Irfin stepped forward, a lazy flame curling behind one ear, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the figures below.
"Seven of them," he muttered with a scoff.
"Tch. You're lacking ambitions. With how serious you were acting, I thought it'd be a squad... Perhaps even raising a legion. But that's it?"
Above Astra's shoulder, Aeros drifted upside down through the air like a wandering current, pale hair fluttering weightlessly around him.
"Ooooh~" he sang lazily. "So many few little sparks but... i can already smell the chaos."
Neris glided forward, her steps just above the frost, trailing mist. Her gaze swept across the yard like the tide—deep, assessing, and impossible to read.
"They're raw," she observed quietly. "Unpolished. But not empty."
Astra said nothing.
The frost on the railing glinted gold as the morning sun warmed the stone. Below, the seven figures moved with focus. imperfect yet relentless.
Some stumbled. Some surged. None gave up.
Astra watched without blinking. Then her voice broke the silence again, quiet but steady, more statement than explanation.
"You asked why I remembered you now," she said. "After one hundred eighty-nine years."
She didn't turn to face them.
"That's why."
In the west quadrant, Cassia knelt beside a chalk-drawn summoning circle. Her hands hovered above the markings, fingers trembling from restraint rather than fear.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration, lips whispering an incantation under her breath. A faint shimmer began to take shape inside the circle—wavering, unstable, but present.
Neris tilted her head, observing quietly.
"Her soul is gentle," she murmured, "but her will is firm."
The faint mist around her shifted thoughtfully.
"She listens before she commands. That's rare among summoners nowadays."
"She carries quiet fear," Terra said slowly. "And quiet strength."
Terra nodded approvingly. "That's a good balance. It means her bindings won't shatter too easily."
To the east, Gerald sprinted from post to post, his form a blur. Sand kicked up under his boots, his sword untouched at his side as he focused solely on speed—dashing, evading, pivoting through moving obstacles Astra had set for him days ago.
His movements were swift, disciplined—dodging, weaving, pivoting through the course. The test wasn't about battle. It was about timing, instinct, and trust in one's own body.
A gust kicked up as Aeros gave a low whistle, floating lazily through the air.
"Oho~ He's got the legs," Aeros said with amusement. "But he runs like someone trying to outrun his own doubts."
"He is," Astra said, her gaze fixed on Gerald. "He thinks loyalty alone is enough. I need him to understand that choice is stronger."
Aeros drifted closer, leaning his weightless form on her shoulder, grinning like a breeze that knew secrets.
"Fast feet," he mused. "Slower heart."
His grin softened faintly. "That one's carrying too much duty in his bones."
Astra folded her arms.
"I'm giving him speed so he can finally learn to run toward something," she said quietly, "instead of always running from failure."
Aeros hummed approvingly. "Mmm. He might actually be entertaining to torment."
At the center of the courtyard, Lily and Lora clashed relentlessly.
Lily conjured flickering arcs of red fire between her palms, hurling them with practiced aggression.
Lora met every blast with fluid motion—sharp footwork, blade flashing. Her sword always stopped an inch from her sister's face. Neither held back.
Flames danced. Steel flashed. Neither gave an inch.
Irfin grinned, clearly enjoying the display.
"The loud one's got fire," he said approvingly. "Literally and figuratively. She's going to destroy something eventually."
Beside him, Terra stood still as stone, watching Lora with quiet intensity.
"And the quiet one doesn't need to speak. Her sword speaks enough."
At that exact moment, Lily snapped both hands forward.
Red lightning burst violently across the training field toward a wooden target.
At the same time, Lora emerged behind it—blade slicing clean through the target's frame.
Half scorched.
Half cleaved.
Fully destroyed.
Irfin gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"The fire-girl's got guts," he declared. "I like her."
"She just needs to stop thinking so damn much before striking."
"And the sword-girl thinks too little," Neris said quietly, eyes on Lora. "Her strikes are instinct. But even instinct must learn patience."
Astra's arms tightened loosely across her chest. "They are sisters. They sharpen each other."
Aeros smirked. "Charming siblings."
In the shaded corner of the training grounds, Melinda worked quietly at a small wooden table cluttered with herbs, powders, glass vials, and handwritten notes.
Every movement she made was precise and measured.
Dried herbs were crushed carefully beneath her mortar before being blended into a thin black liquid. She stirred once. Tested the consistency. Brought it near her nose. Adjusted the mixture again.
Not a single motion was wasted. Not a single hesitation existed in her hands. A drop of the finished poison fell into a small cup beside her.
Nearby, a rat twitched once after drinking it then collapsed completely still. Melinda calmly scribbled something into her notes.
Then she dipped a slender dart into a purplish mixture and flicked it casually toward a straw dummy. The straw blackened instantly then withered inward like rotting leaves.
Neris's expression didn't change, but her voice cooled slightly. "She crafts stillness in silence. Her kindness masks something venomous."
Astra answered simply, "Melinda is training in poison craft."
Irfin turned sharply toward her, visibly appalled. "Does that woman ever cooks for you?"
"Every day."
Irfin stared at Astra for a full three seconds.
"…You have frightening levels of trust."
Aeros floated closer immediately, visibly delighted.
"Ooooh~ she's dangerous," he sang.
Terra's deep gaze remained fixed on Melinda. "She's slow, but dangerous. Her roots run deep."
To Terra, Melinda was like an old tree—weathered, patient, unshakable. And surprisingly difficult to destroy once firmly planted.
Just beyond the main yard, Ella moved alone through a different form of training entirely.
Balanced atop a narrow wooden beam, she leapt soundlessly between elevated posts with twin knives flashing in her hands.
Every movement was fluid.
Ghostlike.
Not a breath of sound followed her as she dropped behind a straw dummy and slit its throat in a single, clean motion.
Aeros immediately leaned forward with interest sparkling in his eyes.
"Now she's fun."
Astra watched Ella calmly.
"She learned very early that people see quiet girls as harmless," she said.
A small pause followed. "She's turned that into a weapon."
Irfin snorted. "She's absolutely going to stab someone before they know she's there."
"That's the point."
Irfin gave Astra a long look.
"You're building a nest of vipers, little witch."
"Better my vipers," Astra said after a beat,
"than the world's."
That answer earned silence even from Irfin.
Far from the others, Claire was sitting alone near the edge of the frost-covered grounds. A thick book rested open across her lap while brittle winter grass bent softly around her.
Her eyes scanned page after page with unwavering concentration, fingers occasionally tracing symbols in the air as though memorizing their shape through instinct alone.
Her attention fixed so completely on the pages that it seemed the world around her no longer existed.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, softly, Neris broke the silence.
"She's remarkably focused."
Terra gave one slow nod.
"That is a rare quality in students."
Aeros landed beside Astra, crouching low.
"You're planting seeds, little one," he murmured.
Astra's gaze remained fixed on the seven below. Softly, almost to herself, she answered:
"And this time…"
A faint wind stirred through her silver hair.
"I'll see them grow."
The spirits fell silent, watching as the seven continued—failing, falling and getting back up.
And slowly, something shifted.
Not in the seven.
In the four who watched them.
For the first time in decades, they weren't looking at a battlefield or a burning city or a collapsing world.
They were looking at something being built.