Ellie raised her scepter and reacted on instinct.
A sphere of condensed fire burst into existence at its tip and shot forward—raw, unrefined, and chantless. It was the only spell she could deploy instantly, the product of repetition rather than structure.
The initial-stage evolved instructor did not retreat.
She lifted her palm vertically and struck downward.
The fireball split cleanly in two.
Sparks scattered like severed embers, the remnants dissolving harmlessly into the air before they could scorch the floor. The act was effortless, almost dismissive.
This was one of the unwritten truths of integrators: a higher-realm practitioner of the same element could seize control of any elemental construct formed by a lower one. Fire answered to authority, not intent.
Ellie's pupils tightened—but she didn't hesitate.
Another fireball. Then another.
She moved as she attacked, weaving around the instructor in tight arcs, releasing spheres of flame in rapid succession. Heat washed over her skin, her breathing syncing with the rhythm of conjuration and release. The training hall filled with crackling resonance as fire met fire, control clashing silently in the air.
"Good," the instructor said calmly.
Her palm moved again.
Each strike severed a fireball with surgical precision, the edge of her hand behaving like a blade forged from compressed flame. There was no wasted motion—no brute force. Just mastery.
Ellie felt it then: the terrifying difference between power and authority.
She slowed, grounding herself, and drew breath to chant.
"Oh source of the sun, heed my will and trace—"
Her words never finished.
The instructor vanished in a burst of flame and reappeared at Ellie's side. A precise sweep of her foot caught Ellie mid-step, and the world spun as she hit the floor hard.
The instructor stood over her, flames receding as though they had never existed.
"That's enough for today," she said evenly. "You're improving."
Ellie lay there for a second, chest rising and falling rapidly, before dismissing her scepter and bowing respectfully.
"Yes, Instructor."
---
After a quick rinse in the adjoining washroom, Ellie stepped into the corridor. Sweat still clung to her skin, her muscles trembling with the residue of exertion. She ignored the glances of other students and headed toward the cafeteria, her thoughts far louder than the hall around her.
Flame Pulse…
The name echoed in her mind.
It was the second active skill she had discovered at the initial stage—something she hadn't learned, but felt. Like a heartbeat synced with fire itself.
Using it in training would've been reckless, she admitted silently. Unstable skills demand isolation.
That was another truth of integration.
A bloomed integrator wasn't merely stronger—they were answered. The world responded differently once an integrating seed blooms, gifting abilities shaped by combat style, instinct, and resonance.
Some skills were devastating. Others seemed trivial.
And many revealed their danger only after it was too late.
Transcendent bloomers were feared precisely because they had already unlocked all their innate abilities—nothing hidden, nothing dormant. Beyond the rank one to five mortal realms lay the radiant rank, where one approached godhood itself, and the world began bestowing secondary, godly skills rather than innate ones.
Ellie sat down with her meal just as voices drifted across the cafeteria.
"…they lost control mid-integration."
"I heard it was forced. No stored flow."
"They both dispersed."
Ellie's fingers paused around her utensil.
World flows.
They were invisible currents that surged through reality and into seeds without warning—sometimes during meditation, sometimes in battle, sometimes while walking down a corridor. When they arrived, the world pulled at the integrator.
Early integrators had no defense against that pull… especially those at the initial stage.
That was why storage methods had been discovered.
By anchoring fragments of world flow within their seeds ahead of time, integrators could integrate later, under controlled conditions. Without storage, sudden flows could overwhelm focus, fracture identity, and scatter the integrator into harmless light.
Hasty integration ignored that truth.
It was gambling with existence.
"I wonder how special the training really is," a student murmured nearby.
"Even I'm tempted to advance quickly," another admitted, envy threading their voice.
Ellie said nothing and continued eating.
Then someone sat across from her.
Alex.
He set his tray down casually, already eating as if nothing in the world troubled him.
"How's training?" he asked.
Ellie studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "You look… incomplete."
Alex blinked, then chuckled. "Somewhere between awakened and bloom?"
She nodded.
"Sharp," he said. "The world tried to elevate me earlier… I exhausted all the stored flows. I only needed a tug to rank up.
"But the integration stalled just before blooming. I didn't force it."
He took another bite, unbothered.
"The world doesn't like being rushed," he continued. "Flows come randomly. If I'd pushed without enough stored flow, I might've lost control."
Ellie exhaled slowly.
"So tomorrow?"
"There'll be another flow," Alex said. "Probably in the morning."
Ellie forked a piece of roasted meat from her plate, chewing thoughtfully. A quiet moment passed before she asked about Connor.
In a lowered voice, Alex recounted Connor's conversation with the principal from the previous day. Ellie's brow arched in surprise at the revelation.
"He may lose his awakened relic when he blooms… didn't he know that?" she murmured, incredulous.
Alex offered no reply, focused instead on his meal.
"He's probably with the principal now, too," Alex said after a brief pause, letting out a soft chuckle.
Ellie rose from her seat, brushing a crumb from her sleeve. "I'll be going first. I have some material to memorize… who knows when the special quest will arrive. It's Sunday tomorrow, so perhaps it will be then."
Alex remained seated, eating quietly, the faint sounds of his chewing blending with the murmurs of the cafeteria around them.
He thought to himself, _I feel like I might finally uncover the truth behind these abnormal dreams once I bloom… Perhaps I will understand why I've been feeling so incomplete._
---
In one of the open fields of Coeron Arbora, a sudden ripple fractured the air, twisting into a jagged black crack that widened with alarming speed. From it, a figure who appeared to be of middle age emerged, clad in a sharply tailored double-breasted black coat, stepping silently onto the lush grass. He paused, surveying his grand new surroundings with deliberate composure.
"The majesty of Coeron Arbora never ceases to amaze me," the figure murmured, both hands raised in admiration, his voice carrying a calm sense of awe.
It was the same figure from the sovereign's throne room.
---
In the principal's office, Sir Anderson's exaggerated perception immediately flared. His frown deepened as he vanished from his seat, moving with a speed so subtle it was as if he had merged with the wind itself.
---
Outside, in the empty expanse of the field, Sir Anderson came to an abrupt halt. The wind whispered around him, bending the tall grass and whistling with a serene, almost conspiratorial cadence, as if ready to accompany him further.
The figure in the black coat narrowed his eyes slightly, then called out, "Ah! Young Anderson… how many years has it been now?"
Anderson's gaze sharpened, and recognition struck him immediately. Before him stood the sovereign's formidable right-hand man: Senior Kaelon Malven… known across Valoryn as the Hourglass.