The Inner Training Hall felt different after the trial.
Not because it had changed—but because they had.
The stone still glowed faintly beneath their feet. The air still carried the quiet pressure of ancient power. But the way Phael stood now, the way Rielle watched the battlefield even when there was none, the way Ryn rolled his shoulders as if expecting the next blow at any moment… everything about them was sharper. More aware.
They had nearly lost each other.
And none of them had forgotten it.
Aelira did not offer comfort.
She never did.
"You survived because you refused to fall apart," she said calmly, her gaze moving across them. "But survival is not mastery. What you felt in that trial was the limit of what you are now."
She turned to Phael.
"And you," she said, "are still fighting water like it is fire."
Phael did not argue.
Because it was true.
The basin returned to the center of the hall.
Clear.
Still.
Waiting.
"Shape it," Aelira said.
Phael raised his hand.
Mana flowed.
The water lifted, forming a smooth arc, hovering obediently for a breath.
Then he tried to sharpen it.
The flow broke.
The water collapsed back into the basin, splashing uselessly.
Again.
He tried slower.
It rose.
He guided it with intention rather than force.
For a moment… it held.
Then his concentration wavered.
The structure dissolved.
Aelira shook her head.
"You are still imposing your will," she said. "Fire rewards dominance. Water rejects it."
Phael clenched his jaw.
"I'm trying to control it."
"That is the problem," she replied.
She stepped closer.
"Water is not meant to be conquered. It is meant to be entered."
He tried again.
This time he focused on feeling the movement instead of shaping it.
The water rose more gently.
It curved around his hand.
For a moment, it felt… right.
Then instinct took over.
He pushed.
The structure shattered.
Silence followed.
Aelira did not look disappointed.
Only honest.
"You are improving," she said. "But you are still failing."
Phael lowered his hand slowly.
He had survived war.
He had stood against a clan lord.
And yet…
He could not make water obey.
Training did not stop.
If anything, it became harsher.
Aelira forced him to fight using only water defense, forbidding him from using fire unless absolutely necessary. Again and again, he was struck, thrown back, forced to rely on imperfect redirection.
"You will not master your second element by hiding behind your first," she said.
His Draconic Frame absorbed the punishment.
But his control did not.
He failed more than he succeeded.
Every mistake burned deeper than bruises.
Rielle watched him struggle from the side, her own training equally demanding. Aelira drilled her summoning not in raw power, but in coordination under pressure. Rielle's wolves learned to move without verbal commands. Her hawk began reacting to shifts in the battlefield before Rielle consciously gave orders.
"You are not a summoner who fights," Aelira told her. "You are a commander who exists inside the battle."
Rielle grew quieter.
More focused.
Stronger.
But even she stumbled when Aelira pushed her beyond instinct.
They all did.
The Adventurer Guild missions grew more dangerous.
Not officially.
But in reality.
What began as simple clearing contracts became territory disputes. Border zones. Corrupted ruins where beasts had absorbed unstable mana. Regions where guild law was thin and survival was personal.
Their group was no longer seen as "academy students."
They were treated as real adventurers.
And real adventurers did not get protected missions.
On one contract, they were sent into a canyon overrun by evolved beasts.
The first ambush nearly killed them.
Ryn took a blade through the shoulder protecting Aeris.
Soren was pinned beneath a collapsing rock formation.
Darian burned through his shadows holding off three enemies alone.
Myra nearly collapsed from overusing her power to keep time from tearing them apart.
Phael fought at the center, fire precise, body relentless—
But when he tried to use water to shield Rielle from a crushing blow—
It failed.
The force broke through.
Rielle was thrown hard into the stone wall.
"Rielle!" Phael shouted.
He reached her in an instant.
She was conscious.
But blood ran down her temple.
"I'm… okay," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Because for the first time since unlocking water—
His failure had cost someone else.
They survived the mission.
Barely.
No celebration followed.
Only silence on the road back.
That night, in the small guild outpost they had been assigned to, Phael sat alone outside under the cold sky.
Fire flickered in his hand instinctively.
He extinguished it.
Then he called water.
A thin stream formed.
Shaking.
Unstable.
"Why won't you listen…" he murmured.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Rielle sat beside him.
"You're not weak," she said softly.
"I let you get hurt."
She looked at him.
"You stood between me and something that would've killed me," she said. "That's not failure."
He stared at the water in his palm.
"But it's not enough," he said. "If I can't control what I have… I'll never protect any of you."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "You don't need to be perfect. You just need to keep growing."
He met her eyes.
"And I will," he said.
Not as a promise.
As a decision.
Power, in the real world, did not come for free.
The next lesson came when they received a high-value core from a fallen elite beast.
Ryn stared at it. "This thing could push one of us to evolve."
Aelira's voice came through the communicator. "One core is not enough."
They all froze.
"What?" Aeris asked.
"Evolution requires accumulation," Aelira said. "Your bodies, your powers, your mastery—all must be prepared. A single core can strengthen you. It cannot transform you."
Darian frowned. "So what do we do with it?"
"You decide," Aelira replied. "Sell it. Save it. Use it to stabilize growth. But understand this—no one will give you what you need. You will have to manage your own path."
They stared at the glowing core in silence.
No instructions.
No safety net.
Only choice.
They chose to keep it.
Not for immediate gain.
But for the future.
Because they were no longer just growing.
They were planning.
Weeks turned into months.
They fought stronger enemies.
They earned cores.
They spent some.
They saved others.
Phael's fire mastery sharpened.
Water no longer collapsed instantly.
It bent.
Redirected.
Absorbed force in moments of clarity.
But it was inconsistent.
Unstable.
Sometimes perfect.
Sometimes useless.
Aelira did not sugarcoat it.
"You are approaching a wall," she told him. "Your next true breakthrough will not come from level. It will come from understanding."
He nodded.
He could feel it.
The next stage was not ahead of him.
It was inside what he had not yet grasped.
One night, after returning from a brutal contract that nearly cost Soren his life, Ryn said quietly:
"How strong do you think we'll be… in a few years?"
Myra answered first. "Stronger than we are now."
Darian added, "But not strong enough to stop what's coming."
Rielle looked at Phael.
"And when we reach the next threshold… what will you become then?"
Phael did not answer immediately.
Because he already knew.
Level 30 was not just another number.
It was the next evolution.
A new element.
A deeper physical transformation.
Not a miracle.
But something they would have to earn.