That night, Serin and I met in the training hall.
The air was silent, still heavy with what I had witnessed at school.
The tanks.
The screaming.
The white crystal burning like a second sun.
Serin stood in her humanoid form, arms folded, expression calm.
"You saw their power today," she said. "From now on, you must be strong enough to face one alone. No hesitation."
I swallowed once. "I'm ready."
"Then your first test — Water versus Wind."
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
A man, face hidden beneath a hood, eyes sharp like polished glass.
No words. No introduction. Just presence — focused and absolute.
We took our positions.
No countdown.
No signal.
Just movement.
He launched forward using wind to propel his steps — the air itself pushing him faster. His sword cut a clean arc toward my neck. I brought my blade up just in time — steel clashed, sparks flew, and we both stepped back, testing distance.
He moved first again.
Wind coiled around his blade, and every strike came faster than the last. I grounded my stance, redirecting force rather than blocking it head-on. I released my grip with one hand, rolled my shoulder, and countered — but he had already shifted, like air slipping through fingers.
I drew my bow, loosed three arrows in a smooth rhythm.
He spun his sword, creating a small cyclone.
The arrows bent away, caught in his wind.
So I changed the wind.
I focused — slow breath — feeling moisture in the air.
I **pulled** the water from the spinning gust and condensed it.
The tornado collapsed into droplets.
Then I fired again — water-infused arrows whistling forward.
He sliced them midair — fast, precise — but not effortless.
The fight sharpened.
He shot wind-blades at me. I answered with a compressed water bullet — the impact splitting his attack in two. The wind mage paused, breath uneven.
We rushed each other.
Steel met steel.
Mana sparked.
Feet scraped against stone.
We both tried to break the other's stance, to cut the other's sword, to force a misstep. His kick came — a full spinning roundhouse — I blocked with my forearm and felt pain shudder through bone.
He expected me to retreat.
So I faked left with my hand — and struck right with my foot.
My heel connected with his ribs.
He gasped — off balance.
I drove my fists forward, planting both punches into his abdomen.
Then I embedded mana into one final blow and sent it into his jaw—
Before contact landed, Serin appeared between us, hand raised.
"Enough."
The wind mage staggered back, breathing hard, then bowed and faded out like a mirage.
Serin placed her hand on my shoulder.
Not praising — not comforting — simply acknowledging.
"You've passed the Water Trial."
I exhaled, feeling every bruise.
"Now," Serin continued, "we begin Fire."
"I don't want to fight in the war," I said. "Not yet."
"You don't get to choose that anymore."
Her voice held no cruelty — just truth.
"You are strong. But not strong enough. Not yet."
So the next **two months** burned.
Fire wasn't gentle like water.
It didn't respond to calm.
It demanded **will**.
My veins felt like embers.
My lungs like smoke.
My thoughts like sparks striking metal.
But I endured.
Because I had something to protect.
And when Serin finally said,
"You are now a basic Fire Mage,"
snow had already started falling outside.
The world had refused the demons' demand.
The war had escalated.
Armies stretched thin.
Cities defended by smoke and hope.
Losses on both sides.
Then came the news:
**Ten demons** had appeared in Lahore.
No defensive squads free.
No reinforcements coming.
Serin stood beside me, fox form shifting back into her humanoid shape.
"This is your final trial," she said quietly.
"One year of training… for this moment."
I stepped forward.
"Then we start now."
A demon turned toward us.
Its white crystal pulsed.
Its red eyes locked onto mine.
And the war entered **our city.**