The sun hung low in the sky as Caelan, Dorian, and Aldric made their way across the academy grounds, their hands full with the heavy books they had just borrowed from the library. The day had been a long one, filled with lectures and introductions to the various courses they would be taking at the academy, but now it was time for something that excited them far more: the practical class.
They made their way to the locker room first, where they stowed their books and any personal items into the metal lockers that lined the walls. The room was a flurry of activity, students talking excitedly as they changed into the academy's standard training gear—simple, durable uniforms made for combat exercises. Caelan slipped his shirt over his head and glanced at the others.
"Ready for this?" Caelan asked with a grin, his tone filled with anticipation.
Dorian chuckled, adjusting his training gear. "I've been waiting all day. Let's see what these other students can do."
Aldric, already dressed and looking composed as ever, gave a nod. "It'll be good to test the waters. See who stands out."
After securing their weapons—a mix of wooden swords, shields, and light armor—the trio headed out to the training grounds. The field was vast, lined with tall stone walls, and surrounded by a few scattered bleachers where other students could watch. The ground beneath their feet was packed dirt, scarred with the marks of countless past battles. On one side of the field stood a line of targets and dummies for archery practice; on the other, the sparring area was marked with white lines in the dirt.
Standing at the center of the training ground was Professor Raynor, a seasoned warrior with a sharp, commanding presence. His grizzled hair and weathered face bore the marks of decades spent on the battlefield, and his eyes gleamed with the wisdom of someone who had seen and survived more battles than he could count.
As the students gathered around him, Professor Raynor raised a hand, calling for their attention. His voice was firm, cutting through the low murmur of excitement.
"Today," Raynor began, pacing before them, "you will begin your combat training. We'll be sparring with one another. Not to hurt, but to learn. To grow. You will be judged not by your strength alone, but by your technique, your tactics, and your adaptability."
The students stood in a semicircle around him, some looking nervous, others—like Caelan, Dorian, and Aldric—eager to prove themselves. Caelan's eyes scanned the group, wondering who might emerge as their strongest opponents.
Raynor stopped pacing and motioned to two students standing in the crowd. "You and you. Step forward."
The first to step forward was a tall boy with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. His name was Drake, and he carried himself with confidence, wielding a wooden practice sword with the ease of someone who had clearly trained for years.
The second was a girl, and Caelan immediately recognized her from their earlier class. She was one of the two girls who had arrived late, and she had confidently replied to the professor's scolding. Her long black hair was tied back into a braid, and she held a practice sword in her hand, her stance calm but poised, ready to strike at any moment.
"Isn't she one of the girls from this morning?" Dorian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched her walk to the center of the training ground.
Caelan nodded. "Yeah. Seraphine, I think her name was. She seemed pretty confident."
As the two students faced off, Professor Raynor addressed the group. "Before we begin, state your names."
The boy raised his chin. "Drake Roland," he said firmly.
The girl, Seraphine, gave a small nod. "Seraphine Valen."
Caelan raised an eyebrow. Valen? He glanced at Dorian, but Dorian didn't seem to notice or care about the possible connection.
Raynor's gaze shifted between the two students, sizing them up. "Very well. Begin."
The moment Raynor's words left his mouth, Drake charged forward, his sword raised high for an overhead strike. It was a bold, aggressive move, one that was meant to overpower his opponent with sheer force.
But Seraphine didn't flinch. In one fluid motion, she sidestepped the attack, her sword coming up in a smooth arc to deflect Drake's blow. The clash of wood echoed across the field, and before Drake could recover, Seraphine's sword darted forward, striking him cleanly on the side.
Drake staggered back; eyes wide with surprise. He hadn't expected her to move so quickly, or so efficiently. The other students murmured in awe, watching as Seraphine pressed her advantage, her movements precise and controlled.
Caelan watched, captivated by the grace of her swordplay. Seraphine wasn't just quick—she was deliberate, every strike measured, every movement part of a larger strategy. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation. She moved like a seasoned fighter, not a student.
"Impressive," Aldric said quietly, his eyes following Seraphine's every move.
Dorian nodded in agreement. "She's better than I thought."
Within moments, it was over. Seraphine disarmed Drake with a swift, upward strike, sending his sword clattering to the ground. She stepped back, lowering her sword as Drake stumbled, clutching his side where she had struck him.
Professor Raynor stepped forward, eyeing both of them. "Good effort, Drake. But Seraphine, well done. You've shown excellent control and technique. Keep it up."
Drake, still breathing hard, nodded, though his face flushed with embarrassment as he picked up his fallen weapon. Seraphine merely gave a polite bow before returning to the group, her expression calm, as though the sparring match had been nothing more than a simple exercise.
Caelan couldn't take his eyes off her. "She's incredible," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
The rest of the class continued with more sparring matches. Students faced off, some performing well, others struggling to keep up. Caelan, Dorian, and Aldric were eventually called up, each of them facing different opponents.
Caelan's match was intense, but his training and instincts served him well. He moved quickly, deflecting blows and landing his strikes with precision. His opponent was skilled, but Caelan's agility and strategic mind won him the day.
Dorian, on the other hand, fought with a more aggressive style, using brute force to overwhelm his opponent. His strikes were powerful, and though his opponent tried to outmaneuver him, Dorian's sheer strength ultimately won him the match.
Aldric's fight was the most controlled of the three. His swordplay was elegant, each movement smooth and calculated. He didn't waste any energy on unnecessary flourishes; every strike had a purpose, and he won his match with little effort.
By the end of the session, all three of them had proven themselves as formidable fighters, drawing the attention of both their peers and Professor Raynor.
As the class wrapped up, Raynor gave them a final word of encouragement. "Remember, this is just the beginning. Keep training hard, and you'll continue to improve. Dismissed."
The students dispersed, some heading back to the locker room, others staying behind to practice a bit longer. Caelan, Dorian, and Aldric made their way back to the locker room, sweat dripping from their foreheads but smiles on their faces.
"That was a good session," Aldric said, stretching his arms. "Everyone's got their own style. I'm curious to see how things will progress."
Caelan nodded. "Yeah. Seraphine was really impressive. I've never seen anyone move like that."
Dorian smirked. "She's good, no doubt about it. But I wouldn't be too worried. We've got some tricks up our sleeves too."
They stowed their practice weapons and changed back into their academy uniforms. As they prepared to leave, Dorian suddenly stopped in his tracks, a look of realization crossing his face.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Caelan glanced at him. "What is it?"
"I forgot my stuff back at the training grounds," Dorian groaned. "I'll catch up with you guys later."
Caelan chuckled. "Go ahead. We'll see you back at the dorm."
Dorian waved them off and jogged back toward the training grounds, while Caelan and Aldric headed in the opposite direction, making their way back to the dormitory.
Dorian hurried across the grounds, muttering to himself about being forgetful. The training grounds were mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers who were still practicing their techniques. His things were lying right where he had left them, near the edge of the field. He quickly gathered them up and turned to leave when he heard a voice behind him.
"Forget something?"
Dorian turned to see the other girl who had arrived late to class that morning. The quiet one. Her long brown hair framed her pale face, and her large, deep-set eyes held a distant, almost melancholic gaze. She was leaning against one of the practice dummies, watching him with a soft, unreadable expression.
"Elena, right?" Dorian asked, recalling her name from the attendance list.
She nodded but said nothing, just continued to watch him with those curious eyes.
Dorian wasn't used to silence. He was the type to fill any quiet moment with conversation or a joke, but something about Elena's presence made him pause. There was something... different about her.
"Were you watching the sparring matches?" he asked, trying to break the silence.
Elena nodded again. "You're a strong fighter," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dorian felt a strange warmth spread through him at the compliment. "Thanks," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "You didn't spar today, though."
"No," she said simply. "I'll wait for the right time."
Her words were vague, but there was something about them that made Dorian feel like she was someone to keep an eye on. She wasn't like the other students.
"Well, I'll see you around," he said, feeling the need to escape the strange tension in the air.
Elena gave a small nod, her gaze never leaving him as he turned to leave. Dorian couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this girl than met the eye, and as he made his way back to the dormitory, he couldn't help but wonder what secrets she might be hiding.