The academy's third year was far more grueling than the last. The days of general training were long gone—now, each student was expected to carve their own path, pushing toward mastery in their chosen fields.
For Kalem and his companions, this shift was both an opportunity and a burden.
Kalem spent much of his time refining his craft, working in the forge late into the night. His weapon designs became more sophisticated, and his understanding of mana circuits allowed him to experiment with advanced enhancements.
However, as his work became more intricate, so did the challenges. The academy's third-year curriculum expected students to begin integrating their skills into practical applications, often requiring real-world testing. Kalem's ideas were bold, but execution was another matter entirely. Some of his prototypes failed, others exploded outright, and a few required significant rework before they became viable.
"Another one?" Lyra commented, watching as Kalem dismantled a shattered blade.
"I overestimated the resonance stability," he muttered, shaking his head. "The mana flow should've held, but it destabilized mid-swing."
"That's what happens when you push boundaries," she replied, handing him a notebook. "I made some adjustments to your calculations. Try reinforcing the core with a secondary layering process."
Kalem took the notes with a nod, already piecing together new ideas in his mind.
Jhaeros and Velka had spent months perfecting their teamwork, refining their movements until they functioned as a single entity in battle. The academy had recognized their synergy and placed them in more advanced combat scenarios, where they faced opponents who could counter their speed and coordination.
One particular match pitted Jhaeros against an upper-year duelist known for their precision. The duel was intense, with Jhaeros forced to adapt to an opponent who could predict his movements. Velka, restrained by the academy's rules, could only watch from the sidelines, growling in frustration.
Jhaeros finally managed to win by shifting his approach, using misdirection and baiting his opponent into overcommitting.
"You can't always rely on speed alone," Garrick commented afterward.
"I know," Jhaeros replied, running a hand through Velka's fur. "That's why I'm working on other ways to break through defenses."
Nara's combat style had become fiercer than ever. She had always relied on raw power, but now she was learning to control it with more precision. Her fire-infused gauntlets could now generate bursts of heat that altered the air around her, making her attacks unpredictable.
During a sparring session, she faced off against an instructor known for countering elemental techniques.
"Come at me," the instructor said, standing firm.
Nara didn't hesitate. She dashed forward, fists blazing, but her opponent dissipated the flames with ease. Rather than retreating, she pressed on, switching between normal strikes and flame-enhanced blows. She wasn't just using fire—she was using it tactically, controlling the battlefield.
By the end of the match, though she had lost, she had proven something important: brute force alone wasn't her limit.
Isolde had always been a powerhouse in combat, her glacial greatsword overwhelming opponents with sheer force. But in the third year, she began refining her abilities, learning to wield her ice with a level of control she hadn't previously considered.
One evening, as she practiced in the training grounds, Kalem stopped by to watch.
"You've changed how you fight," he noted.
Isolde nodded, forming a thin layer of frost along the blade's edge. "Before, I just froze things solid. But I realized—precision is just as important as power."
She demonstrated by striking a practice dummy, not shattering it but instead freezing a single joint, rendering it immobile.
Kalem smirked. "Looks like we're all evolving."
Despite the progress they made, there was an unshakable feeling that the peace wouldn't last forever. The Blood Nights had ended, but their consequences still lingered.
Kalem, ever the analyst, had been studying the remnants of the assassins' equipment in secret. The symbols, the craftsmanship—there were patterns, connections he couldn't ignore.
One night, after everyone had left the forge, he pulled out the stolen artifacts once more. He traced his fingers over the markings, his mind racing. There was something deeper at play. Something unresolved.
And he knew, sooner or later, it would surface again.