Two days slipped by in a quiet blur.
Classes dragged on like always. The training fields filled with the usual clamor of spells and shouts, then emptied out by dusk. The academy didn't care who was struggling or shining—it just kept rolling forward, steady and indifferent.
Garry spent those days the same way: shuffling back to the dorm after lectures, dropping onto his bed, and sinking into that stubborn silence while he poked at his core. Acarme hovered nearby, offering pointers when he could, but mostly just keeping watch.
Then, on the third night, something shifted.
Garry was perched on the edge of his mattress, eyes shut, breathing slow and deliberate. That familiar black sphere floated in his mind's eye—dense, impenetrable, laced with those thin, pale cracks where essence barely squeezed through.
He didn't push this time.
No forcing it. No grinding his teeth in frustration.
He just... waited.
A faint sound rippled through him.
Crack.
The fractures spiderwebbed outward all at once, like ice giving way under too much pressure. The dark shell shattered, pieces flaking inward and dissolving until whatever was underneath finally showed itself.
Clear. Completely transparent.
Essence rushed through it now, smooth and unhindered.
Garry's eyes flew open.
"I've got it," he breathed.
Acarme let his hand drop from Garry's shoulder and slumped back against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah. You do."
Garry flexed his fingers, clenching a fist. A wave of relief hit him first—deep, almost dizzying, like finally setting down something heavy he'd been carrying too long. Right on its heels came a spark of pure excitement.
"So it really was that damn seal," he muttered, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Told you. I'm not slow—I was just... delayed."
Acarme huffed a weary laugh. "Easy there, hotshot."
Garry's grin widened. "Too late."
That afternoon, he finally made his way to the earth training field.
He was dead last, of course.
The field stretched out wide and battered—packed dirt patched with stone slabs that were chipped and cratered from countless spells gone wrong. Scars everywhere: cracks snaking through the ground, shallow pits where something had exploded a little too enthusiastically.
Students were already deep into practice. One guy coaxed up a thick stone wall that wobbled before crumbling back to dust. A girl shaped a lopsided shield that held against a practice dummy's swing. A couple others wrapped their fists in rocky gauntlets, testing punches on the air.
Garry stopped at the edge, just watching for a minute.
So that's what earth magic feels like when it's actually working.
Heclot Bary was in the middle of it all, correcting a cluster of students with his usual calm patience.
"Don't try to harden the whole thing at once," he was saying. "Earth wants balance, not just brute force. Stack it wrong, and it'll fold on itself."
A kid tried again; his wall buckled and collapsed in a heap.
"Again," Heclot said, unfazed.
Garry's heart picked up speed. He itched to jump in.
"Hey."
He turned. A lanky guy with messy sandy hair had sidled up beside him, arms crossed loose.
"You're the last one to awaken, yeah?" the guy asked, not unkindly.
Garry rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks warming. "Guilty."
The guy shrugged. "Happens. Name's Xander."
He jerked his chin toward Heclot, who was still busy. "Teacher's tied up. I'll get you started today."
Garry perked up. "Appreciate it."
"Core's open now, right? Don't overcomplicate it," Xander said, already wandering off. "Just feel for it and pull something up. Dirt, rock—whatever listens first."
Garry nodded, stepping into a clear patch.
Here goes.
He reached inward. The core stirred—sluggish, weighty—but it answered.
The ground shivered under his boots. A fist-sized clump of earth lifted, squishing together clumsily before solidifying into a lumpy stone ball.
It hovered for a couple seconds.
Then plopped apart into dust.
Garry stared at the pile, then let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.
"I knew it," he whispered. "I knew I could."
Excitement surged again, hot and bright.
I'm going to be the greatest.
The thought slipped in without effort, like it belonged there.
He didn't stop for the rest of class.
A stubby pillar that toppled sideways.
A flat plate that split clean in half.
A wonky shield that shattered the second he blinked.
Most of it was junk. Barely usable.
But every single one responded. The earth listened.
By the end, his arms ached and his mana felt scraped empty, but he barely noticed. He bolted straight back to the dorm.
Acarme was already there, cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed in meditation.
"I did it," Garry burst out.
Acarme cracked one eye open. "You look way too pleased with yourself."
"I am."
Garry spilled it all—the field, the clumsy shields and walls, that first wobbly rock ball.
Acarme snorted a laugh. "Alright, alright. Savor it."
Garry barked a laugh of his own. "Admit it—you're jealous."
"Keep dreaming."
Garry snatched his jacket. "Heading back out to practice more."
"Don't burn yourself out," Acarme warned, already closing his eyes again.
Garry waved him off and vanished out the door.
The field was still busy, clusters of students grinding away under the fading light. He claimed a quiet corner and dove back in.
As evening crept in, the energy shifted. People tired out—movements got sloppy, spells fizzled. Some flopped onto half-broken stone benches, others leaned against sagging walls, trading tired tips in murmurs. The ground looked even more beat-up now, fresh cracks and craters everywhere.
Garry kept at it on the fringes, sweat stinging his eyes, mana stuttering but coming when he called. Each pull drained him quicker than he'd expected, but stopping felt impossible.
Then the air changed.
It wasn't dramatic—no thunderclap or shout. Just a slow hush falling over the field, conversations trailing off as heads turned.
Two students faced off in the center.
One was Biran.
He stood easy, almost bored, hands loose at his sides, fingers twitching idly. Like this was just another chore.
The other guy was wired tight, sword already out, grip white-knuckled.
Whispers rippled outward.
"Is he for real...?"
"That's Biran."
"He actually challenged him?"
Garry edged closer, drawn in without thinking.
The challenger sneered. "What's wrong? Not looking so cocky now."
Biran's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Spit it out."
The guy barked a laugh. "Thought you were hot stuff just 'cause you awakened first. Scared someone's gonna pass you?"
Something flickered over Biran's face—gone too fast to name.
"You're on," he said quietly. "I accept."
The air thickened. A soft blue glow bloomed between them, mana swirling into that familiar shape: the translucent owl, wings spread, eyes steady.
"Challenge acknowledged," it intoned. "I will oversee this duel."
Students backed up instinctively, clearing a wide ring.
"Killing blows prohibited. Duel concludes on surrender or incapacitation. Rewards based on performance."
It rose higher.
"Declare readiness."
The challenger lifted his sword. "Ready."
Stone rippled up around Biran's hands and arms, layering into thick, seamless gauntlets—dense but perfectly fitted.
"Ready," Biran said.
Garry's pulse slowed, everything sharpening.
Not showy... but damn, that's solid.
"Begin."
The challenger lunged first—quick, furious swings chaining together, aiming for head, ribs, knees.
Biran gave ground just enough, blocking with those stone-clad arms. Sparks flew where steel met rock; chunks chipped off but the gauntlets held.
"Come on!" the challenger snarled. "Do something!"
Biran stayed silent.
Frustration boiled over. The challenger stomped hard; jagged stone steps erupted under him, launching him into the air. He twisted, sword arcing down in a brutal overhead slash.
Garry's stomach clenched.
He's ending it.
Biran moved fluidly. A wall erupted behind him, curving up and over like a partial shell—leaving his front open but his head guarded.
The blade slammed down.
The impact boomed across the field, a deep crack that rattled teeth. Dust exploded outward.
The challenger's hands jerked; the sword spun away, clanging distant.
He hit the ground stumbling, wide open.
Biran closed the gap.
One punch to the ribs—crunch.
Another.
The challenger dropped, wheezing.
"I—I surrender!"
Silence.
Biran loomed over him, breathing steady, eyes flat.
Then his fist flashed forward, smashing into the guy's face.
The body went slack.
A sharp pulse of mana cracked the air. The owl materialized, wings flaring.
"Enough."
Biran eased back, stone crumbling from his knuckles.
"Healers," the owl ordered.
Medics hurried in as the crowd murmured, uneasy now—no cheers, just a heavy quiet.
The owl faced Biran.
"Winner: Biran Korr. Base reward: 800 points."
Pause.
"Penalty for violation of protocol: minus 50 points. Final: 750."
It faded into light.
Students drifted away, voices low, the earlier buzz replaced by something unsettled.
Garry went back to his corner, but the drive was gone. His mind kept replaying it.
That's... scary strong.
That night over dinner, he recounted every detail to Acarme.
Acarme listened without interrupting, face drawn.
"For a first-year," he said at last, voice low, "that's terrifying, heehe."
Garry forced a laugh, trying to shake the image. "Relax. One day I'll be stronger than him."
Acarme looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled. "Yeah... yeah."
They laughed, but it faded quick, hanging awkward in the air.
Training picked up after that. Garry pushed harder, a new edge to it—not jealousy, exactly, but a clear-eyed recognition of the gap. Determination burned steadier now.
Before he knew it, Sunday rolled around again.