A week had passed.
Morning light spilled through the high glass walls of the Phoenix Guild's private training quadrant, warm and golden, clashing sharply with the cold precision of the space below. Reinforced alloy floors, layered sigils, and suppression arrays lined every surface—this was one of the few places in the city where even Lyra could cut loose without flattening half a district.
Lyra Emberfall stood at the center of the arena, arms crossed, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. She looked calm. Anyone who knew her well enough understood that this calm was the most dangerous state she possessed.
Across from her stood Ael.
He rolled his shoulders once, inhaling slowly. He felt… centered.
"Alright," Lyra said, breaking the silence. "You asked for this evaluation. I cleared the room, reinforced the arrays, and sent everyone away. Whatever you're about to show me—don't hold back."
Her eyes flicked to him. "But don't be stupid either."
Ael smiled faintly. "I'll try to keep collateral damage to a minimum, Guild Master."
That earned him a snort. "You always say that."
She stepped aside, gesturing toward one of the reinforced targets at the far end of the arena—an obelisk of layered crystal and alloy designed to withstand mid D-rank assaults.
"Start simple," she said. "Show me what you've made."
Ael nodded. He raised one hand.
Ether answered immediately.
Silver light bled into the air around his fingertips, not violent, not unstable—refined. Calm. Lyra felt it before she consciously acknowledged it, the strange pressure that always accompanied his power. It wasn't heat. It wasn't mana fluctuation either. It was closer to standing near something vast and distant, like the vacuum of space pressing inward.
Ael extended two fingers.
"Etherbolt."
The word wasn't a command. It was a declaration.
The silver bolt vanished the instant it formed.
Lyra's eyes widened a fraction—and then the obelisk exploded.
Not outward. Inward.
A pinpoint impact bloomed at its center, followed by a delayed shudder as cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. A heartbeat later, the entire structure collapsed into glowing fragments, melted clean through as if pierced by a perfectly controlled lance of absolute force.
Lyra stared.
No casting time.
No buildup.
No audible discharge.
"…Again," she said quietly.
Ael obliged. Another flick of his fingers. Another silent silver streak. Another target perforated with surgical precision.
Lyra slowly exhaled, the air around her heating involuntarily as her mana reacted to her rising pulse.
"That wasn't lightning," she said. "That was intent given velocity."
Ael's smile turned sheepish. "I was hoping you'd say that."
She turned toward him fully now. "How much Ether does it cost?"
"Low enough to spam in a D-rank dungeon without concern," he answered honestly. "Just ten per use."
Lyra swore under her breath.
She rubbed her forehead once, then straightened. "And the second spell."
Ael's expression sharpened.
"This one's… louder."
He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly. This time, he didn't condense the Ether into a single point. He let it flow outward, wrapping around him in slow, spiraling arcs of silver.
The arena reacted instantly. Suppression sigils flared. Pressure alarms ticked upward.
Lyra's eyes glowed faintly as she reinforced the space with her own mana—instinctive, automatic.
Ael lifted both hands.
"Silver Tempest."
The Ether answered violently.
A spiral of silver lightning erupted outward from his position, expanding in a controlled dome. The air screamed as momentum tore through it. The shockwave rippled across the arena, slamming into the reinforced walls hard enough to make the glyphs pulse under the strain.
When the storm vanished, silence followed.
The floor around Ael was etched with silver scars, radiating outward like a fractured star.
Lyra stood frozen for a long second.
Then she laughed.
Not softly. Not politely.
A full, incredulous laugh burst from her chest, echoing through the ruined stillness of the hall.
"B-rank," she said, shaking her head. "That is a clean B-rank combat skill. No question. And you made it in a week. The other I estimate is a C rank attack skill, and you did both of them this quickly."
Her gaze snapped back to him, blazing. "Do you have any idea how long it takes most awakeners to develop even one original technique at that tier?"
Ael scratched the back of his head. "I had a… head start?"
"Don't," she warned. Then paused. "…Actually, do. Because whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
She took a breath, visibly reigning herself in. "Is that all?"
Ael hesitated.
"Not quite."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Of course not."
Ether surged again—but this time, it flowed downward instead of outward. It wrapped around his arm as Ethereal Weaponry formed, silver light hardening into the familiar shape of a longsword.
Lyra had seen this before.
What she hadn't seen—
—was the way the blade began to change.
Silver light thickened along its edge, then flared, rippling like heat distorted air. The blade didn't ignite. There were no flames—but the sensation washed over Lyra anyway.
Heat.
Not mana-fire.
Not elemental flame.
Something deeper.
Something primal.
The air around the sword warped as if scorched, shimmering with invisible intensity. Lyra felt it lick at her senses like a furnace pressed just out of reach.
Her smile vanished.
"Ael," she said slowly. "What did you just do?"
"I didn't create an Ether-fire spell," he replied calmly. "Not yet."
He shifted his grip.
"I just told the Ether to behave like it burns."
He swung.
The blade cut through an armored target. Not cleanly—violently. The alloy didn't split so much as give up, edges glowing white-hot as if reality itself recoiled from the strike.
The sword dissipated a second later, Ether flowing back into him like it had never been there.
Lyra didn't move.
She was staring at where the target used to be, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something dangerously close to awe.
"You coated a construct…" she said, choosing her words carefully, "…with a simulated elemental principle. I don't even know how your element or whatever you have allows that. But it breaks every principle I know."
Ael nodded. "Fire is just rapid energy transfer. I didn't shape it into flames. I just… let people feel it that way."
Lyra closed her eyes.
Exhaled.
Then opened them again, and when she looked at him now, there was no humor left—only certainty.
"You're done with E-rank rifts."
Ael felt his spine straighten instinctively.
"I'll authorize D-rank deployment," she continued. "Immediately. With supervision at first. And I don't care what the council thinks—I'll personally sign off on every request."
She stepped closer.
"You are not ready because your stats say so," Lyra said quietly. "You're ready because you understand your power. That's rarer. And far more dangerous."
Her gaze softened just a fraction.
"Be careful, Ael. Monsters in D-rank rifts think. They plan. Some hate things they don't understand."
Her eyes flicked briefly to the faint silver residue still lingering in the air.
"And Ether," she added, voice low, "is something they will remember."
Ael nodded, calm and resolute.
"I know."
Lyra turned away, already tapping commands into her wrist device.
"Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow, you are going into a rift."
As Ael left the arena, Ether quiet around him, one thought pulsed steadily through his mind—clear, sharp, and unyielding.
Whatever is coming… I won't be caught unprepared.
And for the first time since his Awakening, the world felt like it was finally starting to realize what he was becoming.