Garry walked into the combat hall, already set up for the class.
First-year students filled the seats, a mix of nerves and excitement hanging in the air. Some were practically jumping forward, while others sat like statues, hands gripping their knees. No one seemed relaxed.
He took a seat near the middle, keeping quiet.
A man stood on the wide stone platform.
Tall and broad, with dark hair pulled back, he stood straight and still, as if he'd been there for hours. Faint lines radiated from his feet on the stone floor.
Two students stood apart behind him, facing each other in silence.
One was thin and moved like a cat, pale hair shifting with every move. His eyes darted around, never settling.
The other was built more like a rock, steady and calm. The stone around his boots was damp.
The man stepped forward.
"I'm Jorgey Morvain," he said. His voice was strong but calm, easily reaching the back of the hall. "This is a first-year combat observation class."
The room went silent.
"You're here to learn how fights start and how they end," Jorgey continued. He paused to let it sink in. "No cheering, no interruptions. Don't think you're going to show off today."
Another pause.
"Speak, and you're out," he added.
No one moved.
Jorgey turned slightly. "Rethen Cruel. Xever Fery."
They nodded.
"Begin."
Rethen moved first, a blur of motion. He didn't charge straight ahead but came at an angle, barely touching the ground. A burst of air shot him forward.
A few students gasped.
Xever reacted without missing a beat.
Water rose from the platform, circling his forearm as he turned. Rather than meeting the attack head-on, he redirected it.
The first strike landed fast.
Air met the water barrier, exploding into ripples across the floor. Rethen twisted, sending another blast low, toward Xever's feet.
Xever slid back, boots scraping, a thin layer of water spreading beneath him to absorb the hit.
They stepped apart.
Rethen smiled slightly and kept up the pressure.
Wind swirled around him as he moved, sending sharp gusts forward, not to cut, but to hit. He was never in one place long enough to be an easy target.
Xever's response was to shape the water into layers, each one catching a different angle of attack. The floor darkened as the moisture spread, and he moved more smoothly, using the slick surface to turn and dodge.
The tension in the hall got thicker.
Rethen upped his attacks, launching himself up with a blast of air before slamming down, sending a direct wave toward Xever's chest.
Xever crossed his arms as water surged up into a wall.
The impact echoed.
Xever slid back, breath escaping through his teeth.
Rethen didn't let up.
Too fast, Garry thought. He's going for the finish.
Rethen's attacks grew wider and more forceful—but less controlled.
Xever pulled more water, shaping it into whips that lashed out. One hit Rethen's shoulder, throwing him off balance.
A ripple of reaction went through the crowd—quick, nervous, and immediately hushed.
Jorgey Morvain didn't flinch.
The fight picked up pace.
Rethen's breathing grew heavy. His attacks were sharper now, but sloppier. Each blast lacked any real aim.
Xever was struggling, too.
Water pooled around him, and his movements slowed as he fought to keep it all in shape. He hesitated for a split second, and Rethen hit him with a blast that knocked the wind out of him.
Xever staggered.
Rethen gathered air around himself, building pressure.
Xever did the same with water.
They moved at the same time.
Air and water crashed.
The impact shook the hall.
A shockwave went out, forcing students to brace themselves.
When the mist cleared—
Both fighters were on their knees.
Rethen gasped for air, one hand on the stone.
Xever coughed, water uselessly spilling from his hand as his shoulders dropped.
Jorgey Morvain stepped forward.
"Enough."
The word cut through the hall.
Silence.
Jorgey Morvain didn't dismiss them.
Instead, he turned back to the platform, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone.
"This wasn't about who won," he said, gesturing to the lines on the floor. "It was about spacing, timing, and knowing when enough power is too much."
He stopped and looked at the students.
"Most beginners think combat is about power," Jorgey went on. "They think the strongest or fastest wins."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"That gets people killed."
He pointed out moments from the fight.
"When Rethen used more power, his movements got wider. His breathing got shallow. He lost focus."
Then he turned to Xever.
"When Xever hesitated, he gave up control. Defense isn't waiting. It's deciding what happens next."
The students were silent.
"For the next hour, we'll take this fight apart," Jorgey said.
And he did.
He went over positioning—how a single step could change everything. He talked about breathing, posture, and how rhythm mattered more than raw power. He spoke about the area they were in, how water changed the stone and how air moved in a small space.
He showed them where both fighters could have ended the fight safely—and where they had gone too far.
Garry lost track of time.
Questions were asked. Jorgey answered without extra details, fixing wrong ideas.
By the time he stepped back, the hall felt different.
More serious.
"This class went on," Jorgey said finally, "because fighting doesn't stop when you're tired."
He looked at the students.
"You're not here to learn how to win. You're here to learn how to survive."
The bell rang.
Loud and final.
Two hours had passed.
Students got up slowly, with no chatter as they left the hall.
Garry stayed in his seat for a moment.
If he had been up there—
He wouldn't have lasted ten seconds.
The hall emptied.
Students left quietly, looking thoughtful. Whatever excitement they had felt going in had been replaced by something heavier.
Garry stepped into the corridor and stopped.
The academy felt different.
He turned away from the crowd and headed toward the courtyard. The air was cool, and he could smell stone and grass. Sunlight came through the arches, casting shadows on the paths.
Fifteen-minute break, he remembered.
He walked, hands in his pockets, thinking about the class. Air and water clashing. Both fighters faltering—not from weakness, but from pushing too hard.
Control, Jorgey Morvain had said.
Garry stopped near the edge of the courtyard, by a railing. Beyond it were practice fields, trees lining the edges.
"You were really quiet back there."
The voice surprised him.
Garry turned.
A boy with light blue hair stood nearby, looking curious.
"I'm Boran Hezst," he said, smiling easily. "You were sitting next to me in class."
"Oh—" Garry straightened up a bit. "I'm Garry. Garry Latherm."
There was a pause.
"You didn't say much," Boran added. "Not during the lecture, either."
Garry rubbed his neck, feeling awkward. "I'm… kind of quiet. You didn't talk, either, so I thought I shouldn't."
Boran blinked, then laughed.
A short, surprised sound.
"Fair enough," he said. "Guess we both thought it was safer to be quiet."
The mood lightened.
They leaned against the railing, not too close together.
"So," Boran said, "where are you from?"
"Kolad village," Garry replied. "South part of the continent. Not too far, maybe two or three days by carriage."
Boran hummed. "Rural, then."
"Yeah."
"And you?"
"Jeffrey Town," Boran said. "The capital."
Garry turned sharply. "The capital?"
Boran looked at him, amused. "Surprised?"
"I just—" Garry hesitated. "I didn't think people from the capital would come all the way here."
Boran scratched his cheek, looking a bit sheepish. "Well… I didn't exactly choose to come here."
Garry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't pass the entrance test at Horseic Magic Academy," Boran said.
Garry stared.
"…There are other magic academies?"
Boran stared back.
"You're kidding," he said slowly. "Right?"
Garry shook his head. "I thought Arcaseic was the only one."
Boran looked genuinely stunned for a second.
Then he laughed.
A louder laugh this time.
"Wow," he said. "You really are from the countryside."
Garry felt his face warm. "Is it that obvious?"
"Just a little," Boran replied, still smiling. "Yeah, there are others. Horseic's just the biggest in the capital. Arcaseic's… different."
"Different how?"
"Stricter," Boran said after a moment. "Less flashy. More… serious."
Garry thought of Jorgey Morvain.
That sounded about right.
Before he could ask more, a bell rang.
Loud and clear.
Boran pushed off the railing. "Looks like break's over."
"Yeah," Garry said.
Boran glanced back as they started walking. "We'll talk more later."
Garry nodded. "I'd like that."
They headed back toward the building, walking easily together.