The training grounds felt different in the early light.
Not louder.
Tighter.
Yesterday's warning still lingered, unfinished.
Two groups stood opposite one another across the ringed fields, separated by nothing more than packed earth and the faint shimmer of inactive barriers.
Class A gathered on one side—familiar faces, familiar rhythms.
Class B mirrored them across the way, unfamiliar stances and unknown habits forming a quiet wall of potential friction.
Ren stood among his classmates, dull sword resting at his side.
He could feel it.
Not hostility.
Assessment.
People watched each other the way fighters watched shadows—eyes steady, bodies still, intent held back until it mattered.
Armsmistress Bryn Hale stepped forward.
The ground didn't respond this time.
It didn't need to.
"Today," Bryn said, her voice carrying evenly across both classes, "you test what survives pressure."
No flourish.
No ceremony.
She gestured once, and the barrier runes around the rings flared briefly—then settled.
"These duels are not about winning quickly," she continued. "They are not about showing off technique you can't sustain."
Her gaze swept the students like a blade passing over armor.
"In the field, monsters don't announce openings. They don't wait for you to recover. And they do not care how talented you are."
A few students shifted.
Someone in Class B rolled their shoulders.
Ren felt his grip tighten without realizing it.
"The longer you survive," Bryn said, "the more chances you have to adapt."
She turned slightly, boots crunching on stone.
"To escape."
Another step.
"To turn a mistake into an opening."
She stopped.
"And to live."
Silence settled—not heavy, but sharp.
"These are serious spars," Bryn said. "Non-lethal. Barriers will intervene only if a strike becomes fatal."
Her eyes hardened.
"Do not rely on them."
A low ripple passed through the gathered students—excitement, nerves, calculation.
Bryn lifted her hand.
"Pairings will be randomized."
An attendant stepped forward with a narrow case and opened it.
Inside lay short, rune-marked rods, each glowing faintly with one of several colors.
"You will draw," Bryn said. "Matching colors face each other."
She didn't explain what happened if you disliked your draw.
She didn't need to.
Students stepped forward one by one.
Hands reached in.
Colors flared.
Names were called quietly as matches formed, each pairing locking into place with a soft glow.
Ren watched Sylvi draw first.
Deep green.
A murmur rippled as Bryn glanced at the match list.
"First bout," she announced. "Class A. Sylvi."
Sylvi stepped forward without hesitation.
Across the ring, a Class B student drew his rod.
Green.
He carried his axe like it belonged there, posture loose but rooted, heat already bleeding into the air around him.
"Versus Class B," Bryn continued. "Rasken."
Rasken grinned once—slow and confident—and stepped into the ring.
Sylvi didn't react.
She planted the butt of her spear against the stone and waited, posture relaxed, eyes steady.
Murmurs followed.
Ren exhaled slowly.
Whatever came next, it wouldn't be gentle.
Bryn raised her voice once more.
"Observe," she said. "Learn."
Her gaze flicked briefly—just briefly—to Ren.
"And remember," she added, "survival is not passive."
The barrier around the first ring came alive with a muted hum.
Bryn lifted one hand.
"Begin."
Rasken moved first.
Dark red embers crawled along the head of his axe, spreading outward until heat shimmered around the metal.
The flames weren't wild—contained, disciplined, hugging the blade like they'd been trained to obey.
Ren felt it from the stands.
Fire, but grounded.
Stable.
Rasken exhaled once, settling into his stance.
Sylvi didn't move.
Her spear remained planted, one hand resting lightly on the shaft.
She didn't raise it.
Didn't shift her feet.
Didn't even lean away from the heat rolling toward her.
The axe came down.
Rasken surged forward and brought the weapon overhead in a full cleave, flame roaring as it descended—fast, committed, aimed to end the exchange in a single strike.
At the last possible moment, Sylvi stepped aside.
Not a dodge.
A correction.
The axe passed through the space her head had occupied a heartbeat earlier and buried itself in stone.
Fire detonated on impact.
Heat and embers burst outward, smoke blooming across the ring.
Ren blinked.
For a split second, the ring vanished behind flame and ash.
When the smoke cleared—
Sylvi was gone.
Rasken's eyes snapped left, then right, axe still embedded in the stone.
He yanked once.
Then again.
Teeth clenched as the weapon resisted before finally tearing free.
Two seconds.
Too long.
Sylvi landed on the far side of the ring, spear tip touching down as lightly as a thought.
She balanced there briefly, elevated just enough to force Rasken to look up.
Ren felt the shift.
Not power.
Pressure.
"My turn," Sylvi said calmly.
She stepped forward—
And vanished.
Ren's eyes tried to follow—and failed.
One moment she was there.
The next she was in front of Rasken.
Then she wasn't.
Rasken's head snapped around, confusion flashing across his face just as Sylvi reappeared directly in front of him, spear already thrusting.
Rasken barely got his axe up in time.
The spear struck the haft with a sharp crack, wind detonating at the point of impact.
The force hurled Rasken backward, feet leaving the ground as he spun uncontrollably.
He hit the barrier hard.
The field absorbed the impact with a low hum, sending him dropping to one knee.
He lifted his head—
And froze.
Sylvi stood a single step away.
Her spear was pointed directly at his forehead.
Perfectly still.
"Surrender," she said.
Rasken swallowed.
Then lowered his weapon.
The barrier faded.
Silence held the ring for half a breath—then sound rushed back in.
Ren exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding it.
To him, it had looked impossible.
Bryn didn't look impressed.
"Overcommitment," she said flatly, eyes on Rasken. "You mistook power for inevitability."
Her gaze shifted to Sylvi.
"Speed is meaningless without refinement," Bryn continued. "Your steps are effective—but visible."
Ren frowned.
Visible?
He hadn't seen them at all.
Sylvi inclined her head once, accepting the criticism without argument.
The Armsmistress turned back to the class.
"Lesson," she said. "Adapt—or lose."
Ren felt it settle into his chest.
Sylvi hadn't won because she was faster.
She'd won because she never let the fight become what her opponent wanted.
"Next match."
Bryn's voice cut through the low murmur.
"Thane of Class A."
Thane stepped forward without hurry, boots touching stone with deliberate calm.
Yellow light flickered faintly beneath his soles as he crossed straight to the center of the ring—then paused.
Only after that did he turn and walk back to his side.
Ren frowned.
That was… odd.
"Versus—" Bryn glanced once at her slate. "—Kaelrin of Class B."
Across the ring, an archer lifted his bow.
Frost crept along the string as he drew it halfway, pale blue ice threading through the wood.
Ren felt the shift immediately.
This wouldn't be fast.
The barrier sealed with a low hum.
"Begin."
Kaelrin moved first.
Not at Thane.
Arrows slammed into the stone floor—three in quick succession—each impact blooming outward in jagged ice.
Frost raced across the arena, space narrowing, footing vanishing.
Ren frowned.
He's shaping the fight.
Thane advanced anyway.
Slowly.
Each step landed with care, boots touching only where bare stone still showed.
No sprint.
No leap.
Just walking.
Something lingered beneath his boots—too brief to catch clearly, but deliberate.
Another arrow.
More ice.
Paths narrowed into channels meant to guide him.
"He's boxed in," someone muttered.
Ren didn't think so.
Thane adjusted again—subtle, almost lazy—never stepping where the ice was thickest.
Never committing long enough to be trapped.
Kaelrin's confidence grew.
Good, Ren realized.
He thinks this is working.
The archer began to shift—not retreating, not advancing outright, but edging closer to the center of the ring as the ice spread and the paths narrowed.
He was guiding the fight inward, believing Thane had nowhere left to go.
The archer changed tactics.
Arrows flew for Thane.
Fast.
Sharp.
Thane accelerated—just enough.
Ice shattered behind him as shots missed by inches.
Then—
Lightning flared.
A single bolt, yellow and condensed, shaped like an arrow.
It tore across the ring.
Gasps rippled.
Kaelrin twisted aside.
The bolt smashed into the barrier behind him.
A miss.
Ren didn't react.
Because Thane hadn't.
Kaelrin smiled.
Thane smiled back.
The lightning bent—by design.
It struck the barrier and rebounded, snapping back across the ring faster than before.
Kaelrin jumped, twisting hard as the lightning snapped back toward him.
He cleared the bolt—
And landed near the center of the ring.
His foot touched down.
And froze.
Lightning flared beneath his boot.
A rune ignited, lines of energy anchoring him to the stone.
Ren's eyes widened.
He laid traps while moving.
Thane surged forward, lightning flooding his boots, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Arrows flew—too fast, too uncontrolled.
Thane was already past them.
He appeared behind Kaelrin.
A tap landed against the back of his head.
Not a strike.
A statement.
Silence.
"I yield," Kaelrin said.
The barrier dropped.
Thane stepped away, lightning fading as if it had never existed.
No flourish.
Just execution.
Bryn watched him go.
"Good opening theory," she said. "Poor awareness."
Her eyes returned to Thane.
"And excellent patience."
Ren forced his shoulders to loosen.
That wasn't raw strength.
That was understanding.
The ring reset.
Ice melted back into stone.
Lightning faded into memory.
The grounds stayed quiet.
Then Bryn's gaze stopped.
On Ren.
"Next."
The word landed heavy.
Across the field, another student stepped forward—broad, grounded, earth responding faintly beneath his boots.
"Ren of Class A," Bryn said. "Versus Garrick of Class B."
A murmur followed.
Ren felt it.
He paused at the ring's edge—not to hesitate.
To settle.
The wall that didn't move.
The things that still could.
Ren stepped forward.
The barrier rose.
"Remember," Bryn said quietly, eyes locked on him, "survival is not about force."
The barrier sealed.
"Begin."