From the shifting darkness at the edge of the Ruined Expanse, the figure's eyes gleamed like molten steel. Every strike, every movement of the boy had been deliberate, yet unpredictable—and it had shaken him more than he expected.
He had been observing, calculating, waiting. His own power had always been a whisper of the storm, a presence that bent the battlefield to his will. Ranked among the upper echelons of the academy's hidden hierarchy, his mastery of elemental fusion and martial combat had been unmatched—until now.
The boy… Eryndor. He wasn't just fast. He wasn't just clever. His partial awakening, the flare of Ember Tier power intertwined with lightning and wind, had been far beyond what anyone at this stage should be capable of. The figure's mind, trained to anticipate and crush potential threats before they fully emerged, had found itself forced to retreat and adapt.
Interesting, he mused internally, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. The boy has inherited more than he knows. Strength, instinct, and fury… tempered with the lineage of those who came before him. He fights not only with power, but with the storm within his blood.
Yet he could feel it too—the shift in Eryndor's mind. The slap to Lyanna, the near-fatal speed blitz—it had been deliberate. A test. A warning. The academy's so-called "mission" had not been about intelligence gathering, artifact retrieval, or elemental calibration. It was meant to eliminate them.
And yet… the boy survived. Not just survived—he struck back. Partially awakened. Unpredictable. Dangerous.
The figure's pulse quickened—not with fear, but with curiosity and respect. He won't trust easily again. He'll learn, and he'll grow. He'll see the snakes hiding in the grass. He'll become sharper… colder. Stronger. Cruel when he must be. And when he strikes next… he'll leave nothing to chance.
He extended a hand, letting a faint pulse of elemental energy ripple through the air. "So… you have potential," he whispered, voice resonating with quiet menace. "More than I anticipated. But potential without control is… fatal. And yet, even now, I can see it. You are changing. Becoming something different. Something… dangerous."
Back in the Ruined Expanse, Eryndor steadied his breathing, the taste of blood and dust in his mouth. The storm inside him had subsided slightly, but the clarity remained. He would never forget the betrayal hidden in the mission. He would never again assume loyalty without proof. Every fight from now on would be about precision, adaptation, and survival—not only for himself but for the people he cared about.
Lyanna glanced at him, fear still in her eyes, but also awe. "Eryndor… are you okay?"
He looked down at her briefly, lightning flickering faintly along his fists. "I'm fine," he said, voice low and steady. "But I'm… different now. Faster, sharper… and I won't let anyone take advantage again."
The shadowed figure observed silently, stepping back into the darkness. "Interesting…" he murmured. "This mission… it may have failed, but it has awakened something dangerous. Very dangerous."
Eryndor, kneeling in the dust but fully aware, clenched his fists. He had felt the storm inside him stir—a taste of his true potential. And now, with the knowledge of hidden enemies, hidden motives, and the true cruelty of the world, he would grow stronger, faster, and far less trusting.
The next battle would not just be a test of skill. It would be a battle of mind, instinct, and ruthless survival.
And Eryndor was ready.