The two teachers exchanged uneasy glances, both silently wondering the same thing—how were they supposed to teach someone who couldn't use magic? Their entire training revolved around harnessing magical abilities, yet here was Arcos, an anomaly among his peers.
"Go stand with the others," one of them instructed, gesturing toward the group of students. Arcos obeyed without a word, moving to join them.
Just as the heavy doors were about to close, Arcos's teacher caught sight of the combat instructor walking past. A thought sparked in her mind—if the boy couldn't wield magic, then he would have to learn how to fight without it.
As training progressed, the training room buzzed with energy. Students demonstrated their abilities, magic crackling in the air as they eagerly showed off their rare and powerful talents. Some conjured flames in their palms, others bent water to their will, and a few displayed abilities so unique that even their peers stared in awe.
All except for Arcos.
He remained on the bench, his presence an awkward contrast to the spectacle around him. The teachers still hadn't decided what to do with him, leaving him to sit in silence. Every now and then, other students would glance his way. Some whispered behind cupped hands, others laughed openly, nudging their friends. A few mocked him outright, their taunts sharp and careless.
But Arcos didn't react. He let their words pass over him like wind through the trees. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused inward, just as his master, John, had taught him. Strengthen the mind, and the soul will grow stronger.
Across the training room, Phoenix frowned, watching Arcos with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Why wasn't he participating? Even Zethar, usually indifferent, seemed puzzled.
Yet, despite the laughter and the stares, Arcos remained unmoved, sinking deeper into meditation. His peers saw a boy sitting alone, powerless. But Arcos knew better. He was preparing. Arcos clenched his fists, the familiar burn of determination surging through him. He had to grow stronger—strong enough to make the ones who burned his village and took everything from him pay.
He was lost in thought when his teacher called his name. "Arcos," she said, her voice steady, a small smile tugging at her lips. "We've found a combat class for you. Since you don't use magic, we believe this will suit you.
"Arcos looked up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. A class just for me? He straightened, his heart pounding. "What kind of training is it?"
The teacher's smile widened. "That," she said with a knowing glint in her eyes, "is a surprise."
The teacher gestured for Arcos to follow as she led him down the dimly lit staircase. He walked close behind, his mind racing with curiosity. What kind of training will this be?
When they reached the bottom floor, the teacher stopped in front of a massive metal door, its surface adorned with an engraving of two swords clashing. She placed a hand on it and turned to Arcos.
"We're here," she said simply, nodding toward the door.
Arcos stared in awe. The sword engraving practically screamed combat training. His gaze shifted to his teacher as she stepped forward, pressing her weight against the heavy door.
"Nnghh!" she grunted, pushing with all her strength. The door resisted at first, creaking under the strain. Then, without warning, it gave way all at once.
With a startled yelp, the teacher tumbled forward, landing flat on her face with a loud thud.
Laughter erupted from inside. Several combat instructors stood in the spacious training hall beyond, watching the scene unfold with amusement.
Arcos's teacher groaned, slowly picking herself up, her face red with both effort and embarrassment. She dusted herself off, shooting an annoyed glare at the laughing instructors.
"Not a word," she muttered, her dignity hanging by a thread.
Professor Elara quickly straightened, brushing off the incident as if nothing had happened. She turned to Arcos, motioning for him to step inside.
"Alright, Arcos, this is the combat training you'll be attending," she said, her tone casual. "Since you don't have any magic, this will be your focus."
Arcos hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the heavy doors. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat and steel. Weapons lined the walls, and students sparred in pairs under the watchful eyes of seasoned instructors.
Elara followed him in, but before they could take another step, a tall man strode toward them. His presence was commanding, his expression hard as stone. The way he carried himself sent a chill down Arcos's spine.
"What business do you have here, Professor Elara?" the man asked, his voice deep and unwavering.
Elara met his gaze without flinching. "Arcos here can't use magic," she explained, her voice firm but gentler than his. "I was hoping you'd take him in."
The head combat instructor turned his attention to Arcos, his expression unreadable.
"Can't use magic, you say?" he murmured, studying the boy intently.
Unbeknownst to either of them, his eyes flickered with an almost imperceptible glow as he analyzed the child before him. But something was off. A frown crept onto his face as he found himself unable to fully see into the boy—something was blocking him. Protecting him.
"Yeah," Elara confirmed, though an uneasy feeling settled in her chest. She couldn't quite place why, but something about the instructor's reaction unsettled her. Shaking it off, she pressed on. "So, will you take him in?"
The instructor finally looked back at her. "Will he be able to keep up with the others?"
Elara glanced down at Arcos, her expression softening slightly. "We don't know what he's capable of yet," she admitted. "It's his first day at the academy."
The instructor was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Let's test him first."
Professor Elara frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face. "Go easy on him. It's his first day here," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
The head combat instructor chuckled, shaking his head. "There's no such thing as an easy test in combat," he replied, motioning for Arcos to follow.
Arcos swallowed hard but obeyed, stepping forward as instructed.
"Stand on the red circle," the instructor ordered.
Arcos did as he was told, his gaze darting around the spacious training hall, searching for clues about what was coming. His master, John, had trained him in the basics—swordplay, hand-to-hand combat—but this was different. This was a test, and he had no idea what to expect.
With a snap of the instructor's fingers, a series of weapons materialized before him, floating just above the ground. Swords, spears, daggers, axes—each gleamed under the training hall's bright lights, waiting to be chosen.
"Pick your weapon," the instructor said, watching him closely.
Arcos hesitated, his heart pounding. He had always preferred fighting with his fists—there was something raw and instinctual about it. But as he scanned the array of weapons, nothing seemed suited for barehanded combat.
Then, his eyes landed on a pair of old, worn leather gauntlets. Unlike the pristine weapons before him, these looked as though they had seen years—maybe decades—of battle. The leather was cracked, darkened with sweat and use, the metal reinforcements dulled by time. And yet, something about them called to him.
His fingers twitched. Why do I feel drawn to these? he wondered. They're worn out, practically falling apart… but still…
His chest tightened with an inexplicable pull, like the gauntlets were waiting for him.
"I choose these," Arcos said, pointing to them. His voice was steady, but inside, he felt a strange certainty settle over him, like he had just taken the first step toward something much bigger than he understood.
The instructor raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest crossing his face.
"Interesting choice," he murmured.