Four months had rolled by like pages from some ancient book since students first flooded the academy's halls, and three weeks had also gone by since the hectic energy of Business Week.
The academy vibrated with purpose as students dove headlong into intense training: the grounds an orchestra of clashing swords, measured footsteps, and the hum of mana-charged air.
Drake had slowly grown accustomed to his new weapon, the Sceptre Starmap. With each strike, he acquired more finesse as the arcs of raw energy cut through the air with his every infusion of mana, testing his strength and stamina.
The scepter, laced with the power of the heavens, pulsed with subtle light, alive and attuning itself to Drake's wishes while he practised adjusting the weight with subtle changes in mana flow. And Xena, ever his steadfast partner, followed him every day, her bright presence giving him mute inspiration.
Then, in the class of Mastery of the Sword, there were droplets of water sparkling like dew upon the foreheads of earnest students while they practiced with the utmost determination. The doors creaked, and a stern figure stepped inside; sharp eyes, like the falcon's gaze from Instructor William, did scan the scene.
"Good morning, class," the deep voice boomed, arresting the students in mid-motion. Their reaction was instantaneous; they snapped into three straight lines like soldiers heaved to attention.
"Good morning, sir!" they thundered off in unison.
Instructor William clasped his hands behind his back, the faint glint of pride in his gaze. "You've done well. I expect you to sustain this effort. Today, however, marks my final session with you before the promotion exams."
A murmur rippled through the room, a tide of curiosity and apprehension.
"For today's training, each of you will choose a sparring partner. Let's see how far you've come. Now, pair up!" His command had the effect of an igniter on the students, with them moving busily around to find themselves partners.
Of these, one boy stepped forward to approach Victoria; his face was a picture of reluctance and resolution. "My name is Lawrence, and I'd like to spar with you," he said; his tone belied a certain amount of hesitation. The request was heavier with motives, but Lawrence followed instructions to a tee, a setup for the first match.
Victoria and Lawrence mounted the sparring ring, their swords shining like eager serpents under the torchlight, ready to strike. Instructor William joined them, his presence anchoring the room in calm authority.
"There are three rules," he began, his voice steady and deliberate. "First, only swords infused with mana are allowed no family techniques. Second, do not aim to harm. Last, the match is over when one gives up or can no longer continue." His gestures were neat, as if carving these rules into the air.
"Begin!" With a word, the stage erupted into life.
Lawrence pressed forward carefully, his sword raised in earnest. "You can make the first move," Victoria offered, her voice as smooth as silk, tinged with confidence from one who had danced this dance many times.
Lawrence accepted her invitation, striking downward, only for his blade to meet Victoria's with a resounding clang. The force rebounded through the air, yet she parried it as effortlessly as water might cascade over stone.
A second lunge was aimed at her legs, but with grace, she stepped back and narrowly avoided his strike. Sensing an opening, he plunged toward her chest but, in that flash of brilliance, her blade made him lose his, clattering his weapon to the floor. Her sword hovered over his neck, its shining edge a testimony to her competence.
"I yield," he mumbled, stepping down to scattered applause.
Sparring resumed, and the arena became a theater for an action-packed drama of training and determination. When Instructor William called on the next pair, the room seemed to hold its collective breath.
Drake and Ronan entered the ring, their entrance palpably electrifying the air with tension. Opposing energies clashed invisibly as they faced one another, gripping their weapons tightly.
Remember the rules," Instructor William warned, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "Begin!"
The two warriors leapt into action simultaneously, their weapons meeting with a splintering crash that sent a shockwave boiling outward. Loose objects shuddered and fell, and students flung arms over their faces against the gust. Both combatants recoiled from the impact, eyes locking in a fire-filled stare.
The lines in Ronan's face spoke of his disbelief; he had put all his strength into it, and Drake had stood firm with that sceptre, Starmap.
The Starmap Sceptre was an artifact of deep power, its surface glowing faintly with the absorption of Drake's mana. Its weight, ever-variable and always formidable, could rise as high as 500 kg. For now, Drake wielded it at 50 kg, every swing a calculated gamble between strength and endurance.
Ronan became unfazed and plunged forward, his blows more frantic. Every slash and thrust was meant to back Drake into a corner, but Drake's parry to each was perfect and fluid, his movements calm as the eye of a hurricane.
Whispers coursed through the ring of spectators. "How does Drake manage to keep up?" one student whispered. "Doesn't he only have 1500 mana units?
Frustration twisted Ronan's features, and he poured dark mana into his blade as the energy coiled around it, almost like a living shadow. Then he let out a gleamingly ominous sword with a decisive strike.
Drake, sensing the surge of power, channeled more mana into his weapon. The scepter's weight increased, anchoring him against the blow. Their weapons met in a collision that sent another shockwave tearing through the room. The students braced themselves, awestruck, as Ronan's sword shattered into fragments.
"You've lost," Drake declared, his voice steady, his weapon poised at Ronan's throat.
Yet defeat festered in Ronan's heart, and as Drake turned to leave the ring, his opponent, consumed in bitterness, hurled shards of his broken sword.
Drake's instincts, sharpened by his dragon heritage, screamed danger. He dodged two shards but caught the third with the back of his hand, crimson blood blossoming against his skin.
At the doorway, Xena, who had been watching silently, felt her control snap. Her dragon force erupted, an invisible tempest that brought the room to its knees.
Students and even Instructor William collapsed under the weight of her unleashed power. Only Drake remained standing, his steps unhurried as he approached her.
"You can stop now," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm. "Everything's alright."
The trembling stopped as he wrapped his arms around her, the force receding like the tide. The calm was back, though the air was still heavy with the unspoken questions about Xena's true nature.
"I apologize for the disruption," Drake said as he spoke to the room with quiet authority. Grasping Xena's wrist, he led her away, their exit as swift as their bond was unshakable.