One month later.
Inside the training hall.
A crescent arc of golden-red fire cut through the air.
It was thin and sharp. Not the blazing, consuming kind of fire. This was precise. Meant to scorch and slice in a single motion, like a blade made of heat.
It flew straight toward the red-haired woman standing across from him.
Arista raised her sword. Mana coated the blade in a thin layer and she brought it down in a clean slash, meeting the arc head on.
BOOM.
The explosion sent smoke billowing across the training ground in a wide gray cloud.
When it thinned, Arista was already walking toward him, her expression open and genuinely pleased.
"Perfect, Azael. You have completely mastered the first form."
Azael stood across from her in his white training outfit, catching his breath. "It comes naturally now. I barely have to think about it."
