Elise fought harder than he had seen her in weeks. Every strike of her hand was exact, cutting deep into weak points, her jaw set in open defiance of the watching crowd. Tirel’s flas flared wild, each burst like a dare to the sneering students on the sidelines. Byun’s shadows moved smoothly, controlled and deliberate, wrapping around Jae more protectively than usual.
Together, they tore through the beasts with ease. The last one dissolved into ash beneath Jae’s molten strike, the ground around him still glowing faintly from the heat.
The silence that followed wasn’t admiration.
The applause, when it ca, was scattered, hesitant, reluctant. A few claps here and there, then nothing. The teachers nodded to Elise, praised her precision. Tirel earned comnts about her control and firepower. Byun’s discipline was noted with approval.
When it ca to Jae, the instructor only said, "Try not to go too far."
The words landed heavier than any blow, heavier than the whispers in the hall or the laughter in the lecture room. For a mont, Jae stood frozen, the Dragonfire blade dimming at his side. His smirk didn’t co. The gesture he usually wore like armor slipped.
He said nothing. He only turned away and left
xxx
The training hall was quieter than usual. It was the kind of quiet that felt deliberate, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The usual chorus of shouts, clashing mana, and bursts of laughter that rolled out from sparring matches had given way to silence, save for the faint creak of the wooden beams above. Late afternoon light poured in through the tall windows, spilling long bars of orange across the polished floor. The beams of sunlight carried with them the faint sll of dust and warm wood, a reminder of how many generations of students had sweated, bled, and triumphed within these walls. Dust motes drifted lazily through the shafts of light, stirred only by the movents of a lone figure in the center of the vast hall.
Jae stood there, breath harsh in his throat, sweat dripping down his brow and soaking into the collar of his training tunic. The Dragonfire Blade blazed in his hand, its fiery aura wrapping around his grip with a steady, pulsing hum. The flas were bright enough that they painted his skin in shifting hues of red and gold, making him look less like a boy and more like sothing out of the myths his village had whispered about. He swung it again and again, his motions crisp, the arcs of fire cutting through the dimness like strokes of a brush across a canvas. Each slash hissed through the air, a sharp counterpoint to the silence, while his breath ca in steady, controlled bursts.
The rhythm was precise, almost chanical. Strike, step, turn, slash. Again. Strike, step, turn, slash. The sound of his boots sliding across the floor echoed faintly against the stone walls, mingling with the low roar of fire each ti the blade passed through the air. But beneath the rhythm was a restless undercurrent. His strikes landed harder than necessary, each swing carving out a little more force than the last. His footwork, once light and sure, was heavy, his steps smacking against the floor with audible weight. Frustration bled into his form, twisting what should have been clean drills into sothing harsher, angrier.
He had lost count of how long he had been at it. Hours, maybe. The day had started like every other since the duel, with whispers curling around him like smoke he couldn’t brush away. "Attempted assassination." "Reckless farmboy." "Threat to the prince." Words were cheap, yet they carried more force than steel when repeated enough. They spread faster than fire, reshaping what had happened into sothing grotesque. The duel wasn’t just a duel anymore; it had beco a scandal, a tale of betrayal, whispered from corridor to corridor. Even the teachers, the ones he had trusted to see through lies, had looked at him with colder eyes, their words clipped, their approval absent. No one cared to hear his side.
So he trained. If they were going to call him dangerous, then he might as well earn it. Or at least exhaust himself trying. He raised the Dragonfire Blade once more, the fla flaring brighter, his arms screaming from overuse—
"Jae."
The voice was soft, yet it cut cleanly through the crackle of fire and the hamring of his thoughts.
He froze, lowering the blade instinctively, before glancing over his shoulder. Mrs. Lira stood at the edge of the hall, her presence calm but unignorable. Arms folded loosely over her chest, she watched him in silence for a mont. The late light caught strands of her long silver-blue hair, making them shimr faintly, as though she carried a piece of moonlight into the room. She had shed her usual teaching robes for sothing simpler: a fitted tunic, a dark cloak, boots that carried no ornant. But even dressed plainly, she carried herself with that sa quiet authority, the kind that demanded attention without raising her voice.
Her eyes, however, were not stern. They carried concern, softened by sothing he couldn’t quite na.
"You’ll wear yourself out like this," she said as she stepped forward, her boots barely making a sound against the wooden floor.
Jae exhaled, his shoulders loosening slightly as he let the mana around the blade flicker. The Dragonfire Blade dissolved into embers, fading into the air until his hand was empty. Still, his fist remained tight, knuckles pale, tension lingering in the absence of fla. "I’ve got plenty left in ," he muttered, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
She tilted her head, her gaze steady. "It doesn’t look that way. It looks like you’re punishing yourself."
Jae smirked faintly, brushing a damp lock of blond hair back from his forehead. "If I was punishing myself, I’d still be going."
Lira stopped a few paces in front of him. Her gaze flicked, just briefly, down to his shoulders—she had noticed the slight tremor from overuse—but she didn’t ntion it. Instead, her voice softened. "You shouldn’t let their words dig into you. Rumors co and go. This academy has seen plenty."
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