The sun had just begun to peer above the horizon, brushing the skies over ElderGlow Academy with soft streaks of gold and pale lavender.
Dew still clung to the grass like scattered crystal dust, and a cool breeze danced through the high-walled courtyards of the academy grounds.
In a secluded stone-ringed training field near the eastern edge of the campus, four silhouettes moved with sharp discipline and controlled breath.
Damon, Anaya, Celeste, and Daveon—ElderGlow's Year Three representatives—were already deep into their warm-ups.
Even without the pressure of their own trials yet upon them, they knew better than to treat these mornings lightly. In just two days, they'd step onto the sa arena floor where Year Ones and Twos had already fought tooth and nail.
And when they did, expectations wouldn't be high.
They'd be absolute.
"I swear if I have to stretch my hamstrings one more ti," Daveon grunted, reaching down again toward the soles of his boots. "They're gonna file a complaint to the dean. This isn't looking like training anymore. Slls like torture."
"I'd like to see them try," Celeste replied dryly. She was already in a full split, rotating her upper torso in slow circles. "So of us train because we plan to survive next week."
Anaya smirked as she parried three invisible strikes in front of her with her twin daggers. "And so of us train because we like making boys cry."
"Stop looking at when you say that," Daveon said.
Damon remained silent, eyes half-lidded as he channeled a slow stream of magic essence through his fingertips. Around him, the air shimred faintly, drawing in and collapsing like breath itself.
Their morning rituals were almost sacred by now—structured chaos ford from months of discipline and more than a few broken bones.
But today, the peace didn't last long.
A ripple of mana. A flicker of presence.
Then—
"Found you."
They all turned at the sa ti.
Miss Leana stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, her robe swaying with the breeze. Her long hair was pulled into a sharp ponytail, and her ever-unreadable expression sat comfortably between "bored", "I'm planning sothing terrible," and "you four are about to be cooked."
"Oh gods," Daveon said, straightening up instantly. "We didn't break curfew again, did we?"
"No," Leana said.
Damon narrowed his eyes. "Then what brings you out this early?"
"I thought," she said casually, "you four might like a bit of pre-competition tuning."
Anaya blinked. "You an... you're going to train with us?"
"No," Leana said. "I'm going to fight you."
There was a pause. An eerie silence.
Daveon took half a step back. "Wait, all four of us?"
"Yes," Leana replied.
"At once?"
"Yes."
Celeste exchanged a look with Anaya. "This doesn't feel like training. This feels like a mugging."
"I'm not using my full strength," Leana added, drawing a smooth training blade from her side. "Think of it as... sparring. Educational."
"Define 'educational,'" Damon said, already shifting his stance.
But it was too late.
She moved.
Boom!
In less than a blink, Leana's foot connected with Daveon's gut, sending him skidding across the dirt like a flat stone over water.
Anaya's eyes widened. "Oh—"
"Why do I have to be the first target!" Daveon scread in pain as he shot backwards.
"Because you're the most distracted." Leana said as she moved.
She pivoted mid-air and landed between Celeste and Damon. Celeste swung her glaive with practiced precision—only for Leana to slide beneath it, grab her ankle, and hurl her backward with a whirl of movent that barely looked like effort.
Damon reacted instantly, drawing mana through his palm and firing a compression burst.
She caught it with one hand.
One. Hand.
Then she flung it right back at him—twisted with a flick of her wrist into a spiraling crescent of kinetic energy. He barely managed to dodge it.
"Engage!" Anaya shouted, diving into the fray.
The four of them recovered quickly—no strangers to Leana's insane standards. Within seconds, they were coordinated again.
Celeste called out positioning. Daveon harassed with fla bursts. Anaya darted into blind spots. Damon used his magic to try and corner her movents.
It didn't matter.
For every calculated maneuver, Leana countered with twice the speed and triple the experience. She disard Anaya in less than ten seconds, parried Daveon's blade until his wrists burned, redirected Celeste's wind-infused strikes, and outpaced Damon's mana channeling before he could even shift strategies.
She wasn't just fast.
She was rciless.
"You're overthinking," she snapped at Celeste mid-combo. "Your glaive's top-heavy. Adjust your elbow, not your stance."
She jabbed Daveon in the ribs with the hilt of her blade. "Don't tell your opponent your next move with your eyes, you fool."
She caught Damon's wrist in mid-strike. "Sloppy."
And Anaya? She didn't even see the blow that sent her flipping through the air.
Booom!!
Anaya slamd into the ground like a bag of wheat.
Five minutes.
That's how long it took.
Five minutes of complete, unrelenting humiliation.
When it was done, all four lay groaning in the grass, sweating and bruised, limbs splayed out in positions that could only be described as unfortunate.
Leana stood over them, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves.
"Well," she said, voice light. "You're not hopeless. But you're a long way from ready."
"Could've... led with that," Daveon wheezed.
Celeste's hand rose weakly. "Permission to die."
Anaya grunted. "Denied. You're dying with us."
Leana pulled out a small wooden box and opened it, revealing four shimring teal pills nestled inside.
"Recovery pills," she said, tossing one at each of them. "High-grade. Don't waste them."
Damon caught his, sat up slowly, and stared at her with narrowed eyes. "So what was the point of this?"
"To remind you," Leana said, "that you're not the strongest in the arena. Not yet. But you can be."
Her gaze shifted to each of them. Not cold. Not mocking.
Just... asured.
"You have a few hours," she said. "Use them well."
Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked off—her long robe trailing behind her, the sunlight glinting across the polished edge of her training blade.
The four of them sat in silence for a mont, nursing their bruised egos and bodies alike.
Then Daveon finally said it.
"I love her."
"Shut up," everyone groaned in unison.
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