Alyra raised her guard just in time to meet Faela’s strike, and blocked it with ease.

  Her heart jolted from the sudden, feral way it had come at her. Wild and reckless, nothing like the drills. Compared to Tanya’s precision, this felt almost clumsy.

  The girls standing around froze in silence. Varom watched the exchange with the same unreadable calm as always.

  The rules were clear: every strike and block had to be fueled with chakra energy, executed as Fulcrum Strikes, the foundation of their training. A precise method of channeling and compressing power into a single, devastating blow.

  But why had Faela lashed out like that? They were supposed to rely on chakra-empowered strikes, not flail like street brawlers. If she kept this up, both of them would end up punished.

  Alyra stepped back, carving out space and searching for an opening, an instant to strike the way Varom had demanded.

  Faela pressed forward with wild swings and reckless kicks, her white-gray hair snapping across her face with every furious lunge.

  None of it carried the strength or precision to unsettle Alyra. She blocked and slipped aside effortlessly.

  At the edge of the training hall, Varom’s brow tightened. Irritation was already setting in.

  The foolish girl kept ignoring the instructor’s orders, showing no sign of stopping. Damn it. Was she letting panic drive her?

  If Faela wouldn’t take the exercise seriously, Alyra would.

  She drew in a breath, forcing her focus inward to summon her chakra. Until now, she had only practiced that exercise while seated cross-legged, eyes shut, safe in silence under Instructor Claudine’s supervision. She had no idea if she could pull it off here, but she had to try.

  Before she could even begin, Faela lunged again, unleashing a storm of punches and side kicks.

  Alyra blocked, slipped aside, and gave ground once more.

  Stupid girl!

  Alyra kept blocking, kept dodging, kept giving ground. She could’ve pierced through that sloppy guard at any time. Faela’s attacks looked more like desperation than technique, but she didn’t dare throw a normal strike under Varom’s deepening scowl.

  She took another step back. The circle of girls closed in around her. She could hear their whispers at her back. She had no choice: if Faela attacked again, she’d either have to strike back or take the hit.

  Neither option ended well for her.

  Faela came closer, face flushed, breathing hard.

  The line on Varom’s forehead deepened. “Faela,” he said simply.

  That one word made every girl in the hall freeze and turn. Silence fell.

  Varom said nothing else. His face was unreadable except for that furrowed brow, yet Alyra’s every instinct screamed at her to run. It was the same suffocating terror she’d felt when he had unleashed the weight of his immense aura on them during their first lesson.

  Every cell of her body shrieked the same warning: If she didn’t flee, she would die.

  Faela paled and stumbled back. Her icy gray eyes gleamed with feverish light. Panic.

  Pure panic.

  Damn it, the girl had to be out of her mind.

  Why had they paired her with Faela of all people? Her life was already complicated enough. They could at least have given her a more experienced partner, someone who might actually help.

  How could Alyra get through this without disappointing Varom and without hurting her?

  There was no time to figure it out. No choice left. She had to execute the Fulcrum Strike and pray to Orbisar it would come out at least passable. And that Faela would be able to block it.

  Alyra drew chakra into herself. Power tingled through her limbs, her forehead, her core, her chest.

  The same sensation she had felt when meditating cross-legged.

  Maybe this was the right track.

  Faela whispered sharply, “Don’t do it!”

  Alyra’s chest clenched like a vice. Poor thing… maybe she was terrified. But what choice was there?

  Varom gave no reaction. Maybe he hadn’t even heard.

  Alyra mouthed a quick “sorry” and pressed on. She knew Varom. If she didn’t strike soon, things would only get worse. At best, he’d throw her against older, harsher trainees. She didn’t even want to imagine what Tanya would do to her, not to mention the reprimands and punishments for disobedience.

  As expected, the tingling gathered into a ball of heat at her solar plexus. Easier than she had thought. Almost there.

  Faela’s eyes widened, shining with desperate pleading.

  Damn it. Why wasn’t she doing the same instead of cowering?

  The heat surged from Alyra’s chest, and she forced it into her arms. A seasoned Ascendant could pull this off in a heartbeat—multiple times—even in the chaos of battle.

  She felt drained just from charging this single strike, and she hadn’t even released it yet.

  Varom’s pressure eased.

  Faela closed her eyes and pressed her fists together in what looked like a meditation pose.

  What was she doing? Why pull something like that now?

  Too late. The power was already flooding Alyra’s hands. There was no stopping it.

  Orbisar’s energy built inside her fists until they burned like live coals. At least, that’s how it felt. Her lessons had made it clear: a proper Fulcrum Strike demanded a dangerous imbalance of inner energy, the strike itself discharging that tension and restoring harmony within. Easier said than done.

  Some students had passed out just reaching that stage. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. If she collapsed now, every girl in this hall would remember it forever.

  Then something stirred in her arms.

  A crawling beneath the skin, as if some living, sleeping thing had just awakened.

  Death energy! If it flared, her strike would be tainted. A Fulcrum Strike infused with Death energy would kill her for sure.

  The girl still stood before her, eyes shut, fists pressed tight together.

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  Not even trying to block. Idiot! She was going to die!

  Alyra’s pulse thundered in her ears.

  At the edge of the hall, Varom’s eyes narrowed, his frown deepening.

  Oh no. He was noticing something was wrong. This was it… what could she do?

  Faela’s eyes snapped open, arms flung wide. Her irises and pupils were gone. Black, shifting veins crawled across her face.

  What in Orbisar’s name was that? What was happening to her?

  Alyra’s fists burned, bombs ready to detonate if she didn’t release them. The pressure was unbearable, she couldn’t hold it anymore.

  She threw her weight forward and struck with both fists at once.

  Fulcrum Strike.

  A punch that would normally be inefficient became devastating when fueled by Orbisar’s energy.

  The blow erupted in a blinding flash, forcing her eyes shut.

  A wave of heat slammed against her face, like the shockwave from one of Derek’s explosive spells.

  Her blood froze. Breath hitched. Where had all that energy come from? One strike, even with Orbisar’s power, shouldn’t have had that effect. She was only a Sprout!

  Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. What had she done? She had killed her. She had killed a classmate during training. There was no way Faela had survived that.

  Relief from the discharged energy crashed through her, so heavy her body sagged.

  Alyra forced her eyes open. Her vision swam.

  She blinked hard to clear it.

  Faela still stood before her. Her eyes were normal again. The black veins had vanished. She was breathing fast but unharmed.

  Alyra’s gaze swept her head to toe. Chest, face, legs.

  No cuts. No burns. No wounds.

  She looked… fine.

  How? What had just happened?

  Varom’s voice boomed through the hall. “Excellent.”

  The instructor strode toward them.

  Alyra stared at him, mouth hanging open.

  He gave her a small, approving nod before turning to the circle of girls.

  Tanya was watching Alyra with a strange look, eyes wide, brows drawn tight.

  “What you just witnessed,” Varom said, “was an excellent execution of a Fulcrum Strike… and an equally exemplary use of the defensive stance known as the Pulse Ward. My compliments to you both.”

  Faela made a small bow.

  Alyra could only stare, mouth hanging open.

  Unbelievable that this was really happening. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to clear her head.

  Whispers rippled through the girls.

  Apparently, no one here had expected it.

  Alyra’s stunned gaze shifted from Varom to the fragile-looking Faela.

  By Orbisar’s grace, she had pulled off a defensive technique. But how had she survived the touch of Death energy? Alyra was certain it had flared when she’d channeled her power, she had felt it crawling inside her.

  That same power had ripped through the flesh of the massive undead golem.

  None of them—not even Tanya—should have walked away from it unscathed.

  Faela had already gone back to the way she was. Her eyes remained distant, fixed on some faraway point.

  Varom went on. “The Orbisar energy within you is still insufficient. Incomparably weaker than that of a true Orbisar Ascendant. And it will remain so until you absorb the power of your first sacred sphere.”

  He began pacing in a circle, locking eyes with each trainee in turn. Every girl stiffened under his gaze. “These basic techniques are meant to teach you how to gather every scrap of your power into a single point, then unleash it all at once. Even a small amount of energy, if properly focused and released, can cause devastating damage.”

  Mirelle raised her hand. With a nod, Varom gave her leave to speak.

  “What’s the real point of learning these techniques if, once we have the power of the spheres, we’ll never use them again?”

  “An excellent question, Mirelle. Once the spheres’ power is within you, the control you’ve trained here will be what keeps you from becoming one of the monsters that stalk the jungle. Your auric level, combined with your mastery of control, will be the only barrier that allows you to remain human.”

  He stepped closer to Faela, but she gave no sign of noticing, her eyes still distant.

  Varom’s gaze sharpened on her. “The demon craves Orbisar’s power above all else. When it finds someone steeped in that power but unprepared, it descends upon them and takes control.”

  The instructor resumed pacing among them. “You must know there was a time, millennia ago, when no Orbisar Ascendants existed. Before Orbisar revealed himself to the men and women of Elyndra, these techniques were the only way a warrior could survive. The spheres already fell from the sky, yet no one had shown the path, how to wield their power, how to shape a person into an Orbisar Ascendant. They were seen with terror and superstition.”

  He paused, his cold, weighty gaze sweeping across them. “Colossal beasts, gifted with extraordinary powers, roamed the land, and humanity had nothing but the strength of their chakra to defend themselves. In that crucible of terror and death, these techniques were forged, with the Fulcrum Strike as their first cornerstone. The last bulwark raised by humanity’s iron will to endure.”

  His voice rose, filling the training hall. “It is thanks to those men and women that Orbisar deemed us worthy of his gifts and knowledge. Thanks to them, we now understand the power of the spheres and have learned to make it our own and how to drive back the demonic beasts and build our civilization. When you study one of these techniques, you honor them, and you honor yourselves. Moreover, it is through the discipline required to master these techniques that an Orbisar Ascendant learns to keep the power from overwhelming him, from twisting him into a demon.”

  Silence fell over the hall, as if the echo of his words still lingered.

  A shiver ran through Alyra’s body. Power could seep into the mind and drag it into madness. A good man could twist into something monstrous. It sounded just like the story of Ebonshade.

  Her voice broke across the hall. “Is that what happened to Father Elias? I mean… was it the demonic power that corrupted him?”

  A lump rose in her throat. She had spoken without raising her hand. Again.

  Varom lifted an eyebrow. “From what I’ve heard, it was the Cult of the Dead who brought poor Elias low. Otherwise, the demon could never have broken his defenses or his faith. It was a tragedy, but one we cannot blame on the late Elias.”

  Heat flared in Alyra’s cheeks, a fire like Orbisar’s own swelling in her chest. “None of it would’ve happened if Elias hadn’t confiscated the spheres from the Cult. Ebonshade would still stand, and Markus would still be alive, teaching the smith’s craft to those boys right now.”

  Faela lifted her head, eyes settling on Alyra. Her head tilted slightly. She looked surprised.

  All eyes were on Alyra again.

  Varom shook his head. “I don’t know who this Markus is you speak of. You must be confused. Clearly, the ordeal was too much for a Sprout like you.”

  Alyra clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t stand it—everyone treating Elias like an innocent martyr, pinning everything on the Cult. That priest had been just as responsible for the disaster as anyone. Maybe more.

  “Calm yourself…” whispered a familiar voice at her ear.

  Her blood froze. Sierelith? What the hell was she doing here? Alyra’s eyes darted around, but no trace of her appeared. That damned spy always showed up at the worst times.

  “In any case,” the instructor said, pointing at Alyra, “Sprout or not, today she executed a second-level Fulcrum Strike. The amount of energy released in the attack confirms it. There are not many students in this academy who have achieved such a result on their first attempt. Isn’t that right, Tanya?”

  The Thorne looked like a bull about to charge. And Alyra was the target.

  Alyra gaped. What had he just said? There was no way she had pulled off a second-level strike on her first attempt. And why did Tanya suddenly look like she hated her for it?

  The students gasped in wonder, then immediately fell silent when the instructor spoke again.

  “And as if that weren’t enough,” Varom went on, pointing at the pale girl with white hair, “we also witnessed a second-level defense in the very same exchange. A balance of forces as rare as it is perfect. It seems Alyra’s doubts about Faela’s ability to defend herself were… misplaced.”

  The hall went silent.

  No praise. No applause.

  Only eyes. Wide, staring eyes filled with shock and uncertainty at what they had just witnessed.

  And Alyra couldn’t blame them.

  One fluke, maybe. But two? Two such techniques, both from them, the lowest of the low?

  “What does this mean?” Tanya demanded, her voice sharp.

  Varom lifted his chin and crossed his arms. “I don’t recall seeing your hand raised, Thorne.”

  Tanya ignored the rebuke and jabbed a finger at Alyra. “It’s a trick, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I don’t care for your tone.”

  Tanya’s face flushed red. “How could those two possibly pull off something like that?”

  “They’re basic techniques. Every student here is expected to learn them. Don’t you know them as well?”

  Tanya clenched her fists. “I’m a Thorne. They’re not even Seedlings. There’s no way they pulled off second-level techniques on their own!”

  Varom strode toward her, eyes narrowing. “Strange. I could swear I hear an accusation in your voice. Is there something you’re trying to tell me, Tanya?”

  Her breathing quickened, ragged, as if she were straining against something unseen.

  The instructor halted barely a meter from her.

  Tanya’s face drained of color.

  Varom stepped forward.

  She raised her trembling hands. “N-no, sir… I… I’m sorry.”

  The instructor puffed out his chest and pressed in closer. “Did you say something?”

  Tanya squeezed her eyes shut, dropped to her knees, and covered her head with both hands. What escaped her lips wasn’t speech but broken sobs and muffled whimpers.

  Alyra stared, mouth hanging open.

  The invincible Tanya, reduced to this. And Varom hadn’t even laid a finger on her.

  It seemed impossible… and needlessly cruel.

  Varom turned his gaze on the circle of students. “Any other questions?”

  Every head shook at once.

  He nodded. “Good. That’s enough for today. I’ve given you much to reflect on, and I expect you to do so. We’ll resume these exercises in the next lesson.” He strode toward the exit of the training hall.

  No one dared move until he was gone and the door locked behind him.

  No one except Alyra.

  She crouched beside Tanya and laid a hand on her shoulder. Tanya’s body still shook with sobs, though they were beginning to ease. “Are you all right?” Alyra asked softly.

  Tanya shoved her arm away and pushed herself up from the floor. Her eyes were red and wet, her bottom lip trembling. “Stay back. Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  Alyra lifted her hands. “Sure, sorry. I just wanted to know how—”

  “None of your business!”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Alyra shot back.

  Tanya twisted her mouth into a sneer. “It took me two years to reach second level. Two years of sweat and sacrifice.” She jabbed a finger at Alyra. “I’ll never believe someone like you could pull it off so easily.”

  Alyra spread her arms. “I don’t even know how it happened myself! You can’t blame me for something that was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Tanya snapped her head from side to side. “No one executes a second-level Fulcrum Strike by accident! How did you do it? Did your precious Cashnar cast some spell on you? Or should I say Derek?” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “I heard you call him that when you’re alone together.”

  Alyra’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about, Tanya? Have you lost your mind?”

  Tanya’s smile turned mocking. “Well, that would explain how someone like you pulled off that strike on the very first day. Maybe she joins you too, in your… training sessions.” Her gaze flicked toward Faela.

  How could she say that in front of everyone? How could she speak of the Cashnar with such blasphemy?

  Alyra’s heart thundered in her chest like a storm. Something writhed beneath the skin of her arms. She clenched her fists, and that living thing inside pulsed back, eager.

  Every pair of eyes was on her.

  She set her jaw. She couldn’t let herself be treated like this in front of them all or she’d lose every shred of respect.

  “Don’t,” Sierelith whispered in her ear, her breath warm against Alyra’s skin. “This isn’t the time or place.”

  Damn spy. Why did she never appear when Alyra actually needed her?

  A hand gripped her shoulder.

  Alyra’s blood ran cold. For an instant she thought the heretic herself was standing there, bold enough to reveal herself in the middle of the hall.

  But when she turned, she found Faela’s pale, gaunt face instead.

  Her icy eyes were—just this once—sharp, focused. “Come with me, Alyra. We need to talk,” she whispered.

  “Faela,” Alyra said through gritted teeth, “did you hear what she said about us? About the Cashnar?”

  Faela only shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Come.”

  Tanya sneered at them both. “Yes, run along. We don’t need your dirty tricks in this school.”

  Heat rushed to Alyra’s cheeks. She’d had enough.

  Faela seized her hand and began dragging her away.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Let me go!” Alyra screamed.

  Faela didn’t answer. She only pulled harder.

  Alyra tried to yank free but couldn’t. Where had this strength been during the fight? Had she been pretending the whole time? Maybe she had hidden her true abilities, but Alyra couldn’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing.

  Faela dragged her out of the training hall and down the corridor.

  The shouts and laughter of Tanya and the others faded behind them.

  But Faela didn’t stop.

  What the hell had gotten into her?

  They reached the restroom door. The white-haired girl shoved it open with her free hand and yanked Alyra inside.

  Once they were in, Faela shut the door and finally let her go.

  Alyra rubbed her wrist, still numb from that iron grip. “What’s wrong with you? Why did you—”

  “Death energy,” Faela said.

  Alyra’s heart skipped a beat. “What… what did you just say?”

  Faela’s pale face, framed by her gray-white hair, looked like that of a ghost. “Death energy,” she repeated. “It’s inside me too.”