THE 2nd CHAPTER - KENSINGTON

"An anchor and a support of a family is what we need in our journey too. It can uplift and even motivate us."

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THE SAME DAY

ROSEN AETHERFROST ARENA, BOSTON, ILLINOIS, USA

Thousands of miles away, the Rosen Aetherfrost Arena in Chicago hummed with a different kind of electricity altogether. The Rosen Aetherfrost Arena rose like a cathedral of glass and steel, its vaulted ceiling humming with enchantments meant to regulate magic, sound, and temperature. Navy banners trimmed in ice silver and crimson rippled above the stands, while the Chicago Frost Titans' junior team took to the ice, blades carving clean arcs across the freshly laid rink.

Seventeen-year-old Lian Mateo Alonzo-Kensington adjusted his gloves at center ice, taking in the chill, charmed air. Beneath his skates, the faint, controlled hum of ice-speed magic vibrated like a pulse, synchronized with his heartbeat. It wasn't overwhelming, just enough to sharpen his edge, to let him move faster without losing control. The Arcane Regulatory Council would allow no more than that, not in sanctioned junior play.

"Ready, Kensington?" Ethan Carter asked from his left, fire flickering briefly along the sleeve of his jersey before dimming back into compliance.

Kensington glanced over, lips curving into a confident smile. “Always,” he replied, sliding smoothly toward the blue line.

On the right, Damien O'Connor whizzed by, electricity dancing faintly behind him like a living shadow. The grin on his face was wild, barely contained, but his movements seemed precise. This line had chemistry, earned from countless practices, bruising losses, and hard-fought wins.

The announcer's voice boomed through the dome, magically amplified to every corner of the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Rosen Aetherfrost Arena, Chicago! Tonight, the Frost Titans face the Thunder Hawks in what promises to be a thrilling display of magic, speed, and strategy!"

The crowd erupted- Cheers crashed against the glass like a tidal wave. Flags waved, their motions wild. Elemental sparks shimmered for a moment before being suppressed by arena wards.

“Faceoff in the center!” the referee called, skating into position.

Kensington crouched low, eyes scanning the opposing center's stance, their shoulders, even their breathing. The puck hit the ice as he surged ahead.

Ice-speed magic, in which this speed was actually just the wind magic of Kensington amplifying the ice magic, it flared beneath his skates in a subtle but potent way. Kensington slipped past the first defender, feinted left, cut sharply right, and released a clean wrist shot before anyone could react.

It slammed into the net.

The arena exploded.

“Incredible!” exclaimed the sportscaster. “This Kensington’s  only seventeen, and he’s already running this junior league! Well we expect no less from the son of the legendary Dominic Kensington, he must be very proud as a father and even as their coach”

Carter and O’Connor streaked down the wings as play resumed, naturally falling into formation.while. Kensington threaded passes through impossibly tight gaps, using faint bursts of ice magic to redirect momentum, to open lanes where none ought to exist.

Each teammate's magic complemented his own-fire for pressure, lightning for disruption, defensive shields flickering briefly behind them.The Thunder Hawks struck back furiously, answering with two quick goals late in the first period. Their elemental coordination was impressive, frantic. They chased momentum instead of shaping it.

The referee’s whistle cut sharply across the noise midway into the second period. “Hooking penalty against the Thunder Hawks. Two minutes.”

Lian’s line hopped over boards immediately.

Power play.

He picked up a loose puck near the blue line-eyes up, reading the ice like a living map-pulled two defenders toward him, then snapped a no-look pass to O’Connor. Lighting flashed.

Goal.

"Control your magic! Not too much!" Coach Dominic Kensington barked from the bench; every word was edged with authority.

Kensington flashed a quick smile as he skated by. “I got it.”

By the third period, bedlam reigned. Fire flared and was gone, lightning etched stuttering patterns, ice magic glittered under the blades like glass. The Titans moved as one, their rhythm tight and merciless. Kensington broke free on a solo rush, slipping through defenders with almost effortless grace.

Another goal.

The final buzzer had blared.

Frost Titans 6. Thunder Hawks 4.

“And once more,” the speaker shouted, almost lost amidst the cheering, “Lian Mateo Alonzo-Kensington proves to the audience once more that he is the junior league prodigy! Unstoppable, that's him!

Sitting on the bench, O’Connor clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Fuck you did it again Kensington shit!”

Lian shook his head, his breath fogging the air. “We all did. This line, this team, and we're just getting started.”

In Moscow, thousands of miles away, Yaroslav celebrated quietly with his line: measured handshakes, firm nods exchanged beneath cold arena lights. The fans chanted his name-voiced raw and reverent.

“The Non-magical Rising Ice Hockey Star”

The contrast could not have been more striking in Chicago: roars, Kensington's team erupting in cheers and controlled elemental sparks, reporters crowding the glass, scouts scribbling furiously down notes, their eyes sharp with interest. Cameras followed Kensington off  as he skated with his father and his mother and siblings here supporting him and his team, his expression calm despite the storm around him.

Both had conquered their arenas that night, human precision pitted against magical brilliance, senior discipline against youthful genius. Yet neither knew of the other's existence but it is not over yet. This is just the beginning.

Whispers started to travel through the worldwide ice hockey community, passing between leagues, and carried by scouts and observers alike and it even travelled to both their ears, and to their families. People now are actually somehow anticipating or expecting them to be matched against each other in the next leagues.

“The non-magical rising star in Russia…”

“The magical prodigy in Chicago…”

It will be a tale of two diverging paths, each one inching closer with every win. And when they finally did collide, it was going to be more than a match. It would be a history of the greatest rivalry in the ice hockey competition.