The days immediately following the Guild Academy entrance exam were a strange period of quiet turbulence for Kaela. The Academy accepted her, but the acceptance was lukewarm, tinged with confusion. Her scores in the physical and mental aptitude tests were exceptional, but her Aura readings were the lowest among the Novices. The judges, particularly Dame Elara, were left arguing over her success: was it a fluke, or a demonstration of a highly specialized, unorthodox skill?
For Kaela, the victory was hollow. The Novice rank, earned by passing the exam, didn't feel like an achievement; it felt like a ticket to a harder fight. She returned to the Rookery, but her routines had to change. She was now obligated to attend mandatory Novice classes in the gleaming marble halls of the Bastion of the Seven.
The classes were everything Hagar had trained her to despise. They focused on standard Guild forms: The Sun Stance, designed to maximize Aura projection, and The Iron Shell, a defensive form relying on thick Aura coating. The instructors, mostly Adept or Knight ranked, emphasized quantity over control, demanding massive, flashy bursts of spiritual energy.
Kaela sat through these lessons like a statue, carefully concealing the Formless Style. She quickly realized her true weakness was not her Ember Aura, but the total disparity between her training and the expectations of the Guild. The simple act of manifesting a visible flame on her sword, a requirement for practical grading, drained her core, leaving her exhausted and aching.
Her peers made her life miserable. The ringleader was Silas Corvus, the noble youth with the bright Flame Aura whom Kaela had briefly encountered. Silas saw Kaela's low Aura rank and her rust-covered sword not as a challenge, but as a disgusting aberration that threatened the purity of the Guild.
One afternoon, during a swordsmanship lecture in the training yard, Silas cornered her.
"The Academy is not a home for rats, Vane," Silas sneered, his polished rapier glinting in the sun. He was surrounded by a dozen other noble Novices, all of whom shared his contempt.
Kaela simply adjusted the sheath of Rust-Eater. "I passed the same exam you did, Corvus."
"By cheating the metrics," he hissed. "You used parlor tricks and a piece of scrap metal to break a fragile rune. You can't survive a true duel. You have no Flame in your soul, only cheap, smoky Ember."
Silas didn't wait for a reply. He manifested his Flame Aura—a vibrant, pulsating crimson energy that coated his rapier. It was beautiful, powerful, and utterly wasted on a training duel. He lunged in the standard Sun Stance, aiming a fast, heavy cut at Kaela's shoulder.
Kaela knew Silas was using a heavy-handed, 5-point energy expenditure maneuver designed to impress his friends, not defeat an opponent. She moved instantly into the Formless Calculus.
She didn't block. She executed a barely perceptible pivot on her heel, letting the crimson-coated rapier whistle past her ear by less than an inch. As his sword extended, Silas's momentum carried his center of gravity forward, leaving his lead foot momentarily fixed and exposed.
Conversion.
Kaela pulled Rust-Eater from its sheath, the familiar lightness of perfect alignment washing over her hand. She channeled her tiny Ember Aura, not into the blade, but into the speed of her wrist. She aimed for the flaw, the single point of vulnerability Silas's over-commitment had created.
She didn't aim for his arm or leg. She aimed for the pommel of his own rapier.
Tshk.
The sound was shockingly soft. The rusted edge grazed the heavy, ornate pommel of Silas's sword. It wasn't enough to shatter the metal, but the concentrated precision of the Formless strike, utilizing all of Kaela's focused Ember, was like a needle driven into the nerve center of the weapon.
Silas's hand went instantly numb. The beautiful crimson Flame Aura coating his blade sputtered, fractured, and died. The rapier slipped from his frozen fingers, clattering onto the cobblestones.
Silas stared at his empty hand, aghast, his face draining of color. He hadn't been hit, yet his magnificent Aura technique had failed, and he had been disarmed by a single, unseen strike from a rusty blade.
The other Novices gasped, staring between the fallen rapier and Kaela, who had already sheathed Rust-Eater. Her expression was cold, devoid of triumph.
"You waste ten points of Aura on a blow meant for show," Kaela said, her voice low. "The price of precision is that you pay with every flaw you leave exposed."
Silas, humbled and furious, lunged at her with his fists. Before he could reach her, a shadow fell over them.
Dame Elara, the judge from the exam, stood towering over the scene. Her armor was immaculate, and her Knight-rank Aura pressure was a heavy, tangible thing that instantly silenced the entire yard.
"Corvus," Elara's voice was sharp ice. "You initiated an unapproved duel and were disarmed. You will spend the next week scrubbing the lower barracks."
Silas fumed but dared not argue. He retrieved his rapier and stalked away, shooting Kaela a look of venomous, lasting hatred.
Elara turned her full attention to Kaela. Her eyes, usually severe, held a calculating intensity.
"That strike, Vane," Elara stated, her voice quieter now, scrutinizing the rusted sheath at Kaela's hip. "It was not Guild doctrine. It was efficient. It was brutal. Who taught you to fight like that?"
Kaela met her gaze unflinchingly. "Survival, Dame. That is my only teacher."
Elara considered this for a long moment, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Survival is often the best teacher. You may be weak in the core, Vane, but you have strength elsewhere. Report to me tomorrow evening. I want to see how this 'survival' style of yours handles real pressure. And bring that rusted scrap iron with you."
The challenge was clear. Kaela hadn't just gained a rank; she had gained the dangerous attention of a Knight of the Bastion. The long, lonely road to mastery had just become far more visible.