The sparring field had changed.
Kael stepped out into the lower arena, his boots crunching softly on terrain that looked nothing like the one from yesterday. The academy had activated the Adaptive Combat Zone—a dome-like arena that shifted its layout, climate, and element-focus with each match.
Today's center zone shimmered with patches of scorched earth and molten rock.
Fire.
Crimson light rippled across the stone, while floating platforms hovered at random heights. Heat radiated from the center like a slow pulse.
Around the arena, students sat in tiered observation rows. Instructors lined the outer edge, watching with clipped voices and floating holo-tablets that tracked ability levels, reactions, and injuries.
"No weapons," Instructor Velar announced. "Abilities only. Matches will be stopped if taken too far. Medics are in place."
Kael clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, his heart hammering as the first match was called.
A wind-user versus an earth-shaper.
The terrain shifted slightly—stone pillars rising, sharp gusts forming.
The wind-user won, using momentum and feints.
Another match. A flame-wielder versus a water-user. Water won easily—dousing every spark before it ignited.
Then—
"Feyla Rhae. Zone B."
She stood, braid coiled, expression calm.
Her opponent, a cocky lightning user, cracked his knuckles and smirked.
It didn't last long.
Feyla danced around him like a current. Every time he charged an attack, she redirected it with arcs of controlled water. Her final move—spiraling tendrils of steam—forced him to yield before he hit the ground.
Applause followed.
Kael blinked.
She hadn't even looked tired.
Then the bully was called—Tarin Veck. Zone A.
The same arrogant voice. The same cruel grin.
He faced off against a stone-skinned earth manipulator.
It was brutal.
Tarin didn't hold back. He twisted flames into raw force—using his fists, knees, and power without hesitation. The instructors let it continue until the opponent collapsed under a searing blast that singed the observation floor.
"Victory," Instructor Velar declared, but her tone was colder now.
Kael's name came next.
His palms instantly went clammy.
"Kael. Zone C."
He stepped forward, nerves on edge. His opponent was a speed-type wind user, all lean muscle and bouncing energy.
The whistle blew.
Kael barely dodged the first strike.
The wind-wielder darted in fast—feinting left, striking right. Kael staggered, slipping on the heated stone. His embers flared but didn't launch. He ducked, rolled, and waited.
Waited…
Then—opportunity.
A misstep.
Kael jabbed low, then swung high, catching the other fighter in the gut with two precise punches. The wind-wielder fell, winded and dazed.
"Victory: Kael."
Kael stood, stunned.
He hadn't used power—just instinct and movement. But it worked.
Barely.
As he stepped back to the benches, he felt eyes on him. Watching. Judging.
But also—
Feyla.
She nodded once, the faintest smile on her lips.
And that gave Kael something no flame ever could.
Warmth.