The academy was bustling as the sun rose, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Today was another day of combat basics, and each student was expected to refine the skills they had shown during initial trials. Rows of students lined up, each one eager, nervous, or downright exhausted from the academy's demanding regimen.
Tristar stood at attention, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword as the instructor paced before the group. He was determined to absorb every lesson, no matter how minor. To him, the basics were everything—the foundation upon which he could build his own strength.
"Begin!" the instructor called, her voice cutting through the murmurs as she started the morning drills.
Tristar fell into rhythm, his sword slicing cleanly through the air as he focused on precision and control. Each swing was a statement of his resolve. Around him, other students wielded their weapons with varying degrees of skill and flair, some incorporating sparks of magic, while others relied solely on physical strength. Axel was a few rows down, the faintest glint of flame tracing the edge of his blade as he effortlessly combined his magic with his swordplay.
As they moved through drills, Axel kept sneaking glances at Tristar. "Trying to outpace me already, Klarent?" he teased, smirking as he adjusted his grip on his sword.
Tristar didn't look over, keeping his focus steady. "Just doing my part."
Axel chuckled. "Seems to me like you're hiding something sharp in there. Or are you really this intense all the time?"
Ignoring Axel's jabs, Tristar focused on keeping his swings measured and precise, his mind racing with calculations. If he could refine his technique enough, he'd have an edge others wouldn't see coming. But Axel's words needled at him, making him wonder just how much he might be giving away.
The class soon broke into smaller groups for closer training under the watchful eye of an assistant instructor. Tristar found himself in the same group as Axel, which only intensified the unspoken tension. Each student sparred one-on-one, working on timing, reflexes, and power under pressure.
The assistant instructor, a sharp-eyed man with an intimidating presence, paced across the field, assessing each student with a piercing gaze. "Klarent! Arlan!" he called, nodding to Axel. "Step up and demonstrate the pattern."
Tristar's heart pounded as he stepped into the center. Axel, ever confident, strolled beside him, grinning as he leaned close. "Guess we're the stars today," he murmured, though his voice held a hint of sincerity beneath the usual smirk.
When it was Axel's turn, he strode into the sparring circle with his usual confidence, exchanging a quick nod with Tristar. "Hope you're ready," Axel said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Try not to hold back too much. Wouldn't want to disappoint you."
Tristar didn't respond, letting his grip on the sword speak for him. The moment the assistant instructor called for them to start, Axel lunged forward, the flame on his blade flaring up in a burst. Tristar dodged to the side, just barely avoiding the heat, his heart pounding as he felt the force of Axel's magic up close.
Axel launched another attack, this time with a feint that Tristar narrowly dodged, bringing his sword up to parry. The clash sent a shiver through his arm, but he steadied himself, focusing. The energy in Axel's strikes was different—wild, intense, and unpredictable. But Tristar found his focus sharpening, his every movement becoming more deliberate as he blocked and dodged Axel's attacks.
At one point, Axel's blade passed close enough to graze Tristar's uniform, the heat forcing him back. "Not bad, Klarent," Axel called, a grin spreading across his face. "But let's see what you're really made of."
Axel feigned another attack, then swiftly sidestepped, sending a low, sweeping burst of flame toward Tristar's legs. Tristar reacted instinctively, bringing his sword down in a controlled arc to deflect the flames with exact timing, the blade cutting through the fiery tendrils.
Axel's eyebrows raised. "Not something you see every day," he murmured to himself, his grin widening.
But Tristar could feel the toll of the match weighing on him. He needed to end it before Axel's fire magic wore him down completely. With a final burst of energy, he closed the distance, swinging his sword toward Axel's weapon to disarm him. But Axel was already sidestepping, retaliating with a concentrated blast of fire that forced Tristar to stumble back.
The assistant instructor blew the whistle, signaling the end of the round. "Klarent, you're down," she announced, though her tone held a hint of admiration for the skill both boys had shown.
Tristar rose slowly, catching his breath, as Axel strode over, extending a hand. "Guess I'm not the only one with a few tricks up my sleeve, huh?"
Tristar grasped Axel's hand, though his expression remained unreadable. "Just trying to keep up," he replied, his voice neutral.
Axel, not missing a beat, chuckled. "Trying? Klarent, if you think you're fooling anyone, you're wrong. You've got something up your sleeve. And I'll be the first to see what it is."
Tristar's face remained impassive, but his grip tightened momentarily before he released Axel's hand. He watched as Axel moved back toward the group, the fire-wielding boy's words swirling in his mind. Something up his sleeve… He would have to be careful if he wanted to keep his edge hidden.
Later that evening, as the academy grounds fell quiet and the moon bathed the training field in a silvery glow, Tristar returned. Alone under the vast sky, he could finally release the restraint he'd held all day.
With a firm grip on his sword, he let the blade slice through the air, each movement sharper, each swing more precise. In his mind, fragments of memories emerged—the fleeting warmth of a hero's smile, the desperate cries around him during that night of chaos. I have to become stronger, he thought, no one else is going to do it for me.
As he lost himself in the rhythm, a faint rustling broke his concentration. He turned, sword raised, only to see Axel approaching, his figure barely visible against the shadows.
"Couldn't sleep?" Axel asked, voice light but his gaze intent. "Or are you hiding something, Klarent?"
Tristar lowered his sword, breathing evenly. "Just… practicing."
Axel chuckled, stepping closer. "Practice, huh? Mind if I join? I've been curious about what you're trying to keep under wraps." He took a stance opposite Tristar, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "Why don't we test it out? No teachers, no holding back."
Tristar hesitated, but Axel's gaze was persistent. And a part of him wanted to know just how much he could push himself.
"Fine," Tristar replied, tightening his grip. "But you asked for it."
They began in silence, each strike echoing through the quiet night. Axel launched a burst of flame in a wide arc, trying to force Tristar into the open. Tristar moved with precision, weaving through Axel's strikes, each step calculated to keep himself close yet shielded. Axel's eyes widened as Tristar deflected his flames with near-perfect timing.
"Impressive," Axel panted, his grin unwavering. "Didn't expect you to be this… precise."
Tristar remained silent, focusing on closing the distance. Just as he moved in for a strike, Axel sidestepped, conjuring a small barrier of flames that forced Tristar to jump back.
"You've got a mysterious style," Axel said, his tone teasing but his expression serious. "Feels like you're hiding some kind of secret technique." He dropped his stance slightly, wiping sweat from his brow. "One day, Klarent, you're going to show me what you're really capable of."
Tristar lowered his sword, meeting Axel's gaze with quiet determination. "Maybe. If you can keep up."
Axel laughed, clapping him on the back. "That's what I like to hear. Keep it up, Klarent. But I'm not backing down either." With a final nod, he turned, leaving Tristar alone once more in the quiet of the night.
As Axel's footsteps faded, Tristar's thoughts what everyone here is about "Everyone here has something to prove", Tristar murmur to himself. Those words echoed as Tristar resumed his practice, this time with renewed intensity.
Each swing, each strike felt sharper. He wasn't sure how he would get there yet, but he knew he would make it. Standing alone in the darkness, he whispered, "I will become the hero I needed back then. No matter what."
And in the silence of the night, he swung his blade, marking each strike as a promise the one he intended to keep.