Gray stepped out of the academy doors and into the courtyard. The air smelled faintly of steel and dust, warmed by the pale glow of the artificial lights overhead. The space was wide, a flat arena of stone flooring bordered by trimmed hedges and tall banners marked with the academy's crest. Rows of mannequins stood at one side, shaped like armored dummies with worn padding, while long racks of weapons lined the opposite wall. Wooden swords, spears, axes, even twin blades gleamed under the light, their hilts polished from years of use. Students were already gathered in clusters, standing in front of a tall instructor whose arms were crossed.
Gray's heart sank. He was late again. Quietly, he slipped into the back row and stood beside the nearest student, muttering under his breath, "Why am I always late…"
The student glanced at him, and Gray froze. His eyes widened. Aurelle.
Aurelle's silver eyes flicked toward him, his expression unreadable. "What are you staring at?"
Gray blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—you disappeared for days. Where did you go?"
Aurelle's lips tightened. "None of your business."
Gray frowned and muttered low enough for himself, "Mysterious bastard."
Aurelle's head turned sharply. "What did you say?"
Gray straightened quickly. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Look—the instructor's about to start."
The instructor cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He was a broad man, hair cropped short, scars running across his jawline and arms, the kind of scars only earned through brutal battles. His eyes, sharp and commanding, swept over the students.
"Combat," he began, voice carrying across the courtyard. "The essence of survival. You've been told it's dangerous—and it is. Close combat is not just risky, it is life-threatening. Every strike you throw could end your life if you misjudge your opponent. That's why we're here. To make sure you don't fall the first time you face the real thing."
He began to pace slowly.
"You've heard of combat styles. There are many—light-footed fencing, brute force, dual-weapon strikes, defensive shields. All valid. All deadly, in the right hands. But remember this: a style is only as strong as the one wielding it. Do not think a named form will save you. You make the weapon yours—or you die."
His hand lifted and a wooden dagger flew from the rack, summoned by his own Vyre. He twirled it once before dismissing it. "Then there are skills. Techniques born from your strain, from your resonance, from your will. Skills can turn a hopeless fight into victory. They're unpredictable. Dangerous. And every single one of you will have to face them. Never underestimate someone with a skill you don't understand."
A faint hum followed his next words. He raised his palm, and a small bronze charm shimmered into being—an object glowing faintly with embedded runes. "And relics. You've likely heard whispers. They are items infused with Vyre, tied to your very soul. Unlike talismans, they are stored within you, summoned when needed. Each relic has a purpose, a gift, a cost. A single relic can change the entire course of a fight. Some of you may wield one already. Others may earn one. But remember—they are tools, not saviors. A relic will not fight for you. Only you will."
He tossed the relic away, letting it vanish midair, and gestured to the racks. "Weapons. Every weapon is viable. What matters is what suits you. A light blade for speed, a spear for reach, a greatsword for power. You will learn today what feels natural. Go. Pick one. And then, choose your partner."
The students dispersed, chattering eagerly. Gray glanced at Aurelle. Everyone else seemed to know one another, pairing off quickly. His stomach sank.
"So… partners?" he asked awkwardly.
Aurelle sighed heavily. "Good grief." But after a moment, he nodded. "Fine."
Gray exhaled, relieved. He scanned the racks and picked up a slender wooden katana. Light, balanced, sharp. Aurelle selected a longsword, the weight steady in his hand.
The instructor clapped once. "Pair off. Light sparring. Show me your instincts. Show me if you're worth my time."
The sound of weapons colliding filled the courtyard. Gray and Aurelle stepped apart, blades at the ready.
Gray swallowed. He remembered the way his body had moved in Glacierfang, every instinct sharp, every strike precise. He wondered if he could bring that here.
But at the same time, he remembered how Aurelle had beat him the first time and his near perfect sword skills.
It was beautiful but scary at the same time.
'Let's...at least try.'
He tightened his grip on the wooden katana, the smooth grain warm against his palms. Across from him, Aurelle adjusted his stance, longsword held with casual precision. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—sharp silver, faintly glowing under the courtyard's light—never left Gray.
The two circled slowly, the air between them taut with tension. The chatter of other students dulled in Gray's ears. All he saw was Aurelle, every small shift in weight, every faint twitch of his blade.
'Here we go—'
Gray struck first, stepping in with a slash angled at Aurelle's ribs. The wooden blade hissed through the air, fast and clean, but Aurelle slid aside with ease, parrying in one motion. Their weapons cracked together, the vibration shivering up Gray's arm. Aurelle countered instantly, his sword darting forward like a serpent's fang.
Gray twisted his body just enough for the thrust to graze past his side. He swung upward, trying to catch Aurelle off guard, but Aurelle's blade was there, knocking the strike aside. Sparks of friction flared in Gray's mind—his body remembered combat far too well.
'You know I'm having second thoughts, maybe this was a bad idea.'
They broke apart, then clashed again, this time closer. Aurelle pressed the offensive, his movements smooth, efficient, unrelenting. His strikes weren't flashy, they were sharp, direct, each one forcing Gray to either block or retreat.
Gray parried once, twice, then ducked low, his katana sweeping for Aurelle's leg. Aurelle leapt lightly, his sword crashing down in response. Gray rolled aside, rising with a slash that forced Aurelle to step back. For a breath, they stood apart again, chests heaving.
A faint smirk tugged at Aurelle's lips. "You've improved."
Grays eyes slightly unfocused st his words.
'Did he just...smile and...praise me?' From what he had seen of Aurelle before, this seemed...alien and wrong. Thus was to say the least.
'Oh I get it, he's just trying to get into my head. Won't work you sly bastard.'
Gray lunged, this time faster, testing Aurelle's defense. His blade flickered in quick arcs, each strike flowing into the next—a rhythm his body remembered from somewhere deep, instinctive. Aurelle's eyes narrowed as he blocked, the sound of wood ringing in sharp bursts.
Then Aurelle shifted. His sword slammed Gray's aside with surprising force, the momentum driving Gray a step back. Before Gray could recover, Aurelle stepped in, sweeping his leg sharply against Gray's knee. Pain jolted through Gray's body as he stumbled, balance ripped away.
He crashed onto the stone floor. A heartbeat later, the cold press of wood rested against his throat. Aurelle stood over him, breathing steady, eyes calm.
Gray clenched his jaw. He wanted to protest, to claim the kick was unfair, but the instructor's voice cut through the silence: "Everything is fair in a fight. Remember that."
For a long moment, neither moved. Then Aurelle extended a hand. Gray hesitated, staring up at him, before grasping it and pulling himself to his feet. Aurelle's grip was firm, steady.
"Thanks." Grays voice came out hoarse.
The two released hands, stepping back, but Gray could still feel the faint weight of that blade against his throat.
Just then, Gray heard all movement halt. And whispers spread across the air.
The courtyard shifted as eyes began to turn toward another duel. Gray followed the whispers and froze when he saw her.
Lira.
She stood opposite the white-haired boy, her stance sharp and poised, a twin blade gleaming faintly under the light. She looked… different. The familiar determination was there, but now her movements carried something else. Confidence. Precision. Her long blazing hair, once tied simply, framed her face with a fierce grace, her presence commanding.
The white-haired boy, by contrast, was calm and fluid. A rapier rested in his hand, thin and deadly, the point angled toward Lira's chest. His expression was unreadable, but his stance spoke volumes. Relaxed. Dangerous.
The clash began with a blur. Lira's twin blade swept forward, her strikes fast and relentless, aimed to overwhelm. The white-haired boy deflected with subtle flicks of his rapier, each movement minimal yet precise. The clash of steel rang like chimes, quick and sharp.
She pressed harder, spinning into a low strike before snapping up high, her twin blade crossing in a deadly arc. The boy sidestepped with uncanny ease, his rapier darting forward in a thrust aimed for her shoulder. Lira twisted, deflecting with one second and using the next to attack his legs. He leapt back lightly, landing with a faint smirk.
Gasps echoed from the students watching.
Gray's grip tightened around his katana. The boy's movements weren't just skilled—they were elegant, almost theatrical. Each thrust of the rapier carried intent, the kind that spoke of endless training.
Lira wasn't fazed. She shifted, blade circling, her strikes flowing with a rhythm that mirrored water over stone. She feinted left, then slashed right, driving him back step by step. For the first time, his rapier faltered against the relentless tempo.
Then he changed. His rapier blurred, faster than before, each thrust coming in like a streak of silver. Lira's arms shook as she blocked, barely keeping up. A thrust grazed her shoulder. Another swept past her cheek. She growled, stepping in close, her twin blades crossing in a scissor strike.
The boy twisted his wrist at the last second, parrying both with a sharp snap of his rapier. Their faces were inches apart, eyes locked, neither yielding.
But Gray noticed something very weird.
The boys eyes were...turning blue.
The instructor's voice barked, breaking the moment. "Enough!"
Both froze, then stepped back slowly. Lira's breathing was heavy, her eyes sharp, but she lowered her blades with control. The white-haired boy lowered his rapier with a calm bow, his smirk never fading.
Gray stared. His chest felt tight. Had he imagined it?
And why did it feel like Lira had changed into someone… beyond his reach?
The instructor barked praise at another group, drawing Gray's attention back. Two girls sparred nearby. One wielded a heavy axe with brutal force, but the name on everyone's lips made Gray's stomach drop.
Kaelith.
He stared. 'Could it be?' The resemblance was unmistakable. Seraphine Kaelith's sister.
The clash of wood continued all around them, students pushing themselves against one another. Gray caught Aurelle's faint smirk when their eyes met again, as though he was silently saying he hadn't seen Gray's full strength yet either.
Finally, the instructor raised his hand, silencing the courtyard. "Enough. Weapons down."
The noise died instantly.
"You've had a taste of combat. Remember what I said—styles, skills, relics, weapons. All vital. But never forget—the person matters more than any of them. That's what you should take away today."
He paused, gaze sweeping over them.
"Next session will focus on those who have awakened their Vyre and affinities. The rest of you, dismissed. Class is over."
Gray lowered his blade, heart still racing. As he followed the dispersing crowd, he absently patted his back, the strange sensation still lingering there—like something clung to him unseen.
And he couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were still watching him.