The days at the Academy began to blur into a rhythm—rigorous, exhausting, yet strangely intoxicating.
Every morning, the students gathered in the training halls where instructors drilled them in the fundamentals of channeling the powers in their D-H.
More Rank 1 D-H were now distributed for practice, their faint glow pulsing as if tiny stars had been trapped inside crystal shells. The students were finally allowed to access other [Breaths].
"Remember!" Frost Winister's voice carried like steel over stone, sharp but steady. "A Breath is not a toy. It is the distilled will of the dragon whose heart you wield. Treat it with respect—or it will consume you."
His words did not empty worries.
One boy in the second week overextended himself, trying to push lightning from a Stormfang's D-H.
The current surged too violently, and though the healers patched him up, he still carried burns across his arm.
The cautionary tale spread quickly, but so did the allure.
