Eryndor lay in his quarters, still bruised and sore from the grueling matches. Every muscle throbbed, every movement reminded him of the final round where exhaustion had robbed him of victory. Yet, despite the ache, there was a warmth in his chest—a quiet pride in the storm he had begun to master.
Lightning hummed faintly along his fingertips as he flexed his hands, a reminder that Ember Tier was now his. Wind brushed against the open windows, carrying a soft encouragement that seemed almost sentient. He closed his eyes, letting the energies flow through him, feeling the fusion of martial discipline and elemental power more strongly than ever.
A soft knock interrupted his meditation. Lyanna slipped inside, her expression cautious but bright.
"You pushed yourself too hard," she said gently, helping him sit up. "You could've ended up seriously hurt. You're lucky your father knows what he's doing."
Eryndor managed a small grin. "I know. But it was worth it. Every strike, every dodge… it brought me here. Ember Tier… it feels different. More… alive."
Lyanna's gaze followed his movements, noting the faint sparks along his knuckles. "I've never seen anything like it. Even your cousins noticed. They… they don't know what to do against you anymore."
The door opened again. His father stepped in, hands behind his back, expression calm but commanding. "Eryndor," he said, voice carrying the weight of authority, "the competition showed me everything I needed to see. Strength isn't measured solely by victory. Adaptation, instinct, mastery of self… you have them in abundance."
Eryndor's heart raced, anticipation coiling in his chest.
"You will leave for the academy soon," his father continued. "It is the place where your skills will be tested beyond what we can provide here. You must learn, grow, and survive against rivals who will challenge every ounce of your ability."
"Yes, Father," Eryndor said, straightening his back despite lingering soreness. The hum of Lightning and tug of Wind seemed to pulse in agreement.
His father's gaze softened slightly. "You nearly collapsed in the final match today. That is precisely why I am sending you. Those who only rely on strength cannot survive there. You… can."
Lyanna's eyes widened. "So… it's really happening? You're going?"
Eryndor nodded slowly, a spark of determination lighting his expression. "Yes. Ember Tier is just the beginning. There are levels beyond this—abilities beyond what I've even imagined. And I will rise to meet them."
He stood, flexing his fingers as Lightning danced faintly along his arms, wind brushing his sleeves. For the first time, the weight of expectation felt like a challenge rather than a burden.
The next morning, as the carriage rolled toward the academy, Eryndor gazed out at the passing landscape. Mountains, forests, and rivers stretched endlessly, but his mind focused inward. Each flash of Lightning along his hands, each whisper of wind along his hair, reminded him of the journey ahead.
He wasn't just going to survive. He was going to master, to adapt, and to rise above every challenge that awaited him. Ember Tier was his first step, and nothing—exhaustion, rivals, or even fate itself—would hold him back.
The academy awaited. And so did the storm.