The week following Serina's announcement was a blur of intense training sessions, sleepless nights, and a growing sense of impending doom. The final trial loomed large in everyone's minds, casting a shadow over the campus. For Jain and Ryen, the pressure to improve and refine their skills was almost unbearable. Each knew that if they were to survive the upcoming tournament, they would need to push themselves to their absolute limits.
---
Jain found herself back in the secluded courtyard where she had trained with Nellis before. The familiar, quiet space was a stark contrast to the chaos in her mind. She knew she was strong, but the emotional pain magic that had been her downfall in the last trial still haunted her. It wasn't just the magic she struggled against—it was her own insecurities, the voice in her head that whispered she would never be enough.
Nellis, her mentor, stood across from her, a look of calm determination on her face. "Jain, you've made progress with your barrier magic, but if you want to survive this tournament, you need to go beyond what you think you're capable of."
Jain nodded, swallowing her fear. She had always felt like a disappointment to her family, the black sheep who couldn't control her emotions well enough to wield the powerful emotional magic that came so easily to them. But she was here now, and she couldn't afford to let her past dictate her future.
Nellis began the session by reinforcing the basics. Jain erected a simple barrier, the familiar blue light shimmering before her. It was strong, but it was just the beginning.
"Good," Nellis said, her voice firm but encouraging. "Now, let's see you layer it. Remember, each layer needs to reinforce the others, creating a shield that's impenetrable."
Jain closed her eyes, focusing on the pain she had learned to harness. She felt the dull ache of old injuries, the sting of a fresh cut she had inflicted on herself earlier to fuel her magic. With a deep breath, she channeled that pain into the barrier, forming a second layer over the first. The energy crackled, the layers intertwining as they strengthened each other.
But as she maintained the barrier, the voices in her head grew louder. The echoes of her family's disappointment, the constant reminders that she was never good enough. Her concentration wavered, the barrier flickering as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
Nellis saw the struggle in Jain's eyes and stepped forward, her voice cutting through the turmoil. "Jain, listen to me. You need to get out of your own head. You are not defined by the expectations or words of others. You are here, at E&R, because you have the strength to forge your own path. Use that strength. Let it fuel your magic."
Jain's hands trembled, but she gritted her teeth, forcing the voices back into the recesses of her mind. She focused on the pain, stabilizing the anger she felt at being judged, at being treated as less than she was. Slowly, the barrier stabilized, the layers becoming more solid, more impenetrable.
"That's it," Nellis encouraged. "Now, push it further. Make the barrier your weapon."
Jain's eyes snapped open, determination burning in them. She directed the barrier forward, the energy rippling as it expanded outward. The once-defensive magic now surged with offensive power, the layers of the barrier slicing through the air like a blade.
Nellis smiled, pleased with the progress. "You're getting there, Jain. But remember, the tournament will push you harder than this. You'll need to be ready to face opponents who will exploit every weakness, every doubt. You must be unbreakable."
Jain nodded, the weight of Nellis' words settling on her shoulders. She knew that this was just the beginning. She cut a fresh gape in her forearm and erected another barrier...
---
While Jain trained with Nellis, Ryen secluded himself in one of the school's smaller, more isolated training rooms. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient texts, and the air was thick with the scent of old paper and dust. It was the perfect place for the introspective work he needed to do.
Ryen sat cross-legged in the center of the room, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. His mentor had given him the freedom to train alone, knowing that the type of magic Ryen wielded required deep personal reflection and focus. But being alone also meant facing the doubts that gnawed at him—doubts about his strength, his abilities, his worth.
In the past, Ryen had always relied on his support magic to aid others, but now he needed to turn that power inward. He needed to be able to sustain himself in battle, to heal and protect his own body while maintaining his focus on the fight.
He took a deep breath and drew a small knife from his belt. Without hesitation, he made a shallow cut on his forearm, wincing as the pain flared through him. The blood welled up, warm and sticky, but Ryen didn't look away. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, on the pain radiating from the wound.
"Focus," he muttered to himself. "You have to turn this into strength."
He channeled the pain into his magic, directing it inward. At first, it was clumsy and uncoordinated, the energy dispersing in random directions. But Ryen forced himself to concentrate, to harness the pain and guide it with precision. He moved the sensation over the wound itself, he wasn't moving the pain stemming from the cut- with his own inner pain. The turmoil in his mind fueling a cold, stretching energy. The thoughts of being to weak, to fragile.
A tear dropped as he remembered how useless he had felt during the previous two fights. He had to sit back and watch his friends dart in and out of danger while he remained alone. Unharmed. Supporting their strength instead of fighting harder with his own...
Unharmed.
The word made him shake with inner fury at his own incompetency. That pain sparked an ice cold anger that flowed through him, flowing over the fresh cut.
Slowly, the wound on his arm began to close, the flesh knitting together as his magic took hold.
It wasn't perfect. The wound still ached, a dull throb reminding him of his inexperience. But it was a start.
Ryen grinned, "Well that's one way to use the pain of feeling weak huh." He thought. But then his demeanor turned sour. It wasn't enough yet.
Ryen didn't stop there. He made another cut, this one deeper, and again forced himself to focus on the pain, to turn it into something that could heal and protect. The process was agonizing, each new wound pushing him closer to his physical limits. But with each attempt, he grew more skilled, more confident.
The training was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Sweat poured down Ryen's face as he fought to keep his concentration, his hands trembling from the effort. But he knew he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.
As the hours passed, Ryen's determination hardened into resolve. The dozen cuts on each of his arms were no longer a source of weakness—they were a reminder of his strength, of his ability to endure. He could feel the magic flowing through him more naturally now, the pain becoming a tool rather than a burden.
He stood up, his legs shaky but steady. The room spun for a moment, but Ryen forced himself to stay upright. He looked at the cuts on his arms, now little more than faint scars, and felt a surge of pride. He had done it. He had taken the pain, the doubt, the fear, and turned it into something that could keep him alive.
Ryen knew he still had a long way to go, but he also knew he would prepare even more to be ready for whatever came next. The tournament would be brutal, and he would face opponents far stronger than himself. But he wouldn't be caught off guard. He wouldn't be a burden to his friends. He would fight, and he would survive.
As Ryen left the training room for the night, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, he felt confident in his abilities. He had faced his fears, confronted his weaknesses, and emerged stronger for it.
Jain and Ryen reunited in the common room later that evening, both of them exhausted but resolute. Their training had been grueling, pushing them to their limits, but it had also been necessary. They were on their way to getting ready to face the tournament, to prove that they belonged at Edgar and Rodger School.
Now, all that was left was to see if their efforts would be enough.