Gray sat at the edge of the lunch table, quietly poking at a bowl of something that vaguely resembled porridge. His appetite had not fully recovered since yesterday's lesson, but he forced himself to eat. The training ahead would demand it. The room was filled with quiet murmurs, the clatter of trays, and the occasional hiss of steam from the cafeteria kitchens.
Opposite him sat Renn Faulk, who was enthusiastically mixing three different condiments into his own meal. "Do you think adding that orange stuff made it better?" Renn asked, tilting his head.
Gray blinked, unimpressed. "I think you've killed it."
Renn shrugged and took a bite, immediately regretting it. He coughed twice and reached for water. "Okay, maybe not a culinary masterpiece, but hey, experimentation is the foundation of knowledge."
Gray couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a weird one."
Renn grinned. "Takes one to notice one."
Though Gray still found him a bit eccentric, he appreciated the company. Renn had a way of talking that made things feel less heavy, less haunted. And even though he had been the one to answer the corruption question yesterday, he didn't carry himself like he was better than anyone else.
Their conversation paused as a voice echoed across the mess hall. It came from a speaker embedded in the ceiling, flat but clear.
"Cadets, report to the eastern wing. Combat training begins in ten minutes."
Gray looked up, his gut tightening. "Combat training?"
Renn stood, brushing crumbs from his shirt. "Yep. Thought it was just lectures? Not here. They like to throw us into things. Keeps us sharp."
Gray stood with him, uneasy. He had expected drills, maybe a demonstration or two, but this sounded more serious.
The walk to the eastern wing was brisk. They passed rows of steel doors and automated turrets, a grim reminder of where they truly were. A place that raised weapons, not people.
The training hall was enormous, lined with reinforced glass and lit by overhead lights that mimicked daylight. Dozens of cadets had already arrived, forming lines and gathering near an instructor standing in front of a stacked weapons rack.
The instructor was a broad shouldered man with a scar down one cheek. His voice cut through the room like a blade. "Welcome to the first stage of combat training. Today, we separate the theory from practice. You will be evaluated based on physical performance, tactical awareness, and strain compatibility."
The instructor continued. "First, a reminder. Vyre flows through all of us. It is not only a source for casting but also enhancement. In melee combat, your Vyre can be used to strengthen your body, sharpen your senses, and accelerate reaction times. Your affinity determines how you best use Vyre, but mastery of the body comes first."
"I doubt any of you can channel it but you never know..." His voice carrying a hint of mystery.
Several cadets began to stretch or practice breathing techniques. Gray could already feel a light tension in the air.
"Second," the instructor said, turning toward the weapon rack. "Pick a weapon. This will be your chosen form in close quarters combat. The weapon you choose should match your natural movement and combat instincts. Skills and passives from your strain will evolve with your style."
Gray stepped forward when it was his turn. The rack held a wide variety, spears, axes, gauntlets, staves. His eyes stopped on a simple, curved blade. A training katana made of treated wood, well-balanced and slender.
He picked it up. It felt... right.
"Katana," the instructor nodded. "Precision over brute strength. Requires control and timing."
Gray returned to his spot. Renn had picked a pair of short daggers and was already spinning one between his fingers.
"You any good with those?" Gray asked.
Renn shrugged. "I like getting in and out fast. Hit first, disappear after."
Then the real challenge began.
"We will now begin the assessment. Tournament-style. One-on-one duels. Wooden weapons only. First one to disarm or pin the other wins. No casting. No fatal strikes. Break these rules and you're out."
A large board flickered to life on the wall, names appearing in pairs. Cadets murmured and craned their necks to see who they were matched with.
Gray scanned the list and felt his pulse spike.
Gray vs. Lira Cael
Renn whistled beside him. "Oof. Bad luck. She's ranked top three amongs out sanctuaryapparently. Fast, smart, and she's got something to prove."
"Where did you get this information?"
Renn grinned "i have my ways."
Gray nodded slowly. "Great."
Before their fight, Gray watched a few others go. The matches were intense but controlled. No one was trying to kill, but the strikes were real, and the bruises too.
Renn fought a taller cadet with a halberd. He dodged, weaved, and landed a decisive tap to the ribs. It didnt last longer than a minute. Gray was somewhat shocked to see this need beat a guy twice his size in a minute.
Grinning as he walked back, he gave Gray a quick nod. "Just breathe. Don't think too much. React."
Gray's name was called.
He stepped onto the marked circle at the center of the hall. Across from him, Lira Call adjusted her stance. Her wooden blade looked like a longsword, and her expression was unreadable. Focused.
She tilted her head. "You wither types. Always quiet. Let's see if you're good for more than just enduring."
Gray shot a gold glare at her but refused to say anything.
The training room had fallen quiet.
The atmosphere colder.
Students lined the edge of the dueling platform, buzzing with anticipation. Some were whispering about Lira's earlier match. How fast she moved, how precise her strikes were. Others eyed Gray curiously, waiting to see if he'd crumble or surprise them.
Gray stood across from her, heart pounding.
He held his wooden blade steady, though his grip was slick with sweat. The sword was a simplified katana replica. Sturdy but light. Lira, in contrast, wielded twin sabers, carved elegantly and stained with red chalk at their edges for scoring hits.
Instructor Vex raised his hand.
"This is the final match of the assessment. Begin when ready."
Lira wasted no time.
She sprinted forward, light on her feet, and her blades were already moving before Gray had adjusted his stance. The first strike came, a low feint. The second arced high toward his shoulder. He blocked on reflex, the wood-on-wood crack jolting up his arms.
His back foot slid.
She was fast. Smooth.
Gray didn't get a chance to breathe before the next flurry came. Lira spun to his side, sabers dancing, cutting the air in a whirlwind of strikes. He ducked, stepped back, swung horizontally, but she bent low beneath it and drove a thrust toward his gut.
He blocked it just in time, skidding across the mat.
The crowd murmured.
He forced himself to focus. He couldn't just swing wildly. She was too technical. Every attack she made had a purpose. He needed to read her rhythm, find the gaps.
They circled each other. She watched him with cool, analytical eyes.
"You're stronger than you look," she said calmly.
Gray narrowed his eyes. "You're faster than I thought."
"Try to keep up, then."
She lunged again.
This time, Gray met her strike head-on. Their weapons clashed, the wooden echo ringing out like a firecracker. Gray twisted his blade to force hers wide, then shoved forward, slamming his shoulder into hers.
It landed.
She staggered back a step.
Gasps came from the sidelines.
But she smiled. "Not bad."
Then she was on him again.
Strike. Block. Spin. Parry. Gray's mind couldn't keep up with her anymore. He defended on instinct, reacting to every blur of her sabers with panic-tight muscle memory. His arms screamed. His chest heaved. He couldn't do this much longer.
And then.
Something clicked.
Just as one of Lira's sabers arced toward his ribs, time seemed to slow.
He felt it. A warmth in his chest. A tremor in his veins. Something thrummed inside him, like a pulse beneath his skin. His vision sharpened. The edge of her blade seemed clearer. He could almost feel where it would land.
Without thinking, he ducked.
Not clumsily. Not desperate.
Smooth. Fast.
He moved as if guided, as if his body had suddenly remembered something his mind hadn't learned.
He rose into a counter, an uppercut slash that Lira barely blocked. The force of it pushed her back. Her eyes widened.
Gray didn't understand what just happened. But his body moved before he could question it.
He advanced, slashing low, then pivoting into a wide sweep. She blocked the first but missed the second. His blade tapped her side with a satisfying thwack of chalk. A red mark bloomed.
Point.
But the match didn't stop.
Lira recovered instantly. Her next barrage was faster. Sharper. She leapt into the air and spun, twinblade blurring into an arc meant to drive him off balance and to disorientate him.
Gray stepped into the motion, catching one strike and ducking the other. He swept her legs as she landed. She fell.
But rolled immediately. Popped back up.
They locked eyes again. Both panting, sweat-drenched, muscles burning.
"You channeled something," Lira said quietly.
Her expression quickly changed as she smiled, this time with a sign of approval. "Then this is going to be fun."
She burst forward again, sabers spinning.
Gray tried to mimic the feeling from before that pull in his chest, that clarity in motion. But it didn't come. Not exactly. Whatever had awakened inside him had already faded, but its ghost lingered.
He moved better than before. Not faster, but more precise.
They traded blow after blow, the sound of clashing wood ringing through the air like a metronome. Students leaned in. Even Instructor Vex had straightened slightly.
Gray slashed wide.
Lira jumped.
Lira jabbed toward his stomach, he twisted and blocked.
The fight stretched into a blur of effort. Neither gave ground. Every step, every strike, was calculated. Not elegant, but raw. Honest.
Gray's arms were shaking now. His breath was ragged.
Lira, too, was faltering slightly. One of her sabers dipped low between strikes. She favored her left leg now.
Then...
"Final ten seconds!" Instructor Vex called out.
The room held its breath.
Lira and Gray stood, both frozen, chests rising and falling.
No words passed between them.
Then they moved.
At the same time, blades raised, feet pounding the mat, they rushed toward each other one final time.
The crowd stood up.
Their weapons lifted for a decisive blow.
And everything went quiet.