The training yard had become a battlefield of miniature wars. Sand burned, winds howled, and stones shattered under the weight of youthful magic.
Mira twirled with razor-sharp gusts, laughing as her winds cut harmless lines into the dirt. Doran met her head-on, fists ablaze, his heat so wild that even the instructor had to step back. Isha countered with flowing water, her calmness turning every clash into a dance. Jarek stood like a fortress, his earthen walls breaking apart blasts with the stubbornness of a mountain.
Selaih sparred relentlessly, her staff ringing against shields of fire and stone. She didn't always win, but she refused to bow, even when bruised and panting.
Kairo and Igron struggled in their own ways. Kairo, quiet and hesitant, learned to deflect with raw instinct more than technique. Igron, clever and sly, used flickers of illusion to make opponents swing at ghosts. Neither shone yet, but their presence was noticed.
By dusk, the orphans lay sprawled across the field, chests heaving.
"Enough!" the instructor barked. "Rest. Tomorrow, we test not just your strength… but what your mana truly is."
Whispers rippled through the children. None of them could sleep that night.