By the time the clock ticked past eight-thirty, Lyra and I had showered, dressed, and dragged ourselves to the training grounds. The ache in my muscles from our morning session hadn't faded, but the fire in my chest hadn't either. I still felt the echo of bent time humming under my skin, and I caught Lyra glancing at her hands more than once, like she could still feel the ripple of folded space.
We didn't talk about it. Not yet.
The training hall was already occupied when we stepped inside. Kane stood at the center of the floor, arms folded, expression flat as stone. He looked as if he'd been waiting for hours, though it was probably just his way of reminding us that no matter how early we arrived, he'd always be a step ahead.
Adrian leaned casually against the wall behind him, one leg crossed over the other. His usual smirk was plastered on his face, but his eyes tracked us carefully, like a predator toying with prey.
"You're late," Kane said, even though we weren't.
Lyra frowned. "It's nine sharp."
Kane's gaze cut into her. "Nine sharp means you're already warmed up. It means you're ready to fight. Instead, I see two children strolling in like they're about to sit for lunch."
I bit back a retort. With Kane, there was no winning this kind of exchange.
Instead, I drew my swords. "Then let's fight."
Kane's smirk widened, never a good sign. "Finally. Today, you fight with mana. I don't care if you collapse. I don't care if you bleed. If you can't bring mana into your combat, you're not fighters, you're liabilities."
My pulse quickened. This was it. Our first chance to actually test what we'd discovered.
Lyra and I exchanged a quick glance. Just enough to say, don't overdo it.
But then Kane snapped his fingers. Steel dummies lurched into motion around the mat, their rune-carved bodies clicking and whirring as they came to life.
"Begin," he said flatly.
I lunged first, swords flashing in the Rushing Fang stance. The nearest dummy swung a blade toward my head. I exhaled, focused, and pushed.
Time bent.
The strike slowed into a crawl, the arc of the dummy's blade stopped to a crawl. My own slash blurred unnaturally fast, a green mana covering my sword, tearing through the construct's chest in a spray of splinters.
I snapped back into the flow of real time, staggering from the recoil. My vision swam, sweat already breaking across my forehead.
The silence that followed wasn't normal.
I turned, chest heaving. Kane hadn't moved. Adrian wasn't smirking. Both of them were staring at me, sharp, calculating, almost disbelieving.
"...Time?" Adrian muttered, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it.
Before I could respond, Lyra stepped forward. Her daggers gleamed in her hands as she dashed toward another dummy. She twisted, mana flaring around her—
—and space rippled.
She vanished in a jagged skip, reappearing behind the dummy as her daggers slashed clean through its neck. It collapsed in two pieces before its head even hit the ground.
My stomach clenched. She hadn't held back.
The entire hall fell silent again.
Adrian straightened from the wall, his arms uncrossed. His smirk was gone. "You've got to be kidding me," he said softly.
Kane stepped closer, his boots echoing sharply against the floor. His eyes narrowed, locked on us with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "Do you even understand what you just did?"
Lyra frowned, daggers still in hand. "We just used our elemental mana. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Kane's laugh was short, humorless. "Mana? Don't insult me. That wasn't fire, or water, or wind. That wasn't even lightning. That—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "Space and time. The rarest affinities there are. And the two of you just throw them around like it's nothing."
Lyra and I exchanged a glance. Neither of us spoke.
Adrian whistled low, shaking his head. "Do you know how many people in this world have ever awakened time? One. The vice principal of Ironwill. And space? Maybe two or three were recorded in the last century. And you're telling me both of you, siblings, just happen to have them?"
My grip tightened on my swords.
Kane said, his tone cutting like a blade. "You'll be hunted by the primordials if word gets out, you won't even live to see the entrance exam."
Lyra's jaw clenched, but her eyes didn't waver. "We just need to keep it quiet until we're in Ironwill."
Adrian studied us, expression unreadable. "Good luck keeping a secret like that. Affinities don't stay hidden forever."
Kane stepped back, folding his arms again. His composure was back, but the shift in him was obvious. No more disinterest. No more dismissive superiority. He was studying us now like weapons he didn't know how to use.
"Fine," he said at last. "You want to play with the rarest cards in the deck? Then prove you're not going to die holding them. Adrian."
Adrian pushed off the wall, grin returning. "Thought you'd never ask."
The next hour was hell.
Kane forced me to focus on flickers, tiny bursts of time manipulation, shaving fractions of a second instead of trying to stretch whole moments. Every time I overreached, my knees buckled and I had to run another lap. By the fifth lap, my legs felt like jelly.
Lyra was worse off. Kane made her repeat teleportation again and again until she could land without stumbling. Every misstep earned her push-ups until her arms trembled too much to hold her daggers.
"Control," Kane barked every time we failed. "Power without control is suicide. If you can't use your affinity without breaking yourselves, you'll be corpses on a battlefield."
By the time he called a break, I was drenched in sweat, chest burning. Lyra collapsed next to me, her daggers lying forgotten on the mat.
Adrian sauntered over, for once not wearing his usual smirk. He crouched in front of us, eyes sharp.
"You two don't get it," he said quietly. "Time and space aren't just rare. They're dangerous. Wars have been fought over people with gifts like yours. If the wrong people find out, you won't even get the chance to be strong. You'll be eliminated before you become a threat."
Lyra looked up at him, exhausted but defiant. "Then we just need to get stronger faster."
Adrian held her gaze for a long moment, then chuckled under his breath. "Hmph. Not bad." He stood, stretching. "Guess training just got interesting."
The second round pushed us past exhaustion.
I forced my flickers into strikes only milliseconds long, focusing on precision. The distortion no longer tore at my body the same way; I could almost control it.
Lyra sharpened her teleportation into short skips, half-steps instead of full dodges. Her landings grew steadier, her movements more fluid.
Kane watched us like a hawk, every failure punished, every success barely acknowledged. But once, just once, I caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Respect.
By the time he finally called a halt, the sun was high and our bodies were broken. Kane tossed us each a towel with casual disdain. "Better. Still pathetic, but better. You've got two months. Don't waste it."
We didn't answer. We couldn't.
As Lyra and I limped toward the exit, I glanced back. Kane had already turned away, but Adrian still stood there, watching us. His smirk was still there, but thinner, edged with something else.
"See you tomorrow," he called. "Try not to die before then."
I looked forward again, every muscle aching, every breath heavy. But inside, beneath the pain, something else burned bright.
For the first time, Kane and Adrian weren't just looking down at us.
They were watching.