The sun had just risen over Stormcrest Academy, painting the training grounds in gold and shadow. Students were already stretching, sparring, and preparing for another day of rigorous trials. Eryndor stepped onto the field, his body still humming faintly from residual Ember Tier energy, wind tugging subtly at his coat.
Kael stood at the edge, observing with a quiet intensity. "The top ten trials have ended," he said, voice carrying across the courtyard. "But the academy does not rest. Today, you test yourself against others who have grown while you were away."
Eryndor clenched his fists. Every strike he had landed against Dorian, every adjustment during the martial trance, every correction from his father—all of it would guide him today.
The first opponent approached: Lyric Veyne, charismatic and unpredictable, known for weaving elemental illusions with precise hand-to-hand strikes. Sparks of fire danced faintly around her fists as she smirked. "Ready to see how much you've improved?"
Eryndor nodded. Lightning and wind danced along his arms as he adopted his Eightfold Flow stance. The clash was immediate. Lyric launched a rapid combination of strikes, each enhanced with tiny bursts of fire. Eryndor countered with Arc Lash infused sequences, wind guiding his movement to slip past flames and strike openings.
Every punch, kick, and pivot was more refined than before. He flowed seamlessly from one movement into another, chaining feints, dodges, and elemental bursts like a storm in motion. The techniques he had unconsciously learned during the trance now came alive, forming sequences he could deploy instinctively.
Lyric's eyes widened as she realized Eryndor was adapting mid-fight, every attack countered with precise timing. His Ember Tier lightning flared with each strike, wind pulling his limbs into fluid arcs. It wasn't raw power—it was controlled mastery in miniature.
By the end, Lyric was pushed to her knees, panting, while Eryndor's body still hummed with energy, perfectly balanced. He hadn't even been forced to expend all his strength.
Kael clapped lightly from the sidelines. "Good. You are beginning to integrate what you learned at home with what you've trained here. That is the difference between instinct and control."
Next came Toren Blackcliff, arrogant and brash, relying on sheer speed and brute force. Eryndor had to adjust, combining dodges with Pulse Step and rapid lightning-infused strikes to deflect and counter Toren's onslaught. Each collision of fists and elemental energy sent sparks and gusts of wind across the courtyard. Toren's arrogance melted into frustration as Eryndor began to anticipate and adapt, chaining techniques with a rhythm that no one student could predict.
By the time Eryndor stepped back, sweat dripping from his brow, his mind buzzed with exhilaration. Each fight had been a lesson, each opponent a teacher. And the realization settled in his chest: this was how true strength was forged—not by raw power alone, but by adaptation, timing, and flow.
Kael approached him afterward, nodding slightly. "This is only the beginning. Your potential is vast, Eryndor, but raw skill and bloodline only carry you so far. True mastery comes from knowing your body, your affinities, and how to combine them seamlessly."
Eryndor wiped the sweat from his face, lightning flickering faintly along his arms. "I understand. And I'm ready to push further."
The academy's trials, the students, and the whispered legacies of the past—all of it awaited him. And for the first time, Eryndor felt the thrill of challenge not as fear, but as opportunity.
The storm inside him had only just begun to awaken.