Per:
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Chapter 1 – Part 7E
(Rival Escalation & Subtle Power Tease)
The afternoon sun had climbed higher, washing the courtyard in a stark, glaring light. Dust swirled with every step, stirred by students shuffling nervously across the uneven tiles.
Jofyn adjusted his stance, feeling the faint hum of his convergence core sync with the shards stitched into his robe. They pulsed in rhythm, quiet but insistent, like a heartbeat only he could hear.
From the side, a group of nobles sauntered forward. Their cores flared—fire, ice, lightning—each more precise than the next. They wore arrogance like a second skin.
"Vale," the tallest sneered, a faint crown of fire hovering around his wrist. "We've been waiting. Let's see if all that hammering actually produces anything worth noticing."
The robe shivered slightly, a puff of air vibrating around Jofyn's shoulders. "Oh, please. Just don't annoy me. I have plans for mischief later."
Jofyn ignored it, letting his hands hover over the stones laid out for the next practical exercise. The assignment was simple in instruction: summon and stabilize a minor elemental construct using only core synchronization.
Most nobles moved first, forming fireballs, ice shards, or spark clusters. They glowed brightly, their displays flashy, almost theatrical. But even as the constructs shimmered, a faint wobble betrayed their control. One misstep, and the stone markers cracked.
Jofyn bent slightly, concentrating. He closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of the forge core, the rhythm of creation he had learned through the hammer, the anvil, and late-night work in the forge. Shards in the robe pulsed in response, tiny lights tracing faint patterns in the air.
The convergence core—unstudied, untested, unique—began to whisper. Not words, not commands, but subtle nudges, showing him a flow, a harmony, a method none had taught him.
He extended his hands, palms low, and traced arcs over the stones. Energy pulsed, soft, even, resonating with the surrounding environment. A tiny ember formed first, then a thin column of smoke, then faint sparks dancing around the ember. Slowly, it shaped into a construct—fragile, delicate, yet perfectly balanced.
"Interesting…" murmured a noble, leaning closer, eyes narrowing. "How does he…?"
The robe flared with a faint puff. "Oh, they're wondering, are they? Don't mind me. Just a humble cloak watching genius in action."
The other nobles' constructs flickered, some collapsing as they overextended, some sparking out of rhythm. The instructor's gaze swept the group. For the first time that day, he paused on Jofyn, nodding faintly.
"Forge Core," he murmured, voice low. "Not flashy… but efficient. Precise."
Jofyn opened his eyes. The construct hovered, spinning slightly in a gentle rhythm, perfectly stabilized. Small wisps of smoke curled around it, almost like a whisper of applause.
A rival stepped forward, brimming with irritation. "This is ridiculous! A farmer, showing finesse we were taught in a decade!"
The robe hummed mischievously. "Oh, please, let them rant. I'm enjoying this performance. Keep your hands steady, Vale. Don't make me intervene."
Jofyn smiled faintly. He had no need to answer. The construct pulsed softly, glowing faintly with the rhythm of his core, shimmering like a heartbeat in the afternoon sun. Subtle. Silent. Perfect.
"Quiet… clever… persistent," the instructor murmured, almost to himself. "I'll remember this."
Even as murmurs of disbelief and envy spread through the courtyard, a faint vibration reached Jofyn's senses. Not from students, not from constructs—but from something hidden, something subtle, something watching. A small flicker of recognition.
The robe quipped, "Hmm… you've got something hidden in that chest of yours, farmer boy. Something telling me you're not just playing with sparks."
Jofyn adjusted the robe, letting the pulse of energy settle around him. He didn't know what it was yet. A spirit? A guardian? A trick of the convergence core? Only time would tell.
For now, all that mattered was this: first challenge faced, first spark recognized, and first ripple in the pond of doubt caused among the nobles.
The sun began to dip lower, painting the courtyard in hues of gold and crimson. Jofyn's construct flickered faintly, reflecting the light like a tiny star born from his hands. And somewhere in the silent folds of the academy, small eyes—unseen—watched and noted.
Tomorrow would bring more challenges. More tests. More sneers. And perhaps, the faintest hint of a path toward something greater.
The first subtle recognition had been won. And in Ashen Hollow, among whispers, dust, and cracked tiles, a quiet genius had begun to carve his mark.
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