Morning in the Iron Vale guildhall began with noise.
Steel rang against steel in the training yard, a sharp, rhythmic clatter that echoed through stone corridors. Voices shouted instructions. Boots struck packed earth. Somewhere, someone was already arguing over contracts.
Kael woke before the bell.
It wasn't discipline that pulled him from sleep—it was instinct. The unfamiliar ceiling above him, the weight of the blanket, the faint hum of people moving nearby. His body stiffened for half a heartbeat before memory caught up.
Guild hall. Safe. For now.
He exhaled and sat up slowly.
The aches greeted him immediately. His arm throbbed dully, purple bruises blooming beneath the bandages Lyra had rewrapped late the night before. Every muscle complained when he stood.
Across the small room, Lyra was already awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and measured.
Meditating.
Kael watched quietly.
Back on Earth, this had been part of their routine—mental stillness before physical exertion. Not mystical. Just awareness. Control.
Here, though…
Lyra's brow furrowed slightly. Her breathing stuttered, then steadied again.
After a minute, she opened her eyes and sighed.
"Still nothing," she said.
Kael nodded. "Same."
No warmth beneath the skin. No flow. No spark. If mana filled the world like air, they were holding their breath without realizing it.
They dressed quickly and stepped outside.
The guild's training yard sprawled wider than Kael expected. Multiple rings had been marked into the dirt, some reinforced with stone. Wooden weapon racks lined the walls. Adventurers trained in clusters—some sparring with blades, others chanting quietly as mana shimmered faintly around their bodies.
Close-combat mages.
Kael watched with a critical eye.
Enhancement spells layered over muscle. Reinforced bones. Accelerated reflexes. Powerful—but sloppy. Overreliance on magic to correct bad habits.
Lyra leaned closer. "If their spells fail, they're dead."
Kael murmured agreement.
A loud clap cut through the noise.
Darius stood at the center of the yard, arms crossed.
"Listen up," the guildmaster said. "New probationary members don't train like full adventurers. You'll work. You'll observe. You'll keep your mouths shut."
His gaze flicked to Kael and Lyra briefly.
"Especially you two."
Some snickers rippled through the crowd.
Darius ignored them. "Pairs A through D, field prep. Everyone else—spar."
A woman with cropped red hair and a scar across her nose approached Kael and Lyra. "You're with me," she said. "Name's Rhea."
She handed them brooms.
"Clean the outer yard. After that, haul water. Then inventory."
Lyra took the broom without complaint. Kael did the same.
Work was familiar. Honest. Exhausting.
They swept dirt and blood alike from the training rings, scrubbed dried grime from stone, hauled heavy buckets until Kael's shoulders screamed. Rhea watched them the entire time, sharp-eyed and silent.
At one point, Kael's grip slipped, and a bucket clattered to the ground, water splashing everywhere.
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Injured?"
"Yes," Kael said plainly.
"Excuse?"
"Right arm. From a fight."
Rhea studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Switch hands."
Kael did.
It was worse—but he didn't complain.
By midday, they were allowed a break.
They sat in the shade near the guildhall wall, sharing bread and dried meat. Better than the slums. Still meager.
Lyra wiped sweat from her brow. "They're watching us."
"Good," Kael said. "Means we matter."
"Or they're waiting for us to fail."
He shrugged. "Same thing."
Rhea approached again. "Guildmaster wants to see you."
Kael and Lyra exchanged a glance and stood.
Darius's office smelled faintly of ink and steel. Maps covered the walls, marked with routes and warnings. The guildmaster leaned against his desk, arms folded.
"You didn't embarrass yourselves this morning," he said. "That's a start."
Lyra inclined her head. "Thank you."
Darius studied Kael's bandaged arm. "Still unawakened?"
"Yes."
"No mana sensitivity?"
"No."
"No aura sensation?"
Kael hesitated. "Not… consciously."
Darius's eyes sharpened slightly. "Explain."
"There's pressure," Kael said carefully. "Sometimes. Like resistance."
Lyra nodded. "I feel it too. But it's inconsistent."
Darius was silent for a long moment.
"Interesting," he said finally. "You'll train anyway."
Lyra frowned. "Train how?"
Darius smiled faintly. "The hard way."
Training without power was humbling.
They were paired with guild trainees younger than most adventurers but already awakened. Kael faced a boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen, mana reinforcing his limbs in faint pulses.
"Don't worry," the boy said cheerfully. "I'll go easy."
Kael didn't answer.
The bell rang.
The boy moved first—fast, enhanced, confident.
Kael retreated, feet sliding, stance low. He let the boy overextend, then slipped inside the swing and struck the wrist.
Pain jolted through Kael's injured arm—but the boy yelped, mana flickering.
"What—"
Kael stepped back immediately, disengaging.
The instructor frowned. "Again."
They went again.
And again.
Kael lost most bouts. Sometimes badly. A reinforced punch sent him skidding across dirt once, breath knocked from his lungs.
But he learned.
Distances. Timings. How mana altered movement—and where it didn't.
Lyra trained nearby.
She adapted faster.
She lost too—but she forced mistakes. Drew errors. Exploited arrogance.
After hours, they collapsed near the edge of the yard.
Lyra lay flat on her back, staring at the sky. "I hate enhancement magic."
Kael coughed a laugh. "It hates us too."
Rhea crouched nearby. "You two don't fight like beginners."
Kael glanced at her. "We aren't."
Rhea's eyes narrowed. "No mana. No aura. But you move like veterans."
Lyra met her gaze steadily. "We trained. A lot."
Rhea stood. "Keep doing what you're doing."
That night, Kael soaked his arm in cold water, jaw clenched against the pain. Lyra sat beside him, quietly rewrapping the bandages.
"Do you feel it?" she asked suddenly.
He paused. "Feel what?"
"When we fight," she said. "Right before impact."
Kael thought.
That moment. The narrowing. The stillness before motion.
"Yes," he said slowly. "Like the world slows."
Lyra nodded. "That's when it's closest."
"Closest to what?"
She swallowed. "Awakening. Or whatever this is."
Silence settled between them.
Outside their room, guild life continued. Laughter. Arguments. The clink of coins.
Kael closed his eyes.
That pressure returned.
Faint.
Persistent.
Not mana.
Not aura—yet.
But something listened when he focused.
Something waited when he stopped forcing.
He opened his eyes.
"Lyra," he said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"We're doing this wrong."
She frowned. "Wrong how?"
"We're trying to feel power," he said. "Instead of letting it feel us."
Her eyes widened slightly.
They sat together on the floor, backs straight, breathing slow. No chanting. No spells. Just awareness.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Nothing happened.
Lyra huffed. "Well. That was disappointing."
Kael smiled faintly. "For now."
Outside, a bell rang—signaling a returning expedition.
Darius's voice echoed faintly through the hall.
The world moved on.
But somewhere beneath Kael's skin, beneath muscle and bone and pain—
That silent resistance tightened.
And for the first time since joining the guild, Kael understood one thing clearly.
They didn't need permission to awaken.
They just needed to survive long enough.
And Iron Vale—
Was only the beginning.