Two weeks grind past, and Obinai settles into the rhythm of life at Elona Academy—if 'settles' means constantly being sore, dodging headaches from spell theory, and trying not to get flattened in sparring. He's still figuring things out, but at least the school isn't a complete maze anymore, and he's managed to scrape together a few allies.
One of them is Gideon, the broad-shouldered dwarf with a deep scar slashing across his cheek—the souvenir from their first day's obstacle course disaster. Gideon's gruff at first, but Obinai quickly learns he's not just a boulder with a face; he's actually easy to talk to. And he knows his spells.
"Yer frost spear's got bite, but ya fire it off like a drunk tossin' dice," Gideon says one afternoon, both of them panting in the academy's training yard. "Get yerself a grip on the recoil, and ye'll be tearin' through foes like a hot knife through butter."
Obinai wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, grimacing. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly delicate either. That earth pillar of yours almost took my damn head off."
Gideon smirks, rubbing his nose. "Aye, but ya dodged it, didn't ya?"
Their training sessions lead to Obinai picking up some new tricks. One of the biggest game-changers is [Stone Skin], a second-circle spell that hardens his body like rock. The first time he gets it right, he slams his fist into a training dummy out of curiosity. The dull, heavy impact reverberates up his arm, and he marvels at the lack of pain.
"Shit," he mutters, flexing his fingers. "That's... kinda insane."
"Ha! Now ye ain't gotta duck every punch like a rabbit in a wolf den," Gideon cackles. "If yer quick on the draw, ya might even stop Bram from ringin' yer bell."
Bram, speaking of, is a whole other problem. While Gideon teaches with patience (even if it's hidden under gruff insults), Bram's approach is... less refined. Which is a kind way of saying he fights like a feral animal and expects Obinai to keep up.
During one particularly brutal spar, Bram slams into him like a runaway cart. Obinai barely has time to throw up a [Shield] before getting launched back, landing hard on the dirt.
"Dammit, Bram, you're supposed to pull your hits!"
Bram just shrugs, rolling his shoulders. "I did. Y'want me to hit for real?"
"No!" Obinai pushes himself up, wincing. "You'd break my spine, dumbass."
Bram snickers, nudging the ground with his boot. "Then quit fallin' on yer ass and fight back."
It's frustrating—exhausting, even—but through these beatdowns, Obinai starts to notice his reflexes sharpening. He picks up spells to compensate: [Flash Step] lets him dart across the battlefield like a ghost, [Force Push] gives him breathing room, and [Shadow Sneak] turns him into a whisper in the dark.
Then, there's [Flame Lash]. A spell that sounds useful in theory—a whip of fire that can strike from a distance—but the first time Obinai casts it, he nearly sets himself on fire. The flames twist back, wrapping around his leg, and he screams as the heat sears through his clothes and onto his skin.
"AH—SHIT!" He drops, slapping at his pants to put it out.
Gideon howls with laughter. "Hoo, boy! Ain't never seen someone roast themselves before!"
Bram shakes his head. "That was real dumb."
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Obinai snarls, glaring at the fresh burn on his shin.
Despite the bruises, the burns, and the mounting frustration, Obinai improves.
After another combat class Lyth gathers everyone.
Lyth stands before them, arms crossed.
"Who here is planning to participate in the Trials of Ascension?"
Less than half the class throws their hands up, some without hesitation, others glancing around first, gauging the competition.
"I heard they're making the Trials even harder this year."
"Yeah, plus there's going to be scouts from the big guilds watching."
Obinai barely hears them. The Trials of Ascension. A shot at real recognition. His hand shoots up. Beside him, Gideon grins, his scarred face lighting up with excitement.
"Well, I'll be. Ya really fixin' to go through with this, huh??" Gideon says, elbowing Obinai hard enough to make him stumble.
Obinai steadies himself, smirking. "Hell yeah."
But would any of those powerhouses want to align with me?
Lyth raises a hand, the room silencing. His voice lowers. "Listen up. No one is forcing you into this. The Trials aren't mandatory, and if you aren't ready, you should sit down now."
Some students shift uncomfortably. A few hands lower.
"If you do step in, you need to understand something very clearly." Lyth pauses. "You won't just be fighting mages. There will be ki users. Aura warriors. Students trained in ways you can't even imagine. So, tell me—who here actually knows how to fight one?"
Silence. Then, a few hands rise. The elves, of course. Always so damn sure of themselves. And then—Fiora, Gideon, and Obinai.
Some elves glance at Obinai, brows raised. He meets their gazes, unflinching.
Lyth's attention locks onto them. He nods, intrigued. "Excellent." His gaze shifts to Elrik. "Alright, Elrik, since you're so confident—what's the number one rule when fighting a martial artist?"
Elrik straightens. "Don't blink."
"Correct." Lyth snaps his fingers. "The second you lose sight of them, you're done. Martial artists move faster than most of you can track, and they hit harder than any spell you'll ever cast. If you can't keep up, you're dead weight."
Obinai's fingers twitch at his sides. He remembers Bram knocking him flat with a single kick. The sheer force, the speed—it was terrifying.
I may have to fight him.
Lyth starts pacing. "Most of you don't stand a chance in a one-on-one. That's just the reality. But that's why, starting today, we're going to fix that. You're going to learn how to close that gap. How to survive. Maybe even win."
A shift in his tone. His pacing slows. Then—Lyth smirks. "But let's be honest. No one is watching the Trials just for the technicals."
A flicker of confusion in the students. Lyth lets it simmer before he laughs, shaking his head. "No, no. They want a show. They want to be entertained. And that's what the Trials really are—a spectacle. A chance to be seen by guilds, royals, the big names. Your shot at making a name for yourself."
Lyth stops dead center, hands on his hips. "I have until the end of the month to make sure you don't embarrass yourselves. That means training like hell, learning to think on your feet, and fighting smarter. Because surviving isn't enough. If you want to be remembered, you have to make them sit up and say, 'I want them.'"
A slow grin creeps onto Obinai's face. He looks around. The fire's lit in everyone's eyes now. Gideon cracks his knuckles. Fiora's jaw tightens, calculating. Even the elves seem more focused. The weight of the moment settles over him like an electric charge in the air before a storm.
...
Over the next few weeks, Obinai's training becomes relentless. He learns new spells—[Inferno Burst], a concentrated blast of fire that can sear through armor; [Aqua Blade], a high-pressure stream of water sharp enough to carve stone; [Earth Spire], a sudden, violent eruption of rock to shield or strike; and [Bind], twisting tendrils of purple light that latch onto enemies like grasping hands.
But it's not enough.
One evening, he's holed up in the library, tucked away in a dimly lit corner where dust settles thick on the forgotten shelves. His hand hovers in front of him, fingers trembling as he struggles to condense a simple sphere of water. It quivers, unstable, then collapses with a pathetic splash against the wooden floor.
Obinai grits his teeth. Again.
He focuses, drawing on the diagrams in the book beside him, muttering the incantation under his breath. The water reforms, barely holding its shape. He pushes further, trying to sharpen it, force it into a blade.
It dissolves.
His hands shake.
With a snarl, he swipes the books off the table. They crash to the floor, pages fluttering like wounded birds. "This is basic stuff, damn it," he growls. "Bottom-of-the-barrel, second-circle spell garbage."
The words taste bitter. He shouldn't be struggling with this. Not after everything.
Exhaling sharply, he drops to his knees, reaching to gather the scattered books.
His fingers brush over something different. A book wedged between the others, its leather cover cracked, the ink on its spine faded with age. He hesitates, then picks it up.
The moment he flips it open, a shiver prickles down his spine.
The pages pulse beneath his fingertips, as if alive, the ink shifting ever so slightly. Warnings litter the margins, scrawled in a frantic hand. The words seem to burn into his mind, carving themselves deep...
"What the hell is this?" he mutters.
Excitement and unease coil together in his chest. This—this could be what he needs.
When he finally leaves the library, the book secured in his bag, his mind still reels. He's so lost in thought he nearly misses the figure slipping through the shadows ahead.
Kaelen.
The bastard moves like smoke, silent and fluid. For a split second, before the hood falls over his face, Obinai catches a glimpse—a grin, twisted and unnatural. It sends ice crawling up his spine.
"That ain't normal," he mutters. He watches Kaelen disappear into the night, a part of him wanting to follow.
But he doesn't.
...
The day before the Trials, the cafeteria is a riot of noise. The air buzzes with energy, laughter and nervous chatter mixing with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread. Students cram into tables, boasting, strategizing, shoving food into their mouths like it's their last meal.
Obinai sits with Bram and Gideon, though Gideon's more focused on inhaling his food than conversation. The guy's got a plate piled high, shoveling it in with reckless abandon.
"I'm tellin' ya," Gideon says through a mouthful, his accent thick, words half-mangled by the food he's barely chewed. "If I get scouted by the Nilian Guild, I'm set fer life. Them fellas ain't just diggin' up rocks, nah—they're pullin' out gold, mythril, them ancient stones folks kill for. You even got a clue how much coin they rake in?"
He gestures with a hunk of bread, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. A few crumbs fly from his mouth, landing on the table.
Bram snorts, tearing into a chunk of meat with his teeth before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Tch, fuck a mining guild. That's thinkin' small, dumbass. Royals, now that's where the real power's at. If I get a noble's favor, that's it. Titles, lands, servants, all that fancy shit. Might even start my own house. Imagine that—House Bram, strongest in the damn realm." He smirks, as if he can already see himself draped in finery.
Obinai watches them, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You two really think anyone's gonna take a human seriously?"
The words hang between them. A beat of silence.
Then—Bram barks out a laugh, pounding the table with his fist. Gideon damn near chokes on his drink, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.
"Pffft—hell nah," Bram cackles. "But shit, miracles happen." He leans back, tossing a bone over his shoulder. "Maybe you'll be the first dumb bastard to change things."
Gideon, still coughing, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hah! Or maybe they'll keep ya as some kinda exotic pet! 'Lookee here, we caught us a real-life human, folks! Ain't never seen one up close before!'" He mimics a posh, noble accent, grinning like a fool.
Bram wipes fake tears from his eyes, shaking his head. "Can ya imagine? Fancy room, silk pillows, gettin' fed grapes by some prissy elf lord. 'Oh please, Master Obinai, do perform yer lil' magic tricks for us!'"
Their laughter shakes the table, loud and unfiltered. Nearby students glance over, some frowning, others shaking their heads.
Obinai exhales, shaking his head as he flicks a stray crumb off his sleeve. "Great. Just what I need."
But despite himself, he laughs with them. The ridiculous image, the sheer absurdity of it all—it cuts through the tension he's been carrying, just for a moment.
Tomorrow, the Trials begin.
But for now, he lets himself breathe...