Damian stood in a cold, empty street, his breath ragged as his chest burned from running. He looked down at his hands, blood dripping from them, pooling around his feet. He didn't know whose blood it was, but he knew it wasn't his. Screams echoed in the distance, muffled and distant, as if coming from another time, another place. The walls around him were closing in, shadowy figures lurking just beyond his vision. A voice whispered in his ear, low and menacing, "This is your fate. You cannot escape it."
Suddenly, the street melted away, and he was in a war-torn village. Fires blazed around him, buildings collapsing in on themselves, the air thick with ash. Children screamed for their parents, who lay dead or dying in the dirt. Damian stood frozen in the chaos, unable to move. A monstrous figure loomed ahead, cloaked in darkness, its eyes glowing with malicious intent. He recognized the silhouette, though he had never seen it before. The voice whispered again, louder now, "You will destroy everything."
Damian gasped awake, his body drenched in sweat, heart pounding in his chest. He blinked, disoriented, as he tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. The dim light of dawn crept into the dormitory, and he could hear the other trainees rustling around, getting ready for their morning routine.
"Hey, Damian, you okay?" Rory's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts.
Damian glanced over at his dormmate, his pulse still racing. "Yeah," he lied, rubbing his eyes. "Just couldn't sleep properly."
Rory raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "Well, you better get ready. If you're late, Sergeant Halford will eat you alive," he said with a half-hearted grin, though the thought clearly sent shivers down his spine.
Damian forced a smile, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Fine, fine," he muttered, pulling on his training clothes. His muscles were still sore from yesterday's training, but it was a familiar pain. He welcomed it.
The day started like any other, with the brutal 40-kilometer run through the academy's obstacle course. The course was a nightmare of its own, designed to test their endurance, strength, and speed. Walls to climb, trenches to crawl through, mud to wade through—all while trying to complete the course in under an hour. For most of the recruits, it was pure hell. But for the top 400, those who had already awakened their auras, it was manageable.
Damian, having finally broken into the middle stage of rank 1, could now tackle the course without collapsing halfway through. He had worked hard to reach this point, climbing fifty ranks in the last month, but the grind never seemed to end. Every day was a fight to improve, to survive.
After the run, they moved on to the bodyweight exercises. Push-ups, pull-ups, squats, and every other form of torture the instructors could devise. At first, Damian had struggled with these, his body not yet accustomed to the relentless physical demands of the academy. But now, he could complete them with relative ease, though the burn in his muscles never quite disappeared.
By the time they were done, his clothes were drenched in sweat, and his body felt like lead. The recruits were given a three-hour break. Most of the trainees used the time to shower, eat, and rest, but Damian had different plans.
He quickly showered, letting the cold water wash away the grime of the morning. As he stood under the stream, his mind wandered back to the nightmare.
Turning off the water, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His body had changed over the past few months. What had once been a lean, wiry frame had gained noticeable muscle. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker, his abs more defined. It was strange to see the transformation, but it was proof that the hard work was paying off. Still, his eyes betrayed him—tired, haunted, always on edge.
Damian dressed quickly, grabbing a light meal to refuel, though he only took about thirty minutes of his break. The rest of the time, he dedicated to more training. He made his way to the first-year training grounds, a familiar path that had become almost routine. As he approached, he wasn't surprised to see Kael Arden already there, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision.
For the past month, Damian had found himself on a similar schedule to Kael. Both of them trained relentlessly, though Kael's regimen seemed even more intense. The guy was a machine, always pushing himself harder, faster, stronger. He was a commoner, like Damian, but his talent was undeniable. It was infuriating to watch at times.
"How the hell is he already here?" Damian muttered to himself, shaking his head. No matter how hard he trained, Kael always seemed one step ahead.
Damian shrugged it off and began his own drills, focusing on refining his aura control and swordsmanship. His swings were steady, deliberate, but he couldn't help but feel the gap between himself and Kael. No matter how much he improved, Kael was always better.
About thirty minutes into his session, Arabelle Verdell sauntered into the training grounds, her ever-present smirk on her face. "Wow, early as always, fish eyes," she teased, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement. "You really have nothing better to do but train, huh?"
Damian shot her a glance but didn't bother responding, returning to his drills. He had grown used to Arabelle's constant teasing over the past few weeks, though it still got under his skin sometimes.
Undeterred, Arabelle plopped herself down nearby, watching him with an air of boredom. "Seriously, you're gonna train yourself to death at this rate."
Damian ignored her, focusing on his movements, trying to perfect the arc of his sword as it cut through the air.
A few minutes later, Kael approached Arabelle, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Hey," he said, his tone friendly. "We haven't formally introduced ourselves. I'm Kael Arden."
Arabelle raised an eyebrow but smiled. "Arabelle Verdell. I know who you are."
The two began chatting, their conversation casual and lighthearted, though Damian could feel their auras brimming beneath the surface. He watched them from the corner of his eye, their words a distant hum as he focused on his training. It was strange to see them interacting—Kael, a commoner, and Arabelle, a noble. But then again, Kael wasn't like most commoners. His skill and talent transcended class.
Soon enough, they started sparring, and as always, Damian was captivated by their fight. The fluidity of their movements, the precision of their strikes—it was on a whole other level compared to the rest of the recruits. Watching them spar was like watching a dance, one that only the truly skilled could partake in.
Kael's swordsmanship was brutal and efficient, his strikes meant to end a fight as quickly as possible. Arabelle, on the other hand, was more elegant, her Verdell swordsmanship focusing on exploiting weaknesses and wearing down her opponent. It was clear that they were both far beyond the average recruit in every aspect—speed, strength, aura control.
Damian clenched his fists, feeling the sting of envy. No matter how much progress he made, he was still leagues behind them. But he wasn't discouraged. If anything, it made him more determined.
Later in the day, they moved on to their basic combat training. While Damian struggled with swordsmanship, he found himself excelling in hand-to-hand combat. It was the one area where he truly outshone his peers. His movements were instinctual, fluid, as if his body had been built for close-quarters combat.
By the end of the session, Damian had taken the top spot in hand-to-hand combat for his class, a small victory amidst the countless struggles. It was a strange feeling, being better at something than the rest, but it gave him a brief sense of satisfaction.
The last class of the day was focused on aura control and refinement. Damian sat cross-legged on the training grounds, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the flow of energy within him. The warmth of his aura pulsed through his veins, a steady rhythm that he had grown more attuned to over the past few weeks. It wasn't as strong as Kael's or Arabelle's, but it was his own, and he would make it stronger.
After the class ended, most of the recruits were ready to collapse, but for Damian, the day wasn't over. He had more training to do, more ground to cover. As usual, Arabelle stuck around, serving as his sparring partner. Despite her teasing, she was a formidable opponent, and their matches often left him bruised and exhausted.
As the sun set over the academy, Damian wiped the sweat from his brow, his body aching as he gazed into he sunset.