Kael's muscles burned.
He hit the mat hard, breath knocked from his lungs, again.
"Get up," came a calm voice.
Natasha stood over him, blade in hand. She hadn't broken a sweat. Her rapier—Fateweaver—glinted with a frost that refused to melt.
Kael growled and pushed himself up. "You call this training?"
"I call it correction," she replied, stepping back into stance. "You rely too much on raw power. That's why Cruel Sun destroyed everything."
The words stung more than her blade.
Around the training chamber, Team B watched. Luna leaned against a pillar, spear in hand, quietly observing. James flicked playing cards into the air, clearly enjoying the show. The Resonance Twins sat cross-legged, sharing popcorn.
Natasha lunged again. Kael ducked, letting fire ignite around his fist, aiming a sweeping punch—too wide. She spun, blade nicking his shoulder with precision. Ice bloomed along his collarbone, numbing the skin instantly.
He staggered back.
"Stop flailing like a dying phoenix," Natasha snapped. "Fire is not chaos. It is discipline under pressure. Learn that, or die like the last fools who tried to master it."
Kael clenched his fists, heat radiating from his skin. His vision blurred—rage, shame, memory. That day in the courtyard. His father's words. The sun exploding from his hands.
He struck again—harder, faster—but Natasha sidestepped, catching him by the wrist and flipping him effortlessly.
Again, the mat.
Evan chuckled from the corner where he was cleaning his railgun. "She only throws people she sees potential in."
Natasha stepped back. "That's enough for now. You'll train with someone else tomorrow."
Kael sat up, coughing. "Who?"
Later That Day – Training Hall 3
Kael stood across from a new opponent: a tall, tan-skinned man wrapped in desert-hued combat gear. A scimitar rested across his shoulders, and sand swirled faintly around his feet.
"Khaleed Sayegh," the man said, voice deep and slow. "Vice leader of Team A. Today, I teach you what real war feels like."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You don't look like a teacher."
"I'm not. I'm a reminder."
The air shimmered—and then the sand came.
A tidal wave of grit surged toward Kael. He rolled to the side, flaming through his palms to redirect the flow. But it moved with terrifying intelligence—Khaleed's Arcana, a sand-based variation of Earth, was precise and suffocating.
"You cannot burn the desert," Khaleed said. "Only endure it."
Kael erupted in flame, blasting back the sandstorm. The heat clashed with grit, turning the air to smoke. He leapt forward, punching toward Khaleed's chest—but the scimitar Creed was already there.
Steel met fire.
The clash shook the floor.
Khaleed's strength was monstrous. Kael dropped back, sweat pouring down his face.
"You hesitate," Khaleed said. "You still think the fire is your enemy."
Kael roared and unleashed a wave of fire, but it only scorched empty air. Khaleed vanished into the sand, emerging behind him and knocking him down with the flat of his blade.
"You will not survive a mission like this," Khaleed muttered, disappointed.
Kael gritted his teeth.
"I'll get stronger."
"You don't need to be strong," Khaleed said, walking away. "You need to be right. Fire alone won't save you. Find your reason."
Night – Base Omega Dorms
Kael sat on his bunk, shirt off, bruises blooming across his chest and arms. He stared at his dragon-shaped birthmark in the mirror.
Find your reason.
He didn't know what that was yet.
But as Luna knocked on the door, stepping in with a bag of cold packs, he thought...
Maybe he was getting closer.