The academy had quiet hours, and this was one of them.
The moon hung like a bruise over the stone towers, silver light draping across the empty walkways. A soft wind whispered through the courtyard trees, rustling leaves over the trio seated beneath the crumbling archway near the eastern garden wall where no professors passed and no students dared linger after curfew.
Hari sat cross-legged on the stone bench, bruised hands folded in his lap. Beside him, Amari leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes vacant. Andre paced in a slow circle like a tethered animal, humming to himself and occasionally pretending to swing a sword through invisible enemies.
None of them had spoken for several minutes.
Not since the fight.
Not since her.
Anya Love.
Hari finally broke the silence, his voice low. "We didn't land a single clean hit."
Andre stopped pacing. "I almost did."
"You almost tripped," Amari muttered, still staring into the distance.
Andre puffed his chest out. "I slipped on her paint."
Hari raised a brow. "You slipped before she swung."
"Artistic intimidation!" Andre snapped back, then sighed and let his arms fall limp. "Okay, fine. I got folded like a pamphlet. But at least I made eye contact."
Hari didn't laugh. Amari didn't smile. The mood stayed heavy.
The defeat hadn't just been physical, it was spiritual. Standing against Anya Love had been like fighting a natural disaster that hummed a melody only she could hear. She'd smiled the whole time, like she was painting them into something beautiful. And yet it didn't feel cruel.
Just complete.
"I don't think she even hated us, I mean she was even teaching us," Amari said softly.
Hari looked up.
"But she was just... playing. Like we were tools. Colors. Strokes."
Andre sat down on the stone ledge and rested his chin on his palms. "I thought having no blessing meant she'd be manageable."
Hari shook his head. "She doesn't need a blessing. Not when she has a wish like that."
"Pure Power," Amari said. "It suits her."
"Yeah," Andre muttered, almost smiling. "She was beautiful."
They all turned.
Andre shrugged. "What? I'm not talking romance, I mean the way she moved. The way she fought. It was like... music."
"Music that knocked your ass out in ten seconds," Amari replied.
"Exactly!" Andre pointed at him. "That's rhythm!"
Hari didn't respond. He looked at his palms again, the ones still stained with streaks of blue from her brush. The paint hadn't washed off, no matter how much he scrubbed. Maybe it wasn't meant to.
Down the path, a group of first-year students passed by in whispered excitement.
"Those three over there. That's them, right?"
"Yeah. The ones who faced Anya Love and lived."
"Barely."
One of them glanced directly at Hari. He didn't flinch, but something in his jaw tightened. The others walked past without a word.
After the silence returned, Andre murmured, "It's kind of funny."
"What is?" Hari asked.
"Just... how fast everything changed. A month ago, I was just some loser swinging a stick in the alley. Now I'm getting folded by a literal paintbrush."
Amari scoffed. "Speak for yourself."
Andre smirked. "Oh, I am. You were born glowing. Me? I just talk a lot and hope no one notices I'm scared."
Hari stared at the ground. "We all looked scared."
Amari leaned against the wall again, gaze distant. "She made it feel like fear was part of the choreography."
Andre smiled to himself. "Then I'll be an outlier next time, the one who changes the dance."
Hari and Amari said nothing.
Not because they didn't believe in him but because for the first time, he sounded unsure.
A breeze swept past them, carrying the scent of dry paint and old stone.
Far above, in one of the academy's watchtowers, a single streak of red paint shimmered under the moonlight drawn across the stone like a signature.
Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the academy's lecture hall, casting long shadows over the rows of empty benches. The room was quiet too quiet for a place usually filled with restless students eager to learn.
The silence shattered as the doors opened, and a slender figure stepped inside, her movements deliberate and precise. Hyuk Kim, a second-year student, surveyed the room with sharp, calculating eyes. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a neat braid, and a bow hung casually over her shoulder.
At the back of the hall, Andre, Hari, and Amari entered together, their faces still marked by the previous night's exhaustion and bruises. Andre's eyes immediately locked onto Hyuk.
"Hyuk Kim," he said under his breath, recalling the rumors whispered around the academy of a marksman so deadly that few dared challenge her.
Hyuk turned slowly, her lilac eyes meeting Andre's. "Andre Cruz," she replied evenly. "I've heard you're finally ready for your sparring match."
Andre straightened, chest puffing out. "Ready? I've been ready since day one."
Hari and Amari exchanged glances. Amari gave a small nod of approval, while Hari kept silent, studying Hyuk's calm demeanor.
Hyuk's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Good. I hope you keep up."
The instructor entered then, a tall, stoic woman with steel-gray hair and piercing blue eyes. She moved to the podium and began the lecture.
"Today's lesson: control and precision. Raw power is meaningless without discipline. Remember Anya Love's fight. Strength must be guided."
Andre's jaw tightened at the mention of Anya, but Hyuk's expression didn't change. She was already thinking three steps ahead.
After the lecture, the students dispersed, but Hyuk approached the trio.
"Cruz," she said quietly, "I expect you to give your best in the upcoming sparring. Don't disappoint."
Andre grinned, feeling the familiar fire of competition ignite within him. "I'll make sure you remember my name."
Hyuk nodded, then turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Hari looked at Andre. "She's good. You'll need to be better."
Amari added, "This won't be an easy fight. But it's exactly what you need."
Andre's grin only widened. "Then let's get started."
The academy's corridors hummed with a mix of chatter and footsteps as students moved between classes, but the trio slipped quietly through the crowd, their minds heavy with the morning's lesson.
Andre's earlier bravado had faded slightly, replaced by a sharp focus. He glanced over at Hyuk's retreating figure, determination flickering in his eyes.
"She's going to push me harder than anyone else," Andre admitted, breaking the silence.
Amari nodded thoughtfully. "That's exactly why you need to face her. To find where you really stand."
Hari walked between them, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Facing Anya felt impossible. But this… this fight, it's something we can control. Something we can learn from."
Andre cracked his knuckles. "I don't want to just survive anymore. I want to win. To show everyone that I belong here."
Amari gave a rare smile. "Then don't hold back. Let's see what you're really made of."
The sun dipped lower behind the towers, casting long shadows over the stone pathways. As they passed the eastern garden wall, the faint scent of dry paint lingered on the breeze, a silent reminder of battles past and those yet to come.
Hari looked at his stained palms and sighed. "One step at a time."
Andre's grin returned, brighter than before. "One fight at a time."
The academy's training grounds were bathed in the fading glow of sunset, long shadows stretching across the worn stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and dust, mingling with the sharp tang of magic.
Hari stood near the edge of the courtyard, quietly practicing hand signs, his movements deliberate but fluid. Each gesture whispered a faint hum of magic subtle spells not meant for direct combat but woven with precision and intent.
Amari paced nearby, energy crackling around him as he practiced short bursts of teleportation, slipping between shadows with the ease of a predator. His eyes gleamed with determination; every movement was calculated, every leap a test of his Abara Jump.
Andre swung a wooden practice sword with wild enthusiasm, teeth clenched in concentration. His strikes were raw, less refined than the others, but full of fire and unpredictability. With every swing, he imagined Hyuk's stoic expression, fueling his drive to push harder.
Amari paused and called out, "Andre, focus! Speed and precision, not just power."
Andre shot back, grinning, "I'm not just swinging a stick! This is how I fight."
Hari's voice cut through the din, calm but firm. "Balance, Andre. You need control to survive against someone like Hyuk."
Andre stopped, breathing heavy, sweat dripping down his forehead. "I don't want to survive."
"No one here does," Hari said quietly.
The three exchanges look like a mix of challenge, understanding, and brotherhood.
As twilight deepened, their shadows merged and stretched across the ground, the trio preparing for the battles ahead not just against others, but against their own limits.