The Extra's Rebellion
Chapter 90: Zephyr Vs Camila

Chapter 90: Zephyr Vs Camila

Of all the ranks, entry into Grade Two was the most accessible.

It didn’t demand force or finesse—it demanded understanding.

A deep, unshakable awareness of one’s Aether, or more precisely, of one’s birthmark.

When Zephyr first awakened, the world had etched that mark onto his dominant hand—an inscription not of ink, but of truth. A reflection of how the world perceived his Aether—no, his very existence. His desire, branded into the fabric of his soul.

The first word that emerged was Jailer.

He didn’t awaken the Demios Clan’s fabled black flame. His desire had twisted his Aether, bent it into something entirely different—space.

When he received the Art: Limbo — Border Jail, Zephyr hadn’t understood it at first. But during his clash with Lunethra, he realized something inside of him. He had accepted the role the world had carved for him—not a prisoner hiding behind the bars, but a jailer. A force that bound others, not one to be bound.

That realization was the reason he was able to become a grade 2.

Then came the assassination attempt by Kola, he stepped into Elpison grade 1. In that battle, a second word on his birthmark ignited, glowing in resonance— Specter.

It granted him Limbo — Hollow Breath Transition, an art that hollowed him out—turned his essence into something intangible, ungraspable. A shade that could not be touched.

In that form, Zephyr entered Limbo, where existence became a monochrome blend—not quite grey, not quite anything. Like an old film reel left in time’s attic. But this time, it wasn’t illusion. It was reality.

And though he lost the ability to interact with the world, he found a way to return—by coating specific parts of his body in compressed space, anchoring his hollowed form.

Now, facing Seralyn, something inside him aligned again, not just his power. Not just his technique.

But his mindset.

He accepted what he was—not meant to be seen, not meant to be felt. A hollow breath, unnoticed and silent. And with that internal harmony, he stepped fully into Grade 2—invoking his art with nothing but intent.

No hand seals, Just a whisper or intent.

Limbo—Hollow Breath Transition.

The moment his Aether perceived his intent, he felt it again—his essence falling away like a curtain torn loose. Everything shifted—black and white bled into one another, forming that uncanny not-grey of Limbo’s domain.

And the dagger reached him, but Zephyr didn’t flinch. Because there was nothing to pierce.

***

Across from him, Seralyn’s perception screamed—warning her that something was off. Very off.

The fury on her face evaporated instantly, replaced by sharp clarity. She had never lost control to begin with. The anger had been a façade.

But now when her dagger Peirced through, there was no resistance, no blood. No scream.

Her dagger passed straight through Zephyr’s eye socket—and met nothing.

’An illusion? No he controls space! I would have known if it was an illusion’. Seralyn’s mind sprung, she couldn’t quite grasp what was going on, wasn’t he just here a moment ago. But this momentarily confusion didn’t manage to disoriente her.

With the instincts of a seasoned fighter, she leapt back immediately, widening the distance between them. Her boots landed soft on the floor, body tense and eyes locked on the boy who should’ve been dead.

***

Zephyr maintained his Limbo state, waiting for her, if she would follow up with another attack. She tried to kill him subtly, and if she was questioned she could just say she lost control, and based on her past experience, the excuse would work.

But attacking him again would make it obvious that it wasn’t a matter of loss of control. But she did try to kill him in the first place, so Zephyr waited another seven seconds but after seeing no movement from her, he revoked the art, he didn’t want to slip past the fifteen seconds mark, the past experience wasn’t a nice one.

"Arts are forbidden! Winner—Seralyn!". The instructor’s voice boomed across the class.

Zephyr blinked, the sound dragging him back to reality. His gaze snapped toward the instructor— a glare of silent fury.

’This bastard wants me dead’.

Where had that voice been when his life had been in danger? If he hadn’t broken through... if he hadn’t become Grade Two in that moment... He’d be dead.

Just another corpse brushed under the rug.

The instructor dismissed them with cold finality and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Zephyr said nothing. Then, a familiar voice appeared at his side.

"Good news," Oliver said, grinning like someone who had won a lottery. "No more classes today."

"Oh, and also, you get to meet my dealer. His name’s Peter—he’s the one who helps me sneak back in wh—"

’Finally’. Zephyr sighed in relief as Oliver cut himself off, he was silently thinking of ways to cut the boy off, but it’s seems fate was on his side as the boy managed to shut up without him needing to do anything.

Zephyr raised his head from his crouched position, curious what had managed to silence the boy. Then he saw her.

Camila.

Skipping lightly across the training yard, her red hair danced like flame, catching the sunlight in long, untamed strands. Her crimson eyes sparkled with mischief. On her right ankle, the old-time piece—worn like a charm—clicked faintly with each step.

"Hey Oliver," she chirped.

"Heyyy! Cough I mean hey". His voice managed to come out high pitched.

Then her gaze shifted, locking onto Zephyr.

"Hey". She said again, this time softer, more focused.

"Hey," Zephyr replied, wary. He wasn’t expecting her. He wasn’t sure why she was here—until she spoke again, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

"You owe me a spar," she said with a grin. "Remember?"

Zephyr blinked. ’Right’. He did agree to that, a day ago.

Before he could respond, Camila tilted her head, red strands falling across her cheek. "If that’s cool with you?"

He paused. Then nodded. "Yeah."

Camila beamed, then turned to the weapons rack nearby, waving her hand toward it. "Pick your weapon."

Zephyr stepped over and scanned the selection. Blades of all kinds lined the rack—swords, sabers, polearms. His hand hovered for a moment, then closed around a scythe.

It was heavy, he gave it a few slow swings to test the balance. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

When he turned back, Camila was already waiting, standing across from him on the marble training floor, her longsword resting lightly on her shoulder. She wore no armor—just the school’s dueling uniform, light and fitted.

She tilted the blade forward, pointing at him in mock challenge. "Let’s exchange pointers without Arts". She teased. "At least for now."

Zephyr smirked faintly and dropped into a low stance. "Fine by me".

She took out an handkerchief and said. "When it hits the ground, we start". She promptly threw it up without waiting for his response. And as soon as it touched the ground she moved.

Camila struck first, quick and precise—a horizontal slash aimed at his side. Zephyr twisted his scythe, catching the blow on the shaft, then swept the weapon in a broad arc to force her back.

She slid to the side, footwork nimble, and responded with a diagonal strike.

He stepped under it, pivoted, and jabbed the dull edge of the scythe toward her ribs. She parried with the flat of her blade, the force vibrating through both weapons.

Neither used Arts, just footwork, timing and reading each other’s rhythm.

Then, as they disengaged and circled again, Camellia’s voice broke the silence.

"I’m about to use my art now". she said casually.

Zephyr’s grip tightened just slightly.

She smiled, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. "Don’t lose quickly! Okay?".

The old watch on her ankle ticked once, unnaturally loud.

Then she vanished, this time it wasn’t a trick of the eye due to her speed, no. Instead she vanished from his senses, his sight, hearing and even his space sense, the place she had been a moment ago was suddenly void, as if she was displaced.

Zephyr’s pupils constricted. His Aether flared on instinct, and even his space sense— the one that let him feel distortions in position and form— returned nothing.

It wasn’t just speed, it was something like displacement.

In his senses Camila had stepped out of the moment entirely.

Tock.

The sound echoed faintly behind him.

His body stiffen up at the sound, he twisted his body but— Too late.

Her blade kissed the back of his neck—a flat strike, deliberate, not meant to injure. Just to warn him.

By the time he fully turned, she was already gone again.

Tock.

This time to the left—no.

’The sound bounced—then above’. Just the brief moment of the attack Zephyr had managed to gleam a little into her Art. He suspected she was using the sound of that time piece to teleport.

He angled his scythe up, but her boot was already there, coming down.

He blocked in time—barely. The impact forced him to slide back across the smooth stone floor, his boots screeching.

Tock.

Zephyr’s eyes widened as he hurriedly twisted— too late