The morning bell echoed through the Lions' Den like a war drum—low, resonant, impossible to ignore.
Avdhoot dressed quickly in his training robes: a crimson-trimmed tunic reinforced at the shoulders and chest, flexible trousers built for movement, and sturdy boots that gripped stone. The Lion emblem over his heart seemed to pulse faintly as he fastened the final buckle.
"Finally!" Veer burst from his bed like a released spring. "Real training! Not theory—actual combat!"
Arjun adjusted his spectacles, unease flickering across his face. "Combined training with the Ember Fangs. I've heard they're… intense."
"Intense is good," Rohan said, stretching his muscular frame. "Means we'll actually learn something useful."
Tara appeared at the dormitory entrance, already dressed and carrying a small notebook. "Professor Vikram Chaudhary. Former Lion champion. Military background. Expect discipline, not games."
"You researched our professor?" Kavi asked.
"Always know who's training you," Tara replied. "Let's move."
⸻
The Combat Arena lay at the Academy's eastern edge, carved into a vast natural amphitheatre of stone. Circular platforms floated at different heights, linked by narrow bridges. Protective wards shimmered around the perimeter—transparent barriers meant to contain magical overflow.
Professor Vikram Chaudhary stood at the center of it all. Tall. Lean. A scar cut across his left cheek. His cropped black hair was streaked with silver, and his Lion robes bore additional insignia—marks earned through combat, not rank.
"First-year Lions!" His voice carried without shouting. Form ranks. "Four lines. Six deep."
The students scrambled into position. Avdhoot found himself in the second row, flanked by Veer and Meira.
Across the arena, the Ember Fangs arrived like a controlled wildfire—loud, fierce, but disciplined. Their instructor, Professor Devendra, towered over them. Massive, broad-shouldered, his bare arms were etched with ritual scars.
"Fangs!" Devendra boomed. "Show them what chaos looks like when it has purpose!"
Their synchronized roar rippled through the arena.
Chaudhary raised one hand. Silence fell instantly.
"Today, you begin the transition from students to warriors," he said, pacing slowly. "Combat isn't about strength alone. It's endurance, distance control, and muscle memory. Master these, and you survive. Ignore them, and you become a liability."
He gestured toward the platforms. "We train in stages. Body first. Then control. Then integration."
Devendra grinned, filed teeth flashing. "And today, you learn why the Fangs bite hardest when cornered."
⸻
"Run."
No warning. No countdown.
The students sprinted toward the rising platforms. Avdhoot pushed hard, legs burning as he leapt from stone to stone. The platforms tilted and rotated unpredictably, forcing constant adjustment.
Veer stumbled on the third platform but caught himself. "This is insane!"
"That's the point!" a Fang girl shouted from ahead—Priya Devkaran. Her wild curls bounced as she cleared a gap twice her height. "If you can't handle platforms, you can't handle real combat!"
Tara moved with measured precision, watching each platform before committing. Meira flowed across the stones with minimal wasted movement.
Something stirred inside Avdhoot—not magic, but instinct. His body reacted before thought caught up. He cleared the final platform ahead of most students, landing beside Priya.
"Not bad, Lion," she said, breathing hard.
"Not bad yourself."
From below, Chaudhary observed in silence.
⸻
"Mana control," Chaudhary announced once they regrouped, "is worthless without endurance. A spell cast while exhausted is a spell that kills its caster."
He demonstrated, palm glowing faintly. "Channel from your core. Through your channels. To your hand. Don't force it. Guide it."
Avdhoot's hands trembled as he focused. He remembered the warmth from the Sorting Trial.
Come on.
A flickering glow formed—unstable but present.
"Better," Chaudhary said quietly. "But you're tense. Magic responds to relaxation, not strain."
Nearby, Veer's mana sparked wildly. "Why won't it stabilize?!"
"Because you're thinking too hard," Meira said, her own golden light steady. "Stop trying."
Veer inhaled, exhaled—and tried again. This time, it held.
Across the arena, a Fang boy—Kiran Thakur—formed a controlled flame that danced between his fingers. "Fangs don't control fire," he said proudly. "We become it."
"Show-off," Tara muttered, though her own control burned strong.
⸻
Chaudhary gestured again toward the platforms—now moving faster.
"Cross while maintaining control. Lose your light, and you start over."
Groans followed, but they moved.
Avdhoot landed on the first platform, his glowing palm steady. The stone tilted sharply. He adjusted his stance, breath even.
Balance. Flow.
He jumped again. His light flickered—then steadied.
Priya landed beside him, flame blazing. "Race you."
"You're on."
They climbed together—sometimes competing, sometimes helping. When Avdhoot slipped, Priya grabbed him. When her footing faltered, he steadied her.
They reached the summit gasping, drenched in sweat—but their lights still burned.
"That," Chaudhary called, "is integration. Not perfection. Partnership."
⸻
By lunch, the first-years moved like the walking wounded.
Veer collapsed onto a couch. "My arms have declared independence."
"You'll recover," Tara said, easing herself down. "Soreness means growth."
Meira read through Chaudhary's notes despite the strain evident in her posture.
"How are you not dead?" Veer asked her.
"Discipline."
They ate quietly. Even Priya limped past their table, offering Avdhoot a tired grin.
Veer studied Avdhoot. "You kept pace with her. Your control barely wavered."
The table grew quiet.
"You trained before," Tara said. "Didn't you?"
Avdhoot hesitated. "A month ago, my uncle told me I was magical. Trained me every day after."
"A month?" Veer stared. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"What does he do?" Arjun asked.
"Football coach. Non-magical world."
Silence.
Meira intervened calmly. "That's enough questions. We have Mantra Studies."
The subject died—but curiosity lingered.
⸻
The Mantra Studies chamber was circular, walls etched with ancient symbols. Incense burned low.
Professor Kapoor surveyed them. "Good. You're exhausted. Fatigue reveals focus."
She demonstrated. "Om Agni Shakti."
A perfect flame appeared.
"Words are keys," she said. "But intent turns the lock."
They practiced through sore muscles and fogged minds.
Avdhoot struggled—then remembered grounding exercises from his uncle.
"Om Agni Shakti."
A small flame appeared.
"Better," Kapoor said. "Understand the essence."
⸻
The Botanical Gardens were humid and alive. Professor Nalini greeted them with a knowing smile.
"Herbology teaches patience," she said.
Moonpetal. Sunroot. Nightshade Blossom.
"Respect," Nalini reminded them.
Avdhoot approached a Sunroot carefully. Warmth spread through his fingers.
"You're honest," Nalini said. "Plants appreciate that."
⸻
That night, the Lions' Common Room was quiet.
Avdhoot sat by the fire, the crystal shard warm in his palm.
"Does it glow?" Veer asked.
"Sometimes."
The crystal pulsed softly.
Tomorrow would bring more challenges.
But tonight, surrounded by quiet exhaustion and shared effort, Avdhoot felt something rare.
Belonging.
[End of Chapter 6]