The morning wind gently whipped across the training grounds. The earth was marked with old scars of battles, silent witnesses to countless past duels.
The Orion students lined up in a semicircle around Calem, all dressed in training gear. His black coat fluttered slightly behind him as he stood with his arms crossed in front of the group.
"Today, we have rotation duels. You choose your opponents. The goal:prepare yourselves for the end-of-term trial. It will take place in less than a week."
A murmur ran through the students. The trial was coming fast. Too fast for some.
Menma, silent, stared at the field. For weeks, he had been training relentlessly. Every session with Calem pushed him to the edge of exhaustion. He still hadn't managed to amplify his own body, but his body itself had changed.
He was no longer so fragile.
William approached him, a smile on his lips.
"I want to see your progress. Up for a duel?"
Menma only nodded.
The circle quickly formed around them. Even students unrelated to the duel moved closer. William was considered one of the most skilled in the Orion class, with a sharp Agility Arch. And Menma... well, everyone wanted to see if he would surprise again.
The fight began.
William charged immediately, fast and sharp as lightning.
Menma tried to react, but the first hits struck him squarely. He stepped back a few paces under the impact, struggling to keep up with his opponent's movements.
William frowned.
— He doesn't even flinch after that hit...
Menma clenched his teeth, a thought crossing his mind:
Calem's blows were so powerful... William's seem almost weak.
He straightened up, a new light in his eyes. He began to study William carefully, analyzing his footing, the tension in his shoulders, the subtle movements before his attacks.
And this time, he dodged.
Once, then twice.
Then he blocked a blow. And counterattacked.
Nothing spectacular. No magic. Just precise, effective movements. He was reading William. Understanding him.
The pace of the fight shifted.
William accelerated. Menma kept up.
He didn't hit hard, but his dodges and counters were almost unsettling in their precision. Several students stopped to watch, fascinated.
— He's holding on... whispered one.
— Impossible... William must be toying with him...
— He reads William like an open book...
William, sweating, began to increase the pace, trying to regain control.
But Menma held firm. Each dodge gave him a bit more confidence. Each counter reminded him of the hours spent enduring Calem's brutal strikes.
I see it. Every move. Every attack. He's fast... but predictable.
Then, suddenly, an opening.
Menma leapt. His foot struck William's side, unbalancing him. Before William could react, Menma threw him to the ground with a clean projection.
Silence.
Then whispers.
— He won?
— Against William?!
— But... he didn't even use his Arch...
Panting, Menma extended his hand to William to help him up.
William grasped it, still stunned.
— "Why didn't you use your magic?" he asked, dusting off his clothes.
Menma looked away slightly.
— "I still can't."
William raised an eyebrow, puzzled. But he said nothing more. Just a slight smirk before returning to his seat.
The day went on, duels followed one another, but many still had that fight in mind. Even Calem, from afar, had met Menma's gaze with a discreet sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes.
Night fell over the academy.
Menma, alone on the deserted field, tried once again to activate his Arch on his arm. In vain. The light flickered barely. His breath was short, his hands trembling.
He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Tried to channel the Flux—not toward an object, but into his muscles. His skin. His bones.
A shiver ran through him. A sudden pressure in his gut. He forced, trying to guide that energy inside him... but it scattered immediately.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes, tense. Started again.
He got into position. Breathed slowly. Imagined himself as a vessel, a catalyst. He circulated the Flux, aimed it toward his arms... but again, he felt it slip away, scattering like water through his fingers.
Nothing.
He clenched his fists. His jaw tightened. He dropped to his knees, closed his eyes harder. This time, he put all his will, all his concentration. He thought only of this: feel it. Channel it. Amplify it.
A spark.
Just one. But it vanished instantly. The Flux slipped away again, resistant. Unstable. Out of control.
He hit the ground with his fist, gasping.
— "Why isn't it working..."
His arms trembled. Sweat soaked his neck. He remained motionless, heart pounding wildly. But he refused to give up.
Again. He resumed. Sat cross-legged. Cleared his mind. Channeled. Failed. Started again.
Again. And again. And again.
He felt his limit approaching. His body burned. His mind screamed.
But he kept going.
And suddenly... a vibration.
Light. Fleeting. But real. A pale, bluish glow, like a living pulse, lit up on his forearms. Just one second.
But that second was everything.
He froze, eyes wide.
— "I think..."
— "You shouldn't even be able to do that, you're using your Flux wrong," she said simply.
The voice made Menma jump.
He turned his head.
Ayame.
She was there, leaning against the training wall, arms crossed. She said nothing at first, but her gaze said it all: she had been watching him for a while.
Menma blinked, surprised.
— "You... were watching me?"
She approached. For the first time, she didn't stay distant. She didn't climb on her usual wall to watch from above. No. She sat beside him. Calmly. As if it were normal.
At that moment, he finally understood. The silhouette he had felt several times, lurking in the shadows or silently perched, was her. Ayame.
— "Relax your shoulders a bit. You're forcing too much, it blocks the Flux."
He followed the advice without arguing. She corrected him with a calm precision, almost natural. As if she'd done this all her life.
— "And stop trying to dominate it. The Flux is guided. It isn't controlled."
Menma lowered his eyes to his hands. He breathed in, took his position again. Sitting cross-legged, he closed his eyes, focused once more. The Flux accumulated in him, more slowly, but with a slight stability this time. He tried again. Channeled. Failed. Tried again.
Then he asked, without looking at her:
— "Can I ask you something? Why are you helping me?"
She paused before answering. Then, eyes fixed on the horizon:
— "I wondered why a guy as weak as you stepped up against Zarek on the first day."A slight silence.— "And when I saw Calem take you under his wing... I wanted to understand."
Her tone held no mockery. Just... sincere curiosity, tinged with a glow he never expected from her.
In the days that followed, Menma kept returning to that same corner of the training ground. And almost every time... she was there.
Ayame.
Sometimes perched on her usual wall, other times sitting at a measured distance, never too close, never too far. She didn't always speak. But when she did, it was with that sharp mix of observation and intuition. A brief remark, a pointed glance, a question sounding like a riddle.
— "Do you think it's possible to amplify my body?" Menma asked.
Ayame shrugged.
— "That's for you to prove."
And little by little, without them discussing it, something settled. A kind of silent routine. Made of trials, failures, silences... and progress. Slow progress, but real.
This time, Menma no longer wondered why she came back.
She told him.
She wanted to understand. Understand why him. Why that boy.
And at each return of Ayame, at every look she cast his way, he felt the same thing: it wasn't condescension. Nor pity.
It was curiosity. Genuine. Alive.
An invisible thread had just woven between them—not friendship, not yet. But something fragile, real, and maybe... inevitable.