawling space nestled within the festival grounds. Workbenches lined the area, each cluttered with tools, beast parts, and raw materials. The air smelled of singed metal and damp earth, the late morning sun glinting off blades and scales scattered across the tables. The challenge was clear: transform a mundane weapon into an artifact—normal grade at minimum, advanced if you dared. Time limit: three hours. Success hinged on skill, magic, and a steady hand.

Rose Springshaper stood at her station, auburn hair tied back in a messy knot, brown eyes narrowed in focus. Her Gift of Paradox, tied to the elusive blue rose, shimmered faintly in her palms—a soft cerulean glow that pulsed with contradiction, bending rules in ways others couldn't predict. She'd chosen a simple steel dagger as her base, its edge dull but its potential sharp in her mind. Beside it lay her materials: a jagged claw from a five-star stormhawk, its tip crackling with residual lightning, and a vial of sap from a thorned azure vine, glowing faintly blue. Her plan was ambitious—an advanced-grade artifact, something that could twist its own nature mid-strike.

Across the workshop, Clana Lopez worked with equal intensity. Her navy blue hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light like deep ocean waves, and her violet eyes gleamed with quiet determination. Her Gift painted her magic with a purple hue, a vibrant shimmer that danced around her fingers as she handled a short spear. Her materials were just as striking: a fang from a five -star duskviper, its venom sacs still faintly pulsing, and a shard of amethyst quartz humming with latent energy. She, too, aimed for advanced grade, her mind already mapping the weave of magic and beast essence she'd need.

The horn blared, signaling the start, and the workshop erupted into controlled chaos. Hammers clanged, magic flared, and students muttered incantations under their breath. Rose wasted no time. She gripped the stormhawk claw, its electric hum tingling up her arm, and pressed it against the dagger's blade. Her Gift flared, blue light spiraling from her hands, and she whispered a command: "Strength that weakens." The claw softened, melding into the steel, its lightning threading through the metal in faint, crackling veins. She worked fast, her movements precise, sweat beading on her brow as she balanced the paradox—making the blade both fragile and deadly.

Clana, meanwhile, traced her fingers along the spear's shaft, purple magic seeping into the wood. She crushed the duskviper fang in her palm, its venom dripping onto the spearhead, and channeled her Gift to bind it. The purple glow intensified, staining the weapon with a shimmering sheen, and she murmured, "Pierce and pull." The venom fused with the steel, promising a strike that would both wound and sap an enemy's strength. She glanced at the amethyst shard, her next step, and reached for her chisel with a steady hand.

The first hour passed in a blur. Around them, students faltered—some overreached, their weapons cracking under unstable magic, while others played it safe, settling for normal-grade artifacts. A boy near Rose cursed as his axe glowed briefly then dulled, the beast horn he'd used crumbling to ash. A girl beside Clana grinned as her mace pulsed with a faint green light, satisfied with her normal-grade success. But Rose and Clana pressed on, their focus unshaken, their ambitions higher.

Rose poured the azure vine sap into a shallow bowl, dipping the dagger's blade into it. The liquid hissed, blue tendrils curling up the steel, and she channeled her Gift again. "Cut that heals," she breathed, her voice low but firm. The sap hardened, coating the blade in a thin, translucent layer that shimmered like frost. It was a risk—paradoxes were tricky, and the magic could collapse if she misjudged the balance. She tested the edge with her thumb, wincing as it drew blood, then smiled as the cut tingled and closed. It was working.

Clana embedded the amethyst shard into the spear's haft, her purple magic flaring as she fused it with the wood. The crystal pulsed, amplifying the venom's reach, and she shaped the energy with a whispered, "Spread and bind." The spearhead gleamed, its tip now trailing faint purple wisps, a weapon that could strike once and cripple over time. She spun it in her hands, testing its weight, and nodded to herself. The advanced grade was in sight, but the clock was ticking.

By the second hour, the gap between the leaders and the rest widened. Rose's dagger thrummed with a strange energy, its blade flickering between solid steel and something almost liquid. She etched runes along the hilt—symbols of contradiction she'd memorized from old texts—her hands steady despite the strain. The stormhawk's lightning crackled faintly, arcing between her fingers, and she gritted her teeth, forcing it to settle. "Stay," she muttered, and the glow stabilized, locking the artifact's power in place.

Clana's spear was taking shape, its purple aura growing richer. She carved channels into the shaft, guiding the amethyst's energy to the tip, her violet eyes sharp with focus. The duskviper venom had fully integrated, giving the spearhead a glossy, almost wet look, and she tested it with a quick thrust. The air hummed, a faint pull tugging at her own hand, and she adjusted her magic to refine the effect. It was close—dangerously close—to perfection.

The final hour loomed, and the workshop grew quieter, the weaker attempts fading as students finished or gave up. Rose's brown eyes flicked to Clana, catching the purple glow across the room. She knew Clana was a threat—her precision was legendary among the white-rankers—but Rose trusted her own edge. She gripped the dagger, channeling one last surge of her Gift, blue light flooding the blade. "Break to mend," she said, and the weapon pulsed, its form complete. She set it down, panting, its advanced-grade aura unmistakable.

Clana felt the pressure, her navy hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. She poured her remaining magic into the spear, purple tendrils wrapping it like vines. "Hold and drain," she commanded, and the amethyst flared, locking the artifact's power. She stepped back, hands trembling slightly, and examined her work. The spear radiated advanced-grade energy, its purple sheen a testament to her skill. She glanced at Rose, a flicker of rivalry in her violet eyes, and knew it'd be tight.

The horn sounded again, ending the race. The proctors moved through the workshop, inspecting each artifact with glowing orbs that measured grade and stability. Normal-grade weapons lit the orbs a steady white, while advanced ones sparked gold. Most students earned white—forty-two by the final count. A handful failed entirely, their weapons inert or shattered. But the proctors lingered at Rose's and Clana's stations, orbs flashing gold as they tested the dagger and spear.

Rose's dagger glowed first, its blue aura steady, the paradox woven into its core holding firm. The proctor nodded, marking her score. Clana's spear followed, its purple energy rippling, the venom and amethyst in perfect harmony. The proctor hesitated, comparing notes, then called for a second opinion. The crowd murmured, eyes darting between the two girls.

Rose stood with her arms crossed, auburn hair falling loose, her breath shallow but even. Clana brushed her navy hair back, violet eyes calm but expectant. The proctors conferred, their voices low, until one stepped forward.

"Rose Springshaper, first place. Advanced-grade artifact, synthesis time two hours, fifty-eight minutes. Clana Lopez, second place. Advanced-grade artifact, synthesis time two hours, fifty-nine minutes."

A ripple of applause broke out, though Rose barely heard it. She'd edged Clana by a single minute—her final surge of magic had tipped the scale. Clana met her gaze, offering a small, grudging nod, respect outweighing the sting of second place. Rose returned it, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

The proctors displayed the artifacts: Rose's dagger, its blade shimmering blue, capable of cutting and healing in the same stroke; Clana's spear, purple and sleek, draining strength with every hit. Both were marvels, proof of their Mind aspect Gifts—Rose's paradoxes bending reality, Clana's purple magic weaving precision and power.

As the crowd dispersed, Rose hefted her dagger, feeling its weight. Clana twirled her spear once, then slung it over her shoulder.