The rhythm of the academy had become their new normal, a weary but transformative cadence. Hakime's muscles had hardened, his reflexes sharpened. He could now wield the training spear with lethal accuracy, and maintain a basic light shield for nearly a full minute.
One morning, Master Rylan made them compete in controlled duels. Chance, or perhaps the instructor's intention, pointed to Hakime and Conor as opponents.
The circle was drawn. Conor, his feet firmly anchored to the ground, had already activated his Ironskin, his skin taking on a metallic gray tint. Hakime held his spear, breathing calmly.
"Start!"
Conor charged, like a ram. Hakime didn't try to stop him. He used the length of his spear to keep a distance, forcing Conor to ward off the precise strikes that targeted his joints - the weak points of his defense. The gray metal sounded under the impacts of the wood.
"You're just backing off!" scolded Conor, frustrated by his inability to get closer.
"I control the space," said Hakime, his voice calm. He feigned a high attack, and as Conor raised his arm to ward off, he took a quick step to the side and hit his opponent's knee in the back.
Conor climbed, surprised by the sharp pain that went through his hardened leg. His balance was broken, and he collapsed heavily. The tip of Hakime's spear landed gently on his throat.
"The fight is over," Rylan announced. "Hakime, well done. You used your opponent's strength against himself. Conor, you are a rock, but a still rock is being eroded. You must learn to move."
Later, in the control room, Hakime practiced shaping his light. He had managed to create a luminous disc, thin and sharp as a razor blade, which floated in the air. The sweat was beading on his forehead; maintaining such a precise shape was extremely demanding.
Lyra was watching him from the entrance.
"Are you looking for the edge now?" she said as she approached.
"Light can be many things," he answered, without ceasing its concentration. "A shield, a blade, a guide."
"It's dangerous. Such a fine shape is unstable. If you lose control, it could dissipate violently."
"Like your glass breaking?"
"Exactly. Fragility is the price of finesse."
She sat looking at him for a moment, analyzing every energy fluctuation.
"You learn quickly. Too fast, perhaps. Don't forget the basics. The stable sphere is the foundation of everything."
Hakime nodded, letting the disc dissolve into a soft glow. She was right. The thirst for progress should not lead him to neglect his foundations.
By evening, the three roommates were exhausted but satisfied. Arthur had finally managed to project an etheric impulse strong enough to make Conor wobble on his feet.
"Did you see?" he exclaimed, jubilantly. "I'm almost there! Soon, I'll be able to send you both to waltz!"
"I'd like to see you try," grumbled Conor, but without malice. He was massaging his knee, where a hematian was beginning to form. "You got me, Hakime. Properly."
"You forced me to be precise," Hakime admitted. "If I had hit anywhere else, it wouldn't have done anything."
"That's training," Arthur concludes, lying on his bed with a grunt of satisfaction. "We make each other strong."
A few days later, Hakime met Lyra again, this time near the obstacle fields. She was shaping a long, thin glass needle, spinning it through the air.
"For accuracy," she explained, seeing him approaching. "A tiny point of impact can be more effective than a wall."
"Like my spear," Hakime remarked.
"Like your spear," she confirmed. "Our methods are similar. Control, distance, precision."
He felt that she was not just talking about fighting, but about their approach to life itself. Both calculated, patient, determined.
"The expedition is approaching," she said after a silence. "This will be the first real test."
"Yes."
"We should train together. Our powers could complement each other."
Hakime looked at her. His offer was logical, strategic. But he also saw a beginning of confidence.
"Okay. Tomorrow, after class."
As he watched her move away, a glass needle still rotating around her like a devoted satellite, Hakime measured how far she had come. He had found a rhythm, allies, a direction. The two months had forged in him not only a warrior, but a tactician. He learned the delicate balance between brute force and finesse, between audacity and patience. The expedition would be a test of fire, but for the first time, he felt ready to face it, surrounded by familiar faces.