The sun hadn’t even finished rising when the Knight Division field was already overflowing with groans, limping bodies, and teenagers questioning every life decision they had ever made.

  Ray stood among them, his body a map of fading purple and fresh yellow bruises. He was stiff, he was sore, and he was absolutely, 100% not ready for what was coming.

  As Captain Draevin stepped onto the training mound, his black armor gleaming like a bad omen in the morning light, the air in the yard changed. A collective ripple of dread passed through the cadets.

  “No… no way,” someone whispered. “He wouldn’t make us do it again so soon.”

  “He absolutely would,” someone else whimpered.

  “I want to go home,” Ray whispered to the dirt.

  Draevin surveyed the field with far too much joy for a man about to orchestrate mass suffering. “GOOD MORNING, MAGGOTS!”

  Half the division flinched. The other half just closed their eyes in silent prayer. Draevin spread his arms wide, the scar on his jaw pulling tight. “Tell me—how were your two days of rest? Divine, I imagine. Warm beds, soft pillows, no fists being launched at your skulls… ah, luxury.”

  “I think he actually hates us,” Ray muttered.

  “He enjoys this on a spiritual level,” Calen whispered back.

  Draevin’s voice boomed again. “Two days ago, you learned the FIRST lesson of combat—fear.” His grin widened, turning predatory. “Today… you learn the SECOND.”

  He snapped his fingers. Ten water mages shuffled out behind him, looking even worse than the knights—dark circles under their eyes and trembling hands. Behind them stood the senior squires, silent and unmovable.

  “Today’s lesson: more fear!” Draevin laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. It wasn't an encouraging laugh; it was the sound of a man who derived physical nourishment from the misery of others. “You think yesterday was chaos? You have NO IDEA what chaos looks like!”

  Rowen cracked his knuckles, shooting Ray a swollen, black-eyed grin. Calen whispered, “If I die, tell my mother I was mediocre but tried my best.”

  “Already wrote your eulogy,” Harel nodded solemnly.

  Rian cracked his neck like a man accepting death and greatness simultaneously. Ray? Ray seriously considered faking a seizure.

  Draevin raised one gauntleted hand. The yard froze. Muscles coiled. Breath hitched.

  “Today… I am expecting to see results,” Draevin growled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly command. Then, his smile sharpened. “ROUND TWO! BEGIN!”

  The field exploded.

  Cadets lunged, screamed, and swarmed. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed through the arena like the rhythm of a war drum. Ray barely ducked a swing aimed squarely at his teeth.

  “NOT AGAIN!” he yelled, sprinting away from a cluster of three attackers. “I JUST GOT THE SWELLING DOWN!”

  A kick clipped his shoulder. A fist grazed his cheek. A stray elbow nearly murdered his kidney. There was no strategy, no "Anime Uppercut," no dignity. There was only the frantic, messy business of survival. Ray skidded across the dirt, coughing up dust, his eyes watering from the grit.

  And yet—somewhere deep inside him, the Ash Circuit stirred.

  It wasn't a roar; it was a thrum. A faint pulse at the edge of his awareness, responding to the danger. His heart hammered against his ribs.

  Is this it? he thought, a spark of hope lighting up his brain. Is this the breakthrough?!

  A fist slammed into the side of his head.

  “Nope,” Ray wheezed, collapsing into the sand. “This is just another concussion.”

  But even as he fell, the heat didn't fade. The Ash Circuit woke again—faint, but real. A thin curl of smoke seemed to ghost across his vision. A pulse—soft and insistent—vibrated in his chest. This wasn’t like the first day. Something was shifting, rising, trying to breathe.

  For one terrifying heartbeat, Ray thought: This is it. This is the moment. Everyone is going to see—

  But the flame refused to catch. The heat dulled as quickly as it had arrived. The smoke thinned and vanished. The stirring sank back into a frustrating, heavy silence.

  Not yet. Not here. Not while a frantic cadet was screaming in his ear and Rowen was clearly circling him for a "finish him" moment. All Ray got was a maddening reminder that power was waiting for him—and it still thought he wasn't worthy of using it.

  Instead of awakening his destiny, Ray took another punch to the jaw. He didn't find his path. He just found another dirt nap.

  Ray stared up at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily above him in soft, white clusters.

  …Was that one shaped like a chicken? Why was there a chicken in the sky? Chickens couldn’t fly. What the hell was going on anymore?

  He blinked, trying to regain his bearings. A soft warmth began to spread across his ribs and shoulders—a gentle, cooling pulse of water-mending that washed over his skin like a summer rain. He turned his head—and froze.

  A beautiful girl knelt beside him, her hands glowing with a soft blue-green light. Warm, watery eyes met his. Silky light-brown hair—catching the faint sunlight—fell around her shoulders as she leaned in closer.

  “Well, hello there,” Ray croaked, his voice dazed and gravelly. “May I… have your name?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The girl giggled softly, a sound like a ripple across a quiet pond. “Did you already forget me so soon? I’m Celestine Vaelle.”

  Right. Celestine. The girl who claimed she was Elaine’s childhood friend. The healer who was, apparently, becoming a recurring character in his life. Ray nodded solemnly at this revelation.

  “Well,” he said, managing a weak, lopsided grin. “A childhood friend of Elaine’s is a childhood friend of mine.”

  Celestine laughed again—warm, bright, and unintentionally lethal to Ray’s sanity. “Is that how it works?” she teased.

  “In my world? Absolutely.”

  Ray shifted, wincing as another pulse of healing warmth seeped into his bruises. Celestine’s hands glowed steadily, the water-light dancing across his skin like liquid ribbon. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.

  “So, uh… how do you know Elaine, anyway?”

  Celestine tilted her head, her smile turning nostalgic. “Well, we’ve known each other since we were very little. We grew up together.”

  Ray’s jaw dropped. “Wait—me too! But how? Like, how did you two meet?”

  “At the capital,” Celestine said simply.

  Ray squinted. “No, no, no. I need more than that. Context. Backstory. A proper lore drop. I’m her childhood friend, too! Tell you what—let’s trade stories.”

  Celestine giggled, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “We don’t need to trade stories,” she said, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “I already know everything about you, Ray. Elaine and I are pen pals.”

  Ray froze. Pen pals. ...Pen pals. Of course. Of course, they were pen pals. Ray’s soul deflated like a cheap balloon.

  “O-oh,” he muttered, his eyes dulling. “Right. Letters. People can just… write things on paper and send them. That makes sense.”

  He sank back onto the ground, feeling profoundly stupid. Celestine continued her work, still smiling warmly. Ray stared back up at the sky, wondering if the chicken-shaped cloud was laughing at him, too.

  Celestine followed his gaze upward, her blue-green eyes softening as she watched the drifting white shapes. “Elaine,” she said quietly, “is my best friend in the whole world. She is my sun.”

  Ray blinked. Her sun? What the hell did that mean? Warm? Bright? Life-giving? Was Elaine secretly running a solar cult?

  Ray opened his mouth to ask for a clarification on the "cult" status, but a violent commotion erupted across the training grounds before he could speak. Shouts. Screams. A sudden explosion of dust. Celestine’s head jerked toward the noise, the healing light flickering in her palms. Ray scrambled upright, ignoring the protest of his ribs.

  “What now—!?”

  The answer was already tearing through the yard.

  “AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

  Rian’s scream ripped across the arena. Ray’s head snapped toward the noise—and his jaw hit the sand. Rian was fighting five cadets at once. Normally, this would result in Rian curled in a fetal position, begging for mercy while being punted like a training dummy.

  But not today. Today, Rian was standing his ground. More than that—he was pushing them back.

  Ray’s eyes widened as the fight came into focus. Rian’s skin wasn’t smooth anymore. It was covered in rough, stony protuberances—not enough to look like full plate armor, but enough to look utterly inhuman. It was as if he were turning into an earth-borne creature from the inside out.

  Every punch the cadets landed made Rian flinch, and every kick staggered him, but he did not fall. He tightened his stance, his boots digging into the sand as if he were gripping the very foundation of the world for support.

  And then Ray saw it—a faint, ghostly orbit of sand grains circling Rian’s ankles. It was barely visible, a whisper of motion, but it moved with deliberate purpose. The ground itself was refusing to let him fall.

  Ray whispered, shaken: “…He’s… awakening.”

  Rian roared again, swinging with a primal force none of them had ever seen from him. He drove all five opponents back in a massive spray of dust and grit. For the first time since joining the Academy, Rian didn't look like a nervous student. He looked like a Knight. Someone rising. Someone transforming.

  Someone terrifying.

  Ray felt a familiar spark ignite in his chest. A mix of jealousy and pure, unadulterated hype.

  If Rian found his step forward… then my turn is coming.

  “AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

  Another scream tore through the grounds. Ray snapped his head in the other direction and saw Calen Merris. Unlike Rian, Calen wasn't standing firm; he was becoming the wind.

  He was light on his feet, weaving between fists and kicks with dizzying, frantic unpredictability. A slip here, a hop there, a wild twirl that absolutely wasn't a real technique but somehow worked. He darted past a cadet so quickly the boy spun in a circle of confusion, swinging at empty air.

  Calen cackled like a madman, his hair whipping wildly. “WOOOOOO—HA! TRY AND CATCH ME, YOU LUMPS OF MEAT!”

  Ray blinked. For a moment—just a heartbeat—Calen actually looked cool. Effortless. Uncatchable. Like the gale had finally answered his call.

  Then Calen turned, sprinted straight into another cadet at full speed, and— BAM—THUD—CRUNCH.

  Both of them tumbled across the sand in a tangled mess of limbs, rolling until they smacked into a wooden training post and flopped over like discarded rugs.

  Silence.

  Ray dragged a hand down his face. “…Way to ruin your own cool scene, Calen.”

  Calen groaned from the ground, his voice dazed. “Did… did I look like a legend?”

  “You looked like you were eating dirt at high velocity,” Ray said solemnly.

  But still, the pressure was closing in. Everyone was changing. Everyone’s Veins were stirring. And soon, Ray hoped, his Ash Circuit would have no choice but to answer.

  “AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

  A third scream ripped through the air—but this one carried heat. A wave of thick, scorching air rolled across the field, brushing Ray’s skin like the breath of an open oven. Ray’s heart jumped. No way. No way that asshole Rowan awakened too.

  He snapped his head toward the source—and stopped.

  It wasn’t Rowan. It was a random cadet standing in the center of a widening circle of heat. The air around the boy shimmered like a desert mirage, and the sand at his feet quivered, glowing a dull orange. A Fire-aspected awakening.

  Ray tilted his head, baffled. “…Who even is that guy?”

  The boy hadn’t been special yesterday. He hadn’t been special two days ago. But now his skin glowed a faint, angry red, and his breath steamed in the cool morning air. Ray scanned the field for Rowan and found him standing a few paces away, his fists clenched so hard they shook. Rowan had bruises under both eyes, a swollen cheek… and absolutely no heat swirling around him.

  Ray couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Take that, you turd.”

  Rowan met his eyes across the field, and Ray swore he saw the boy’s ego crack like glass. It was delicious. It was perfect. Everyone else was awakening except for the bully.

  And yet, as the free-for-all raged on, the heat stirred deep in Ray’s own chest. A pulse. A whisper of smoke—waiting.

  Something inside Ray snapped upright—excitement, adrenaline, or raw stupidity—and he shot up from his spot beside Celestine like a man resurrected.

  Celestine flinched, her hands losing their glow. “R-Ray?! You’re still half-dead!”

  Ray wiped the last bit of healing water from his cheek, grinning so hard his bruised lip nearly split. “Half-dead…” his eyes sparkled with a manic light, “…means I'm still half-alive!”

  Celestine stared, baffled. But he was already pushing himself to his feet, wobbling like a newborn deer but fueled by pure protagonist delusion.

  “I’m not done yet,” he laughed, the fire in his chest finally beginning to simmer. He pointed a defiant finger at the battlefield. “And neither is my arc!”

  Then, with the questionable grace of a drunken hero, Ray sprinted back toward the pit, his bruises screaming and his heart racing. He was grinning like a lunatic, ready for Round Two.

  Celestine watched him go, letting out a long, weary sigh. “…Elaine was right. He really is an idiot.”