Chapter 4—Ashen Victory

“People remember the fall, not the reason for it”

The clash ended, but its echoes lingered across the training grounds. The rectangular field stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun, its dirt floor marked with faint chalk lines that divided sparring zones. Along the edges stood racks of wooden weapons, water basins for cooling down, and benches where students gathered between bouts. Frost still clung to the ground where Garid’s spells had struck, steam curling faintly as the field’s natural heat began to melt it.

The clamor of the training field ebbed into uneasy silence. Dust settled, broken wooden shields and splintered practice weapons littered the ground, while students whispered in small clusters. Some were grinning in disbelief, others sneering, but most wore faces caught between awe and apprehension.

Overhead, a faint shimmer lingered in the air—the residue of the magical dampening field conjured by Sir Falden. It hummed just at the edge of perception, like pressure in the ears before a storm. The dampening weakened potency but not form; a spear of ice would still form, still fly, still strike—but its lethality lessened, reduced to bruise and bleed instead of kill. Students shifted uneasily, reminded that even dulled, such power could still maim.

Ms. Lila was the first to move. She passed Garid without a glance, kneeling beside Raiden instead. His left thigh was slick with blood where the ice spear had pierced, the wound angry and raw.

Her palms pressed gently to the injury, and a faint tri-colored shimmer spread across her fingers—red, blue, and ochre light weaving together in delicate balance. The warmth of fire flared first, sterilizing the wound, burning away unseen impurities; its sting made Raiden grit his teeth, though he recognized it as part of the process. Then the cool tinge of water followed, seeping deep, replenishing lost fluids and easing the swelling around torn muscle. Finally, earth’s steady weight seeped in, coaxing skin and sinew to knit. Ms. Lila’s hands moved in practiced circles, smoothing ragged edges of flesh into a proper seal.

She lacked the precision of masters who could replace what was lost—Raiden’s torn fibers would remain stiff for days, the ache lingering—but she could mend, close, and restore. Enough to make him stand. Enough to let him fight again if needed.

Ophelin folded her arms, smirking. “So you do treat students fairly, unlike some instructors.” Her gaze cut deliberately toward Falden, who stood impassive, arms folded.

Ms. Lila’s lips thinned. “We’re supposed to. All of us.” The words carried a bite, disappointment directed more at her colleague than her patient. Without another word, she finished with Raiden, then walked briskly to tend Rad, who groaned on the ground.

Carn stepped into the center of the field, his voice carrying clearly over the murmurs. “That will do for today. Both teams are excused. Injuries demand rest. The rest of you—pair off and continue your drills.” The order reasserted rhythm to the field, though the tension of what had just unfolded lingered like smoke after a fire.

Whispers spread again among the students. Some muttered about Raiden holding his own longer than expected; others jeered at Garid’s humiliation. Yet the loudest voices marveled at Ophelin.

“Did you see him deflect those spears?”
“Kinda amazing how long he lasted against Garid.”
“But Ophelin—gods above, she’s terrifying.”
“She’s insane.”
“Did you see the way she pummeled him? Garid didn’t stand a chance.”
“Juggernaut… that’s what Rymboven calls her, right? Fitting.”

The crowd was split. For every awe-struck murmur, another voice cut in with suspicion.

“Of course the Calamity Child attracts disaster. Look at the mess he made.”
“Doesn’t matter how long he lasted—trouble follows him everywhere.”
“Hah, or maybe he finally got lucky.”

Admiration clashed with unease. Where some marveled, others shrank from the memory of Ophelin’s relentless blows, the image of Garid crumpling beneath her shield branded into their minds. For some, it was the awe of invincibility. For others, the fear of raw, unchained strength.

At the far edge of the field, apart from the clusters of gossiping students, a lone figure in armor stood with arms crossed. His helm shadowed his features, but his gaze was sharp. He had watched Raiden closely, noting the borrowed motions, the way techniques were absorbed, reshaped, and wielded as if his own. Where the crowd only saw brute spectacle, he saw a blade yet untempered. That boy… worth watching. Without fanfare, he turned and vanished into the dispersing crowd.

Randall reached out to Raiden, throwing his arm around his shoulder to steady him. “You actually fought like you meant it this time,” he said, half proud, half incredulous.

Raiden smirked faintly. “I thought if I proved I could stand, Garid would finally leave us alone.”

“Garid?” Ophelin scoffed. “That fool won’t stop unless you break every bone in his body. And even then, he’d whine about it.” She looked almost gleeful at the memory of battering him senseless.

Randall, however, only frowned. “You scared half the yard today. That’s not nothing.”

Ophelin’s smirk deepened. “Good. Let them think twice before crossing us.”

Raiden’s gaze turned distant, the laughter and banter fading into silence. A memory—not of the fight, but something stranger—pressed behind his eyes.

Dark clouds rolling, lightning veins tearing the sky. The sensation of flying, but not on wings—sealed inside a strange iron shell that shook with turbulence. Then the quiet shift of scenery: a serene lakeside, water glimmering under sunlit skies. A girl’s silhouette by the water’s edge turned, lips moving as if calling his name. He strained to hear, but no sound reached him.

Then came the scream—an eagle’s piercing cry—and the visions shattered. Raiden stumbled, clutching his forehead.

“You alright?” Randall’s voice cut in, steadying him again.

“Just… light-headed.” Raiden forced a weak smile. “Let’s move on.”

They found Lynda waiting by the sidelines, arms crossed, eyes flickering between shame and defiance. Ophelin didn’t wait a breath before firing. “Some mage you are. All that attitude, and then useless when it mattered.”

“Ophel—” Raiden’s voice was sharp, cutting her off.

But Ophelin only scowled. “If she’d done her part, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

Randall stepped forward quickly, raising a hand. “Enough. Everyone makes mistakes. Even you.” He didn’t need to say what he meant, but Ophelin stiffened at the unspoken reference to her loss of control. “What matters is we learn from it. All of us.”

Ophelin’s lips pressed into a thin line, irritation in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Lynda dipped her head slightly, murmuring, “Thank you, you two.” Then, with a flicker of shame across her face, she walked away.

The three lingered, then began the walk back toward the dormitories. Their steps were heavy, silence hanging until Ophelin broke it. “How did it come to this? A simple spar, turned into that mess.”

Randall shrugged. “Garid’s pride. And I don’t care for it. Hopefully it dies down.”

“It won’t,” Raiden said quietly. “Be careful. Both of you. Garid’s family holds more sway than you realize. They have teeth in every corner of the Academy—martial, magical, even administrative.”

Ophelin waved the thought aside with a huff. “So what? House Zoven holds firm here too. I was taught by its heir himself. Let Garid come—I’ll break him again.”

As they made to leave the field, Mr. Lorig intercepted them. He rested his spear casually against one shoulder, his brow furrowed in concern rather than reprimand. “Your leg still holding, Raiden?”

Raiden gave a small nod. “Thanks to Ms. Lila. I’ll manage.”

“Good. Don’t push it too soon. Wounds like that can sour if you’re careless.” His gaze swept briefly over Randall and Ophelin, his tone even. “All three of you—don’t waste what you’ve got. Train smart, not just hard.”

There was no favor in his voice, no hidden motive—just the blunt care of a man who’d seen too many young ones limp before their time. With that, he moved on, calling to another pair of students bickering over their practice gear.

Raiden exhaled slowly, the weight of the day pressing down. He wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or worried by all the eyes on them. The eagle’s cry still echoed faintly in his mind as they entered the shadowed halls of the Academy, the day already sliding into dusk.