"That guy looks different. Like he's another person."
The voice came from Vael's right, where Kiera was sitting.
I noticed too. Maybe he unlocked his power during the exam, gave him an ego boost, Vael suggested through their mental link.
Kiera didn't answer. Her silence was proof enough of her curiosity.
"Maggots, get your asses over here!" Mr. Bradford's voice cut through the field from the start of the track.
By then, the five minutes were up, and only about half the class had managed to complete the laps.
And of course, the teacher was far from pleased.
When every student finally huddled near Bradford—his face red with rage—he let loose.
"This school's name has been dragged through the dirt if people like you qualified as students!"
He paced a few steps, looking like he was about to explode—a funny sight, all things considered.
The sunlight gleamed off his bald head. Bald awakened were rare, even with age; their bodies adapted to preserve a sense of beauty.
Which made this scene all the more ridiculous.
"We've got, what, twenty minutes left? Guess what you're doing."
The smirk on his face said everything. Vael couldn't quite understand the point of breaking the run into segments. Bradford could have just told them to keep running for an hour straight.
"That's right, punks. Get back to it."
No sound came from the students, but the air itself seemed to sigh.
And so it went. For the next twenty minutes, the young adults ran as if their lives depended on it.
With the sun blazing overhead, it was no joke.
By the time their legs ached, their lungs burned, and their minds went numb, the melodic toll of the bells finally released them from their torture.
"Goodbye, kids," Bradford said with a cheeky smile. "You'd better perform better tomorrow."
It was now officially the best part of the day—lunch.
After an hour of running, most students were desperate to eat. Especially Vael, who had skipped breakfast.
The line at the cafeteria was long. Very long. And this wasn't even all the students yet.
Those on the diplomacy track would be joining them tomorrow, doubling the numbers.
On the menu: chicken and potatoes. Usually bland, but with the right spices, it was unmatched.
And at the Academy, spices were never in short supply.
Vael and Kiera sat a little apart from the others, chatting in their usual quiet way. That's when Vael remembered—he still hadn't told her about his dream.
He shared it quickly, and to say she was surprised would be an understatement.
Another continent, huh? she mused. Well, now these visions of yours might actually be useful.
Vael nodded in understanding. This meant they'd get another perspective—one that revealed the situation on Vasulina, something otherwise impossible to learn.
Still, they would have to wait. The cooldown between his dreams seemed to stretch nearly half a year.
Kiera had also glimpsed the Space Blade… and the strange boat in the bottle.
Isn't that Space Blade just another version of Sword Aura? she asked.
Vael paused to consider.
Yes and no. The principle is similar. But this time, I'm not just coating my blade—I'm molding Space itself.
Kiera leaned back, stabbing a potato with her fork, still mulling over his words. "Molding space itself…" she muttered. "You make it sound like child's play."
Vael smirked. "Maybe it is. Maybe I'm just that talented."
That earned him an eye-roll and a faint smile, the tension between them loosening. For a moment, the heavy talk of dreams, visions, and weapons faded.
"So," Kiera said, shifting the topic, "our last class of the day. Mana Control."
"Yeah," Vael replied, straightening. "That one's going to be interesting. Controlling raw mana without losing half of it to waste? If we master that, every ability we use becomes ten times sharper."
"And ten times more exhausting," Kiera added dryly. "Something tells me it's going to be worse than running laps."
"Nothing's worse than Bradford," Vael countered.
They shared a short laugh before standing and heading out of the cafeteria, weaving through the noisy crowd of students.
As they stepped into the open courtyard on the way to class, Vael caught sight of a familiar figure sitting alone on a bench beneath the shade of an old elm.
Arconis.
Eating with a casual grace unfamiliar to him. He seemed to be lost in thought, like if he was talking with himself in his head.