The blow grazed across Zander's ribs, and though it wasn't direct, it felt like a hammerhead clipping the edge of his body. Pain ripped through his side, heat blooming in his lungs as the force lifted him off his feet and sent him staggering backward. He skidded along the polished floor, boots screeching until he barely caught himself before tumbling. His breath came sharp and uneven. For a moment, he thought his rib had cracked.
Too fast, he thought, teeth clenched. He's faster and stronger in every way. If I can't see him coming, I'm finished.
But then… he felt it. The echo of that punch still reverberated inside him, not just on the surface but deep—through the bone, through the flesh. It wasn't a simple strike. The power hadn't just slammed into him; it had drilled into him with a distinct, spiraling frequency. The force spun through his body like a corkscrew, dispersing in layers, rippling inside as if Veylan had reached past his guard and twisted his insides.
Zander froze. His eyes widened, and the pain became clarity. "That's it…" he whispered. The vibrations. The resonance. The force wasn't flat; it rotated, piercing deeper than a straight-line strike ever could. It wasn't just brute strength—it was a focused, resonant wave, designed to shatter from within.
The thought struck him like lightning: What if I could replicate that with my own senses? His Heavenbreaker Fist had always been raw—a hammer crashing against walls. But what if it didn't just crush? What if it carried a vibration, a disruptive frequency that tore things apart on a molecular level?
Blood trickled from his lip as he straightened, his fists trembling with something beyond exhaustion. Veylan arched a brow. "Still standing." Zander wiped his mouth, his voice rough but steady. "I'm not done."
He surged forward. This time, his movement wasn't wild. His fist cocked back, body twisting, his weight rolling from heel to hip to shoulder. He exhaled sharply, snapping his arm forward—but instead of letting the force crash flat, he focused on the kinesthetic echoes he'd been training, infusing the blow with a chaotic, spiraling vibration.
The Heavenbreaker Riptide roared forward, not as a hammer but as a wave of internal disruption. The air cracked as the strike grazed Veylan's guard. The instructor's eyes widened faintly as the force didn't just rebound—it vibrated through his guard, a dissonant hum that burrowed into his arm like invisible ripples.
Zander's arm ached. But when he pulled back, he saw it: Veylan's stance had shifted half a step. For the first time. Gasps echoed from the cadets watching. Zander's chest heaved, a fire igniting inside him. It worked. "Interesting," Veylan murmured, flexing his forearm as if to shake off the residual tremor. His gaze sharpened. "You learned something."
Zander lunged again, pouring every ounce of will into that coiled spiral. The floor quaked as he launched another Heavenbreaker Riptide—still rough, still raw, but alive with destructive resonance. This time, Veylan caught the strike directly. His hand clamped around Zander's fist like iron. But his expression tightened as the tremor ran up his arm, a vibration designed to tear muscle from bone.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he twisted, redirecting the chaotic energy, and hurled Zander across the hall. Zander slammed against the ground, the air ripped from his lungs. "Enough," Veylan said firmly. "If you keep pushing that technique, you'll tear your own arm apart before you master it."
Zander coughed, but he couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at his lips. He'd touched it—a fragment of mastery that was uniquely his. Veylan studied him for a long moment before nodding once. "Not bad, boy. Not bad at all." Zander dragged himself back to the line, Callan clapping his shoulder.
"Next," Veylan commanded. "Elira." The lithe girl stepped forward, her golden hair tied back. She darted forward, and three Eliras moved at once, their movements perfectly synchronized. Veylan's eyes narrowed, his head tilting as he focused, not on what he saw, but on what he felt. One illusion's footfall was a fraction of a gram lighter. He cut through it, and the copy vanished like mist. But Elira was clever, layering her illusions with precision. For nearly a full minute, she kept him guessing. But then his patience ended. With a stomp, his aura flared, a pressure wave blasting outward. The illusions shattered like glass. Veylan's palm tapped the real Elira's shoulder, and she dropped to one knee, her strength broken. "Good instincts," he said. "But illusions alone won't win you wars."
"Lyra," Veylan said next. Zander's heart jumped. Lyra carried herself with a quiet confidence. She raised a hand, and the air shimmered. Debris, training weights, even a bench—all lifted, hovering around her like silent guardians. She launched the first strike, flinging a weight at Veylan like a cannonball. He sidestepped, but another came, then another, a storm of metal from every angle. He weaved through it, impossibly fluid. But Lyra wasn't just throwing blindly; each projectile cut off an escape path, herding him. For a moment, it looked as though she might trap him. Then Veylan blurred, his foot crashing into the ground. He shot forward, weaving between the flying projectiles until he was right before her, his fist stopped an inch from her chest. Lyra froze, sweat dripping down her temple. "Strong," Veylan said evenly. "But your control wavers when you are pressured."
"Marek," Veylan called. The broad-shouldered boy cracked his knuckles and charged like a bull, his skin darkening as his muscles bulged. His fists swung like sledgehammers. Veylan blocked the first, sidestepped the second, the sheer persistence forcing him backward. But he was no novice. He shifted suddenly, dropping low and sweeping Marek's leg. As the massive frame collapsed, Veylan's palm slammed into his chest with surgical precision, and the air whooshed from Marek's lungs. "Strength without control," Veylan said calmly. "A double-edged blade."
The hall was silent. Finally, Veylan straightened, his gaze sweeping across them all. "I have seen what you can do. Some of you rely too much on your gifts. Some of you lack precision. All of you have a long path ahead. But three of you have shown the spark of what may become a true fire." The cadets tensed. "The three who will take the Resonance Vial are… Joren." The fire-user smirked, his eyes burning with prideful satisfaction. It was an expected victory. "Lyra." Her eyes widened slightly, then softened into a quiet look of relief. She bowed her head in acknowledgment. The others waited, their gazes shifting between the remaining Martial Masters in the group. Zander's hope, which had flared so brightly moments before, turned to ash in his gut. Of course. It would be one of them. He braced for the inevitable disappointment.
Veylan let the silence drag until it was a physical weight. Then his eyes locked onto Zander. "And Zander."
The name landed like a stone in the quiet hall. Zander's head snapped up, his mind reeling. Gasps and whispers erupted from the other cadets. Veylan silenced them with a single, sharp glare. His gaze returned to Zander, hard as diamond. "You will be the only one of the chosen who has yet to reach the rank of Martial Master. You are being selected based on potential, not proven power. A dangerous gamble." He stepped closer, his voice dropping so only the three of them could truly hear. "Do not make me regret my decision."
The words were a brand, searing a mix of terror and exhilarating triumph into Zander's soul.
Veylan straightened, his voice ringing out to the rest of the group. "The rest of you, dismissed. Defeat is a teacher sharper than any victory. Return to your training. Joren, Lyra, Zander—remain."
The others left.