The sand was still damp from last night's tide, and the air still carried that coastal chill that pretended it was gentle. It wasn't gentle. It got into your joints. It made your muscles feel older than they were.
Perfect.
Because if my body could move cleanly here—half-healed, sore, and tired—then it could move anywhere.
The beach behind the Drayle villa was quiet except for the ocean's low breathing and the distant sounds of Newoaga waking up: carts rolling, gulls screaming like they owned the sky, someone somewhere laughing too loudly at an hour that didn't deserve it.
Class 1-S was already gathering.
Not organized. Not clean. Not "academy formation." We didn't have that kind of energy.
We looked like survivors trying to remember how to be students again.
Varein walked stiffly, still nursing bruises and the kind of soreness that didn't show on the skin.
Kazen's posture was relaxed, but he kept rolling his shoulder like he was checking it still existed.
Liam's bandages were replaced, tighter, cleaner—he was the type to make pain look tidy.
Aelira's hands were pale from cold, but her eyes were sharp. Liraeath carried her spiked mace and shield like she was refusing to ever be without them again.
Arion looked like he'd slept an hour total and still showed up anyway, which I respected more than I'd ever say.
Seraphyne was quieter than usual—still herself, still that strange mix of serious and silly—but she didn't bounce around like she used to.
Theon was loud—because Theon was always loud—but he'd learned the difference between loud and careless.
Kai showed up last.
He didn't announce himself. He didn't need to. His presence was like heat off a forge—subtle until you got close enough to feel your skin tighten.
Instructor Aldred stood near the edge of the training space we'd made in the sand. No cloak. No theatrics. Just his sword at his hip and the same eyes that always looked like they were watching two things at once: what we were doing… and what we were becoming.
He let us settle, let us breathe, let the ocean's rhythm replace the silence.
Then he spoke, calm and flat.
"Warm up. Then spar."
No speech about pride. No speech about progress. No "good job for surviving."
Just work.
That was Aldred's kindness.
I rolled my shoulders, drew my sword halfway, and felt the familiar pulse under the hilt—the faint crackle of white like a distant storm trapped in metal. The ocean answered it without meaning to. The waves didn't rise. They didn't perform.
They just… leaned.
Like they were listening.
I pretended not to notice.
We started with basics.
Footwork in sand. Stances that sank if your weight was wrong. Strikes that felt heavier because the air was wet and the blade wanted to drag. Breathing, timing, recovery. Over and over.
It should've been boring.
It wasn't.
Because every time my body repeated a motion, my mind replayed something else.
A claw. A corridor. A laugh that wasn't human.
Azazel's smile didn't leave my memory easily. Demons didn't just fight you. They tried to rewrite you.
I swung again. Harder.
The blade cut the air. Water aura gathered without me forcing it—thin at first, then dense. I didn't let it explode. I kept it tight. I kept it honest.
Aldred watched without comment.
After a while, he raised his hand.
"Spar."
The mood shifted instantly.
Not playful.
Competitive.
Not because we hated each other—because we didn't. Not anymore.
But rivalry was how we stayed sharp. Friendship didn't make you better.
Pressure did.
Liam stepped forward first. His gold aura shimmered around his longsword like sunlight trapped in steel.
"You," he said, looking at me.
I didn't feel like dealing with Liam's pride this early, but I also didn't back away.
"Fine."
We took positions in the sand.
The others formed a loose ring, some sitting on rocks, some standing, some stretching like they weren't watching intensely.
Aldred's voice cut through. "Controlled. No killing blows. No ego."
Liam smiled like he'd never heard that last word in his life.
We moved.
Liam didn't waste time. His first step was clean, his blade angled to control my space, not just strike. He was good. Too good for a first-year if you ignored the fact that he was exactly what Lionhearth liked producing.
I parried, felt the shock travel up my arm, adjusted my stance. Sand shifted under my heel. He pressed harder, gold aura flaring in short bursts, trying to break my guard with rhythm.
It worked on most people.
It didn't work on me.
Not because I was better.
Because my life before this wasn't built on clean duels.
It was built on surviving unfair fights.
I slipped inside his second strike, rotated my wrist, and let water aura tug the blade's path—not enough to drown the motion, just enough to redirect it. Liam's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
That fraction was my opening.
I tapped his chest with the flat of my blade.
Point.
Liam exhaled sharply, annoyed.
"Again."
We went again.
This time he changed tempo. Faster. He started using feints, using sand kicks, using his aura to blind the angle of his sword for half a heartbeat.
Clever.
I took a shallow cut along my forearm because I read the wrong line. It stung. Blood welled. Nothing serious, but it reminded me something important:
Skill didn't care about who you were.
It cared about what you did right now.
Aldred's voice carried, quiet. "Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's action with fear still sitting in your chest."
No one responded.
We didn't need to.
We all knew fear. We just didn't all call it the same thing.
After three exchanges, Aldred lifted his hand.
"Enough."
Liam stepped back, breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice. His gold aura faded slightly, like a curtain lowering.
He looked at me with that conflicted expression he always wore—pride trying to swallow respect.
"You're still annoying," he muttered.
"Yeah," I said. "So are you."
That made a few of them laugh.
Seraphyne did too—quiet, under her breath—like she hated that she found it funny.
Next came pairs. Rotations. Short rounds.
Aelira and Kai sparred first.
It was… strange.
Because Aelira's ice aura didn't roar. It didn't brag. It didn't flare for attention.
It just arrived.
Frost traced the edge of her rapier like a promise that didn't need to be loud. Kai's fire answered with heat, red-orange, concentrated, controlled. He didn't throw wild flames. He didn't swing like he was trying to prove something.
They fought like two blades arguing without words.
Kai pressed. Aelira slipped. Kai's heat tried to melt her control. Aelira's cold tried to steal his speed.
They were evenly matched in a way that made my skin itch.
Because it felt like watching two storms decide whether to collide.
Arion and Theon went next.
Theon yelled something about "not holding back," which was mostly him trying to convince himself.
Arion swallowed hard, nodded, and then his lavender aura—flowers—flickered around his axe like petals in a storm. It wasn't weak. It was just… unfamiliar. Like a weapon that hadn't decided what it wanted to be yet.
Theon slammed his hand down, earth responding under his yellow aura, building a low barrier in the sand that forced Arion to jump.
Arion did jump.
And he actually managed to counter in midair—axe swinging down with a clean line.
Theon barely blocked, boots digging into sand.
"WHAT THE—" Theon shouted, then caught himself, and lowered his voice by half. "Okay. Okay. Good."
Arion blinked, surprised. Then smiled.
Small.
But real.
Kazen didn't spar much. Not at first.
He kept positioning himself behind people, watching angles, measuring movement like he was already thinking about how to kill something bigger than us again. He'd been like that since the forest. The world didn't feel like a playground to Kazen.
It felt like a map.
Liraeath did spar. Against Seraphyne.
Shield and mace versus dual daggers.
Plasma versus pink fire.
It should've been messy.
It wasn't.
Liraeath's defense was brutal and efficient. Every shield movement mattered. Every step mattered. She made space with authority.
Seraphyne didn't bounce around. She didn't scream. She didn't act cute.
She fought like someone who took the job seriously—then threw in one stupid, silly feint that made Liraeath blink for half a second.
Seraphyne used that blink to land a clean tap to Liraeath's shoulder.
Liraeath stared at her.
Seraphyne shrugged, trying to look serious. Then her mouth twitched like she wanted to grin but refused.
"Don't do that again," Liraeath said flatly.
Seraphyne nodded like a soldier. "Understood."
Then she immediately did it again the next round.
We kept going like that.
Rounds.
Rotations.
Sweat.
Salt.
Sand sticking to wounds.
Pain that reminded us we were alive.
And then—
It happened.
Not during my spar.
Not during a flashy moment.
Not during some dramatic declaration.
It happened because Varein and Kai ended up matched.
I watched them step into the ring.
Varein spun his spear once, shoulders loose, expression calm like always.
Kai cracked his neck, rolled his wrists, fire aura flickering low around his hands like coals under ash.
Aldred's gaze sharpened immediately. He didn't say anything, but he shifted his stance slightly—subtle readiness.
They began.
At first it was normal.
Varein's spear moved like wind already—clean lines, quick thrusts, defensive arcs. Kai's katana answered with sharp counters and fast footwork, using small bursts of fire to accelerate rather than overwhelm.
They were good.
Too good.
Then Kai pushed.
Harder than he needed to.
He feinted low, then cut high with a speed that would've taken most people's heads off.
Varein blocked—barely—and the shock traveled up his arm.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
Like his aura had been waiting for permission to stop pretending.
Kai pressed again.
Varein's spear spun to deflect, wind aura trailing it—green and sharp—then—
The wind didn't just trail.
It expanded.
A gust exploded outward in a ring, ripping sand off the ground, slamming into the waterline hard enough that the waves hissed.
Everyone froze.
Varein froze too.
The wind didn't stop.
It built.
It tightened around him like a storm forming a spine.
Palm trees further down the beach bent hard, leaves snapping like they were being punished. A few smaller ones actually tore free, roots ripping out of the sand in a violent scream.
Kazen's eyes widened. "Varein—!"
Varein's expression cracked for the first time since I'd known him.
"Rain," he said, voice strained, like he was trying to keep his words from being stolen by the gale. "I—"
Kai stepped back instinctively, but his aura flared in response—fire rising to meet the wind, red heat thickening, turning the air around him into a shimmering distortion.
It wasn't a challenge.
It was his body refusing to be overwhelmed.
And that refusal triggered something inside him too.
Kai's fire stopped being just fire.
It became heat.
A pressure.
The air around him roared like a furnace door opening.
The ocean near the shoreline began to steam.
Not boil violently—yet—but it started to hiss, small bubbles rising as if the sea itself was shocked into agitation.
Aelira instinctively stepped forward, ice aura flickering, but Aldred lifted one hand sharply—don't.
This wasn't something you interrupted.
This was something you survived.
Varein's wind and Kai's heat locked.
Not like the Dratonian Forest resonance—no fire tornado, no sealed storm sphere.
This was… cleaner.
Sharper.
Like two forces declaring: I'm real now. Deal with it.
Their auras began to resonate—not with each other, but with themselves.
The wind wasn't just wind.
It had layers, like it could cut, lift, crush, protect. Varein's spear vibrated in his hand, responding to that truth.
Kai's fire wasn't wild.
It wasn't emotional.
It was controlled destruction—heat that could melt steel, ignite air, cook the ocean if it wanted to.
The class stared.
Even Liam looked shaken.
Arion whispered, "That's… resonance?"
Liraeath didn't whisper. "That's what masters spend years chasing."
Seraphyne's eyes narrowed, serious now. "And they're doing it… now?"
I didn't speak.
My throat was tight.
Because I remembered the Dratonian Forest.
I remembered them nearly destroying everything around them.
But this time… it felt different.
They weren't losing themselves.
They were finding themselves.
Varein's wind surged once more, ripping the air so hard the sand lifted in spirals.
Kai's heat spiked, and steam rose off the waves in a low fog.
And then Aldred stepped in.
Not between them.
Near them.
His voice was sharp. "Enough."
It wasn't a shout.
It was an order that carried the weight of someone who knew what would happen if they kept going.
Varein clenched his jaw, forced a breath, and the wind tightened—compressing instead of expanding. The palm trees stopped bending. Sand fell back to the ground.
Kai exhaled slowly through his nose, and the heat dropped. The steam above the ocean thinned, dispersing into the breeze.
Both of them stood there shaking.
Not from weakness.
From the shock of stepping into a new tier of existence.
Kai looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
Varein stared at the horizon, eyes unfocused.
Aldred's expression was unreadable.
Then he said quietly, "Good."
One word.
But it meant everything.
We didn't celebrate.
We didn't cheer.
Because none of us were stupid.
If Varein and Kai could unlock resonance like that…
Then what else was possible?
And what else was coming?
We ended sparring early after that.
Not because we were scared.
Because we were thinking.
We regrouped near the waterline, sitting in a loose line like exhausted soldiers who didn't know if they were allowed to relax.
Kazen broke the silence first, because of course he did.
"So," he said, trying to make his voice casual, "summer break's going great."
Seraphyne looked at him with dead eyes. "If you say that again I'm pushing you into the ocean."
Kazen smiled. "Worth it."
Kai sat down hard, leaning back on his hands like his body didn't trust standing anymore. "I didn't mean to—"
Varein cut him off, quiet. "Neither did I."
They looked at each other.
Not enemies.
Not rivals.
Something else.
Like two people who'd seen the edge of a cliff and realized they could jump.
Aldred watched us a moment, then turned his head slightly as if listening for something beyond us.
When he spoke again, his tone was steadier.
"This is what happens when you stop treating aura like a trick," he said. "And start treating it like a part of your spine."
No one interrupted.
He continued. "Resonance isn't a reward. It's not a title. It's a consequence."
His eyes flicked to Varein. Then Kai.
"You let your aura become honest. That honesty has a price. If you lie to yourselves again, it will punish you."
Kai's mouth twisted. "That sounds… awful."
"It is," Aldred said. "That's why most never reach it."
Then he looked at all of us.
"And that's why you don't waste it."
Silence fell again.
Not heavy.
Just real.
After a while, Varein spoke, softer than usual. "So… what now?"
Kazen shrugged. "Now we eat."
Liraeath nodded once. "Agree."
Arion raised a hand like he was asking permission in class. "And… maybe sleep?"
Theon shouted, "YES. SLEEP."
Seraphyne sighed like she was offended by how reasonable that sounded. "Fine."
I stayed quiet, listening.
Then Liam spoke, surprising me.
"What do you all want?" he asked.
We looked at him.
He didn't mean goals like rankings.
He meant… future.
"What are you doing all this for?"
No one answered immediately.
Because that question was harder than any spar.
Kazen spoke first, gaze on the sea. "I want to see the world without needing guards. I want to walk into a city and not calculate exits. I want… freedom."
Varein's voice was calm. "I want a place where people don't need to be brave just to survive."
Arion swallowed. "I want to be strong enough that I'm not a burden. Even once."
Aelira's eyes narrowed like she was choosing each word carefully. "I want to master my aura so completely that no one can decide my life for me."
Liraeath rested her hand on her shield. "I want to be unbreakable. Not for pride. For duty."
Theon scratched the back of his head, then said loudly, "I want to be famous." He paused, then quieter, "And… I want my strength to actually mean something."
Seraphyne stared at the sand, serious. "I want to protect people without becoming the kind of person I hate."
Kai laughed once, bitter. "I want to surpass myself. That's it. If I don't, I'll rot."
Liam's jaw tightened. "I want to be the standard. Not because I like being watched. Because if I'm the standard… then people behind me don't get crushed."
They all looked at me.
Of course they did.
I didn't like being the answer at the end of a line.
I stared out at the ocean.
Then I said the truth.
"I want to be strong enough to choose," I said quietly. "Not because someone orders me. Not because fear pushes me. Because I decided it."
My hand tightened around my sword's hilt.
"And I want to never stand in a room again… where my friends are bleeding because I misjudged what we were facing."
No one joked after that.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was honest.
The waves rolled in, calm, indifferent, endless.
And behind us, the villa waited, and the city waited, and whatever came next was already moving somewhere beyond the horizon.
But for now, we sat there—injured, exhausted, changed.
Not heroes.
Not newly appointed knights.
Just first-years who had learned what it meant to keep going on and knew what true strength is.