The Inner Training Hall did not feel like part of the academy.
It felt older.
Heavier.
As if the stone beneath Phael's feet had watched generations rise, fall, and disappear long before the current towers were ever built. The glowing arrays carved into the floor pulsed faintly with ancient energy, responding not to rank or authority, but to intent. Power here was not something shown.
It was something tested.
Aelira of the Aurelion Line stood at the center of the hall, arms folded, her gaze sharp but calm. She did not look like someone who had come to comfort them after war. She looked like someone who had come to prepare them for the next one.
"You are strong," she said, her voice echoing softly through the vast chamber. "Stronger than most students at your age. But strength without structure is noise. And noise attracts predators."
Her eyes moved to Phael.
"You survived because your instincts carried you through a breaking point," she continued. "But instinct will not carry you forever."
Phael met her gaze. "Then teach me."
She studied him for a moment.
Then nodded once.
"First," she said, "you will learn how weak you truly are."
The training began immediately.
Not with flashy techniques.
Not with new powers.
With control.
Aelira led Phael to the center of the hall and gestured toward a shallow stone basin filled with clear water.
"Your second element is water," she said. "At Level Twenty, it is newborn. You do not command it. You disturb it."
Phael frowned slightly.
"Shape it," she ordered.
He raised his hand.
Mana flowed.
The surface of the water rippled, lifted, twisted into a thin arc above the basin.
For a moment, he felt proud.
Then the arc collapsed.
The water splashed back into the basin, completely out of his control.
Aelira did not look impressed.
"You forced it," she said. "Fire answers force. Water answers understanding."
She stepped closer.
"Again."
He tried again.
This time he focused less on power and more on movement. The water lifted, forming a smoother curve. But the moment he tried to sharpen it, it wavered and fell apart once more.
Sweat formed on his brow.
Rielle watched from the side, silent, her summons faintly visible around her as if sensing the intensity in the room.
Aelira shook her head.
"You are treating water like a weapon," she said. "It is not. It is a medium. A response. Until you stop trying to dominate it, it will never become yours."
Phael lowered his hand slowly.
For the first time since gaining his second element, he understood something clearly.
This was not about power.
This was about how he thought.
The training did not stop with magic.
Aelira turned her attention to his body.
"Your physical power evolved at Level Twenty," she said. "Your bones are denser. Your muscles stronger. But your movements are still human."
She stepped behind him suddenly and struck his shoulder.
Not hard.
But precisely.
The impact sent him stumbling forward.
"You move like someone who fears breaking himself," she said calmly. "You are no longer built that way."
She gestured.
"Attack me."
Phael hesitated only a moment before moving.
Fire flickered around his fist, tightly controlled.
He struck.
Aelira did not block.
She stepped aside, letting the blow pass through empty air, then tapped two fingers against his ribs.
Pain flared.
"Too slow," she said.
He attacked again.
Faster.
Harder.
She avoided him every time.
Not because she was faster.
But because she moved before he finished thinking.
When he finally stepped back, breathing hard, Aelira met his eyes.
"Your body has grown beyond your mind," she said. "Until the two align, you will always be behind those who live inside their power."
Her words did not insult him.
They defined his path.
Training under Aelira was brutal.
There were no shortcuts.
No praise.
Only correction.
Only repetition.
Only failure.
Rielle trained alongside him in summoning techniques of the Aurelion Line. Aelira did not simply strengthen her beasts—she taught her how to command through resonance, how to make her summons respond not to orders, but to intent and emotional flow.
"You do not control your summons," Aelira told her. "You synchronize with them."
Under that guidance, Rielle's wolves became faster, their movements smoother, their coordination sharper. The hawk no longer simply attacked—it scouted, signaled, guided the battlefield from above.
Rielle was no longer just a summoner.
She was becoming a commander.
It was during the second week of training that Aelira introduced something new.
"Training in isolation will not prepare you for the world," she said, standing before both of them. "The academy teaches in controlled environments. Your enemies will not."
She gestured toward a sealed document in her hand.
"There are paths beyond the academy."
She opened it.
At the top was a symbol Phael had only heard whispered among older students.
The Adventurer Guild.
"Outside the academy," Aelira continued, "guilds regulate missions, exploration, and combat beyond the reach of schools and clans. Ruins. Beast territories. Lost zones. Political conflicts that instructors cannot officially touch."
Ryn's eyes widened when he heard about it later. "You mean… real-world contracts?"
Soren nodded slowly. "That's where people stop being students."
Aelira's gaze hardened slightly. "If you wish to grow without being bound by academy politics… you will step into that world."
Phael did not hesitate.
"I will."
She studied him for a moment.
"Not yet," she said. "First, you will learn how to survive failure."
Their first outside mission came a month later.
Not as students.
As registered junior adventurers under the academy's supervision.
The assignment was simple.
Clear a corrupted beast zone near a border settlement.
Not glamorous.
Not heroic.
Just real.
They faced beasts that did not follow training patterns. Enemies that ambushed without warning. Situations where one mistake could cost lives.
They struggled.
They retreated.
They failed once.
And returned again.
Each mission pushed them harder than any academy trial ever had.
Phael learned how to apply water defensively, redirecting force instead of meeting it head-on. His fire remained his weapon, but water became his shield, his balance, his breath between blows.
Rielle learned to command from the center of chaos, her summons acting as extensions of her will rather than independent forces.
They grew.
Not dramatically.
Not quickly.
But correctly.
Months passed.
The academy faded into the background.
Guild missions became routine.
Training under Aelira became relentless.
Phael's mastery of fire sharpened further.
Water no longer collapsed when he shaped it.
It flowed.
Not yet powerful.
But stable.
Reliable.
His physical body adapted as well—movements more precise, steps more controlled, strikes no longer wasteful.
He was still far from complete.
But he was no longer raw.
One night, after returning from a particularly brutal mission, Phael stood beneath the open sky outside the guild outpost.
Rielle joined him quietly.
"You've changed," she said.
"So have you."
She smiled faintly. "We're not kids anymore, are we?"
He looked at the stars.
"Not the way we used to be."
She hesitated.
"Do you ever think about what comes next?"
He did.
Often.
"I think about who we'll be when this is over."
She met his gaze.
"Then… I'll walk that path with you."
No confession.
No promises.
Just something steady, unspoken, growing with time.
Far from the academy…
Far from the guild halls…
A woman watched a distant battlefield through a crystal projection.
Her eyes were sharp.
Her presence calm.
Delyra.
The one who had raised Phael in secret.
The one who had hidden him when the world was not ready for what he was becoming.
"So… you've finally stepped into the world," she murmured.
Her lips curved slightly.
"And you survived."
She closed the projection.
"It's almost time."
The world continued to turn.
Phael trained.
He fought.
He failed.
He learned.
The years did not pass in a blur of miracles.
They passed in sweat, blood, and discipline.
And slowly…
He grew into his power.