The training yard buzzed with the sound of impact — fists meeting practice dummies, boots scraping against the sand-laden floor, the occasional shout from an instructor echoing across the space. The air carried the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of energy particles that powered the stabilizers around the arena field.
Kael followed behind Tavin, still rubbing the back of his neck from the shove earlier. His expression was calm on the surface, but his thoughts simmered quietly beneath it.
Tavin stopped near the center of the yard, stretching his shoulders with slow, confident rolls. "You walk slow," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder, his smirk tugging slightly wider. "Or maybe you're scared already?"
Kael exhaled sharply. "Scared? No. Just wondering if all that attitude comes with actual skill."
The smirk sharpened. "You'll find out soon enough."
A few students nearby began circling around, murmuring excitedly. Word of a spar had spread fast — and it wasn't just any spar. Tavin, one of the top students from the third sector class, versus the new guy. It was practically entertainment hour.
Finn stood near the edge, waving wildly. "Yo! Kael, man, you're already picking fights? Didn't think you'd warm up to school life this fast, yo!"
Serin facepalmed beside him. "Finn, don't encourage this. Tavin's known for going overboard."
Kael rolled his shoulders, breathing out slowly. His stance wasn't perfect — it was too open, too reactive. But something inside him stirred. Like muscle memory buried deep within his bones — faint, fragmented, but familiar. His hands moved automatically, shifting slightly into a guarded position.
Tavin tilted his head. "Hmm. You've got some stance. But let's see if that helps."
The signal tone rang — a crisp chime echoing through the yard.
Tavin moved first. His steps were light, precise, almost feline. Kael's eyes widened; before he could brace, a palm strike hit his shoulder — fast and clean. The impact forced him back a step.
The crowd winced collectively.
Kael gritted his teeth. He'd barely seen that.
Tavin chuckled. "Slow reflexes, new guy. Try keeping your eyes open next time."
Kael inhaled deeply, feeling irritation rise — not at the pain, but at the arrogance. He stepped forward again, fists up. "Maybe I'll make you eat those words."
The next exchange was faster. Kael dodged the first jab, countered with a low sweep. It wasn't strong, but it forced Tavin to move back half a step. A spark of satisfaction flickered in Kael's chest.
"Not bad," Tavin said, tone almost amused. "You've got instincts. But instincts alone won't save you."
He lunged forward — this time a blur of motion. Kael ducked, but the next kick grazed his side, pain flaring sharply. The crowd gasped again.
Kael stumbled but kept his footing. His muscles ached, but something strange pulsed beneath his skin — a rhythm he couldn't explain. His movements began syncing with Tavin's speed unconsciously, reading motion before it completed. He pivoted left, arm rising just in time to deflect a blow aimed for his chest.
Tavin's grin widened. "Oh-ho. Now that's interesting."
Their exchange intensified — strikes, parries, small bursts of movement kicking up dust. The crowd's chatter faded into background noise. All Kael saw was Tavin — the fluid rhythm of motion, the shifts in weight, the intent before each strike.
Then Kael spoke — maybe too sharply, maybe too honestly. "For someone who talks that much, you're not landing as much as you should."
The words slipped out like instinct.
Tavin's expression darkened immediately. The playful smirk hardened into something sharper — dangerous. "You shouldn't have said that."
He stepped back, flexing his wrist as faint sparks of pressure formed around his arm. His tone dropped low. "Let's end this."
Serin's voice carried from the sidelines, alarmed. "Tavin—don't—! You're not supposed to use reinforcement in student spars!"
But it was too late. Tavin's body surged forward with enhanced speed — his figure almost vanishing from Kael's vision. The air rippled from the force.
Kael's pulse spiked. His instincts screamed move, but his body lagged a fraction behind. The air cracked as Tavin's strike came down — aimed cleanly at Kael's chest.
In that fraction of a second—
A voice echoed in Kael's mind, mechanical and calm, layered with static.
"Retrieve… fall back, Kael."
Oris.
Kael didn't even process it — his body reacted before his thoughts caught up. He stepped back sharply, twisting his torso away.
But Tavin's experience, precision, and speed left no room for escape. His palm grazed Kael's ribs — and then, with explosive force, connected to his side.
A wave of energy pulsed through Kael's body, his lungs locking up for a second. The sound seemed to vanish — no crowd, no shouts, just a dull thud echoing inside his skull.
His vision blurred — white, gold, black.
For a moment, he saw something — a flicker of light across his own arm, lines of symbols glowing faintly beneath the skin. Then darkness swallowed everything.
Kael collapsed to the ground, the sand puffing up around him.
The yard fell silent.
Finn stopped mid-cheer, frozen. "Uh… yo?"
Serin rushed forward instantly, crouching beside Kael. "He's out cold. Tavin, what the hell were you thinking? That wasn't just a spar strike!"
Tavin straightened, his confidence dimming under her glare. "I—he provoked me, I just—"
"Save it," she snapped. "If Instructor Helis finds out you used reinforcement on a beginner, you'll be running laps till next winter."
Finn leaned down beside Kael, scratching his head nervously. "Man… he just got here, and he's already seeing stars. Yo, you okay, buddy?"
Kael didn't answer — his breathing was steady but shallow. His mind was adrift somewhere between light and memory, the faint echo of Oris's voice still looping in the dark—
"…fall back, Kael…"
And then — silence.
Kael's eyes fluttered open to the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic. A white ceiling greeted him — one he didn't recognize at first — until the dull ache across his back reminded him of what happened. His fingers twitched; the air felt heavy, and the faint buzz of voices reached his ears.
"…I said it was a friendly spar, not a massacre," Serin's voice broke the quiet, sharp and scolding.
Tavin stood beside her, his head tilted down, his expression mixing guilt and stubborn pride. Finn leaned casually on a nearby bed, trying to hide his laughter but failing miserably.
Kael blinked once, then twice. The infirmary… huh?
Serin noticed the faint movement. "Oh, look who's back from the land of the dead!" she exclaimed, grinning.
Finn whistled. "Damn, he's tougher than he looks. Thought you'd sleep through lunch."
Kael gave a small groan, trying to push himself up. "I'm alive, I think…" His gaze flickered toward Tavin. The boy looked genuinely regretful now — a stark contrast from the fiery fighter earlier.
"Take it easy," Serin said, giving Tavin a little shove. "Well? Say it."
Tavin grimaced, then sighed. "Sorry. Went too far, didn't mean to knock you out cold."
Kael studied him for a second, then smirked faintly. "No hard feelings. Just… maybe next time, give me a warning before you swing like a demon."
Finn snorted. "You should've seen your face when you fell. Priceless."
Serin immediately smacked Finn on the back of the head. "Idiot. He almost broke a rib."
The laughter, the bickering — it all felt oddly warm. Kael hadn't felt something like this in… he didn't even know how long. The centuries of silence in his lost slumber flickered somewhere deep in him, faint and distant.
"Alright," Serin said, stretching her arms. "We're going. You rest, hero. No more collapsing on the training yard floor."
Kael nodded, watching them leave. The room slowly quieted. Only the ticking clock remained.
He laid back, staring at the ceiling. That voice…
ORIS. Just before he blacked out, it had warned him — Retrieve, fall back.
He closed his eyes and focused, whispering the name in his mind.
Oris? Can you hear me?
Silence.
He tried again, clenching his jaw slightly. Hey, come on. Don't just show up and vanish.
Nothing.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Great, I'm talking to myself now.
But even as he mocked himself, he could feel that faint spark inside — that instinct that had guided his dodge, that whisper that saved him. He knew it wasn't just imagination.
A door creaked open.
"Kael!"
He jerked up slightly, startled. Lusia stood at the door, her hair a bit messy, eyes wide in worry.
"I came here out of worry and it seems you've already lost your mind. Poor soul," she said dramatically, hand over her heart.
Kael blinked — realizing she must've caught him making faces while trying to talk to Oris in his head. His expression must've been ridiculous.
"I was just… talking to myself. Out of boredom," he said quickly, forcing a laugh.
Lusia raised an eyebrow. "Talking to yourself? Sure. You weren't trying to communicate with the spirits of the infirmary, were you?"
Kael groaned. "Just— drop it, Lusia."
She smiled mischievously but then softened. "Are you hurt anywhere? Serin told me you fainted mid-spar. You don't look broken, so that's good."
"Just tired," Kael said. "And maybe my pride's cracked a little."
"Good," she said, standing with her hands on her hips. "Classes are about to start. Can you walk, or should I drag you like a sack of potatoes?"
"Lend me your shoulder. My legs feel like stone."
Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "You really are helpless, aren't you?" But she came closer anyway, letting him rest his arm lightly on her shoulder.
As they walked through the corridors, Kael couldn't help but notice the faint warmth radiating from her. It was oddly grounding — something real in the strange, foreign world he'd woken into.
By the time they reached the classroom, Lusia sighed. "Alright, hero, you're on your own from here."
"Thanks, nurse," Kael said, giving a tired grin.
"Don't make me regret helping you," she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.
Kael stepped into the class quietly. The noise of students, the shuffle of papers, the faint scent of ink and dust — everything felt alive. His gaze drifted instinctively toward Lyra. She was sitting as always, near the window, sunlight touching her pale hair as she scribbled something in her notes.
He took his usual seat beside her.
Lyra turned slightly and, to his surprise, gestured for him to lean closer. Her cheeks were faintly pink, but her eyes held concern.
Kael hesitated for a heartbeat — Lyra rarely initiated conversation. Then he leaned in. Perhaps a bit too close.
Their faces nearly touched — a breath apart — both realizing it at the same time. Kael froze, eyes wide. Lyra's face flushed a deep crimson as she quickly turned away, nearly dropping her pen.
"I— I heard," she stammered, barely audible. "You got hurt in training… Are you okay?"
Kael blinked, still reeling from the closeness, then smiled gently. "You heard that too?"
She nodded shyly. "Serin was talking to Finn. I overheard."
He chuckled softly. "I'm fine. Just a little bruised — nothing I can't handle."
Lyra's hand fidgeted with the edge of her notebook. "T-that's good… I was worried."
Something about her tone made his chest feel strangely lighter.
"Thanks," he said simply.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The class buzzed around them, the teacher's voice echoing faintly, but Kael's mind was somewhere else .