That whole night, Kael trained until his bones hummed like tiny drums beneath his skin.
His dorm was silent except for the rhythmic thud of his footsteps, the faint whisper of his sword slicing air, and the occasional crackle of unstable mana around his fingertips.
The lamp burned low… then died.
Kael didn't notice. Sweat dripped from his chin. He inhaled deeply, braced himself, and punched forward.
FWOOOM.
A ripple spread across his knuckles, like smoke dancing underwater.
"…Again."
He shook his numb arm, gritted his teeth, and tried to form a mana sphere like Nathan had shown earlier.
A faint spark.
Then—
POP!
A mini-explosion.
Kael flew backward and smashed into his bed.
"…Ow."
He lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling.
He didn't feel defeated.
Hungry to grow. Hungry to survive. Hungry to rewrite fate.
When the sun began to rise, he was still practicing.
He didn't even hear the morning bell.
The Next Morning
Ground One bustled like a hive about to erupt.
