The pre-dawn light was a pale, sickly grey when Kael's eyes snapped open. His body was a map of agony, each bruise from the previous day's brutal training in the Pit screaming for a rest that would not come. In the dimness of the dormitory, the rhythmic, heavy snoring of Leo provided a stark contrast to Kael's labored breathing. Silas lay as still as a statue, his face calm in the deep sleep of a mage who possessed mana to knit their fatigue away. Kael moved slowly, his joints clicking like dry twigs. He dressed in silence, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic, before slipping out to face the iron once more.
The morning session was a blur of gravel and iron. Grael was more demanding than ever, pushing Kael to the point where his vision began to tunnel. As Kael collapsed onto the cold sand after a final set of weighted sprints, his chest heaving, Grael stood over him like an unyielding monolith.
"You're lagging, boy," Grael said, his voice flat. "Your recovery is slowing down. Your body is trying to reject the work."
"I... I can't breathe," Kael wheezed, the metallic taste of blood in the back of his throat. "It's like... my muscles are lead."
"Then forge them into steel," Grael replied, his gaze piercing. "The world doesn't care about your fatigue. If you want to survive the coming shadows, you must forge a vessel that cannot be broken. Not by man, and certainly not by mana."
Seeing Kael struggle to stand, Grael reached into a small leather pouch. He pulled out a single pill, shimmering with an unnatural, electric blue hue.
"Take this," Grael commanded. "It is a restoration catalyst. It will do for your flesh what healing magic does for the elite. The pain will vanish instantly. But heed my warning: this is not a cure. It is a loan. When the effect wears off, the physical backlash will be twice as intense. Use the window it gives you wisely."
Kael swallowed the pill without hesitation. The effect was terrifyingly fast. A wave of artificial heat surged through his veins, and the crushing weight on his lungs evaporated. The sharp stabs in his ribs were suddenly gone, replaced by a numbness that felt like power.
By the time he returned to the dormitory, Silas and Leo were awake. Together, they headed toward the Arena, a massive circular amphitheater carved into the bedrock. At the center stood Professor Krayn, a man with a face like a scarred mountainside and arms as thick as tree trunks.
"Listen up!" Krayn's voice boomed. "Theoreticals are over. Here, we assess your level: mana control, technique, and instinct. Matches will be one-on-one. If you cannot fight, you do not belong here."
"The next match will oppose Mina to Soren," Krayn announced.
Mina was a young mage mastering water, hailing from the prestigious Everlight family. It was a renowned lineage where every generation produced high-quality mages, endowed with a mana mastery far superior to other young mages of their age. Her silver-gold hair was tied in a practical braid, and her blue eyes held a depth that seemed to reflect a calm, yet dangerous ocean. Across from her stood Soren, a tall student with grey-toned skin and a constant sneer. Soren was a specialist in Earth magic, priding himself on a defensive style that turned his very skin into a fortress of stone.
Krayn signaled the start. Soren immediately slammed his palms against the sand. "Wall of Spikes!" he roared. Jagged pillars of rock erupted, racing toward Mina with a thunderous sound. Mina didn't flinch. She observed the trajectory, her hands moving in a hypnotic, circular motion. A thin veil of water manifested around her, spinning with such velocity that it acted like a blade.
As the first pillar reached her, she didn't block it. She glided past, the water veil shearing through the edge of the rock. Soren followed up with a rain of stone shards. Mina danced between them, her footsteps light on the sand. She launched a pressurized jet of water from her palm, not at Soren, but at the ground beneath him. The sand turned to mud instantly, causing him to stumble. Soren tried to harden the earth, but Mina was faster. She swung a whip of water that wrapped around his arm. With a sharp tug, she froze the water instantly, the ice expanding into the cracks of his stone armor. Soren gasped as his gauntlet shattered. Before he could recalibrate his mana, Mina delivered a final, concentrated spiral of water to his chest, throwing him out of the ring with effortless precision.
"Winner: Mina," Krayn barked. "Excellent use of elemental properties and opponent momentum. You didn't just fight him; you let him break himself. Soren, rigidity is a death sentence in the face of water. Learn to protect your foundation."
"The next match will oppose Alaric to Silas," Krayn barked.
Alaric hailed from the influential Thorne family, a lineage of fire mages whose arrogance was as intense as their flames. He was the apex predator of the class, his raven hair slicked back and his eyes burning with a residual orange glow that spoke of a high-density mana core. Across from him was Silas, the quiet, observant boy who shared a room with Kael. Silas was a water mage of humble origin, but what he lacked in family name, he made up for with a meticulous, defensive style born of hard study and an unshakeable focus.
"So," Alaric sneered, his eyes flicking toward Kael in the stands. "They're letting the 'zero's' little pet fight. Tell me, Silas, do you feel yourself becoming useless just by sharing a room with that failure?"
Silas didn't blink. He raised his hands, a swirling shield of water forming a rotating dome around him. "Kael has more spine than you'll ever have, Alaric."
The match exploded. Alaric didn't just cast spells; he unleashed a furnace. He lunged forward, his fists wreathed in roaring crimson fire. Silas raised a wall of water, but the heat was so intense that the water boiled on contact, creating a blinding cloud of steam. Silas tried to use the mist to reposition, manifesting water needles to strike at Alaric's pressure points. But Alaric was relentless. He spun, a cyclone of fire erupting from his boots, clearing the steam in an instant.
Alaric slammed both palms into the ground, sending a wave of fire that snaked around Silas's defenses. Silas struggled to keep his shield intact, his mana draining rapidly as he fought the constant evaporation. Alaric closed the distance in a blur, his hand glowing with a white-hot intensity. He punched straight through the thinning water wall, the heat searing Silas's shoulder before the impact sent him flying across the sand. Silas tried to rise, but the exhaustion and the burn were too much.
"Winner: Alaric," Krayn announced grimly. "Overwhelming power and offensive pressure. You left him no room to breathe. However, Silas, your defensive structure was solid until the end. You lacked a counter-offensive to force him back. Alaric, watch your temper; aggression without control leads to mistakes."
"The next match will oppose Kael to Cyrus," Krayn called out.
Kael was the black sheep of the Valerius family, a name that once commanded respect but now bore the weight of his "Mana-less" status. Despite his lack of magical spark, his body was a testament to the brutal discipline of the Pit, his muscles honed by iron and sweat. Across from him stood Cyrus, Alaric's lean acolyte with sharp features and a mocking grin. A wind specialist with a cruel streak, Cyrus was known for a predatory grace, using his mana to enhance his speed and strike with invisible, razor-sharp currents.
Cyrus rotated his shoulders, a miniature gale beginning to swirl around his hands. "I've been waiting for this," he whispered as he passed Kael. "Let's see if a void can actually scream."
Kael stepped onto the sand, the electric blue energy of the pill humming in his blood, the silence within him rising to meet the storm.