The training arena pulsed with light.
Thin veins of electric blue streaked across the walls — the hum of magnetized energy tracing geometric circuits along the surface like veins in living metal. At the center of the room, Callan Aris stood alone, palms extended outward, his fingers flicking as arcs of electromagnetic current snapped between twin metallic rods floating in midair before him.
Sweat clung to his forehead. Sparks danced around his eyes, reflecting the calculated calm of someone who preferred precision over brute strength.
A small drone hovered nearby, rotating smoothly with every flick of his hand — the perfect synchronization between man and machine. Every shift of his electromagnetic field altered the drone's magnetic polarity, keeping it suspended. Callan twisted his wrist, and the drone disassembled itself midair, scattering into half a dozen glowing fragments that circled him like orbiting satellites.
Then he clapped.
The pieces snapped back together — perfectly reassembled, hovering steadily, humming in approval.
"Synchronization rate: ninety-nine point eight percent," a soft mechanical voice spoke from the drone's core.
Callan exhaled. "Still not perfect."
He lowered his arms, letting the rods fall to the floor with a metallic echo. A magnetic pulse snapped through the chamber, turning off the floating lights one by one until only the soft neon glow of his tablet illuminated the room.
He leaned against a bench cluttered with half-finished devices — gloves with built-in capacitors, magnetic pulse grenades, fragments of what looked like a railgun prototype.
"Still chasing perfection?" came a familiar voice from the doorway.
He looked up. Lyra stepped inside, her white and silver training uniform contrasting with the soft blue lights around her. Her usually composed expression carried a faint shadow of unease.
"Perfection's the closest thing to progress," Callan replied, brushing a metal shard off his sleeve. "What's wrong? You look like someone rewired your circuits backwards."
Lyra crossed her arms, hesitating. "You haven't heard, have you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Heard what?"
"Joren," she said quietly. "He's advanced again."
Callan straightened. "To what stage?"
"Martial Master... stage nine."
He blinked. "Stage nine?"
She nodded. "They're saying his flame resonance has evolved into thermic amplification. His fire doesn't just burn now — it alters air density, accelerates combustion, even bends light. The entire upper division was there to see it."
Callan let out a low whistle and turned back toward his workbench, half in thought, half trying to hide the small twist of annoyance in his chest. "That's... impressive."
Lyra stepped closer. "It's more than that, Callan. The council members were there. They said Joren's control was near perfect — and that..."
She trailed off.
"That what?"
"That even Zander wouldn't be able to match it."
Silence fell.
The hum of dormant machines filled the air, soft and rhythmic, like a pulse waiting to be awakened.
Callan's jaw tightened. "They really said that?"
"Everyone's talking about it," Lyra admitted. "Since Zander hasn't reported in... most people think he's plateaued. Some even think he's hiding out because he can't keep up anymore."
Callan turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. "You believe that?"
Lyra shook her head. "No. But it's what they're saying. You know how the Academy is — they worship strength and results. And Zander's silence? It's giving them reasons to doubt."
For a long moment, Callan didn't speak. The drone hovered at his side, a faint hum cutting through the quiet. Finally, he sighed and pulled a small circuit board toward him, twisting a microtool in his hand.
"They're underestimating him again," he murmured.
Lyra tilted her head. "You think he's still training?"
Callan smirked faintly. "Knowing him? He's not training — he's evolving. He doesn't need crowds to prove it."
Lyra smiled weakly. "I hope you're right."
"I know I am," he said simply. Then his tone softened. "Zander's not the type to fade out. If anything, I'd start worrying about what kind of man he'll be when he walks back through those doors."
Lyra hesitated, studying him. "Then let's make sure we're ready too."
Callan looked up. "You mean—?"
"I'm not letting Joren think he can walk around as if no one can touch him," Lyra said firmly. "If Zander comes back, I want to stand beside him — not behind him."
For the first time, Callan's expression brightened with genuine pride. He nodded. "Then we train. You with your light forms, me with my field resonance. Let Joren burn as bright as he wants — even the brightest stars collapse if they burn too long."
Lyra smiled faintly at that. "That's darkly poetic."
"Engineering is art," Callan said, flicking his wrist. The drone pulsed alive again, lighting up the chamber in shifting blue rings. "Now move aside. I've got something new I want to test."
As Lyra stepped back, the walls hummed. Small metallic shards lifted from the tables, rotating and snapping into place around Callan's hands — forming an intricate gauntlet alive with electromagnetic energy.
Lyra's eyes widened. "What is that?"
He grinned. "A field amplifier. Thought I'd try something new — a bridge between kinetic power and weapon intelligence."
Electricity crackled as he clenched his fist. "If Joren's pushing fire to its limit... then maybe it's time someone pushed lightning past reason."
The chamber blazed white.
The soft glow of plasma light faded, replaced by the shifting shadows of an ancient wilderness.
Zander moved through the dense forest with steady, careful steps. The filtered sunlight above shimmered through the biodome's ceiling — artificial but still beautiful, bending across the transparent surface like real dawn.
It had been over a day since he'd entered, and he was already deep within the forest region — towering trees stretching nearly fifty meters high, roots so thick they curled like veins across the forest floor.
The air was heavy with life — insects the size of his palm, strange avian shapes gliding through the canopy. The distant cries of predators echoed faintly in the distance.
Zander adjusted the strap of his high-tech backpack, its carbon mesh fibers gleaming faintly. The bag's adaptive shell expanded slightly as he tapped a button near his shoulder — redistributing weight and sealing automatically.
Inside, every item had a place: compressed ration bars, water canisters with nanofilters, an energy blade maintenance kit, first-aid gel cartridges, and a collapsible solar sheet.
A small scouting drone hovered from his belt, its silent propellers humming faintly as it scanned ahead, projecting holographic readings of temperature, radiation, and movement.
He paused, glancing at the faint red flicker on his watch display — the zones Sensei had marked before he left. "Avoid the red ones," he murmured. "Guess I'll try to listen this time."
But his gaze drifted toward the northwest — the faint pull that had been haunting him since he arrived.
Ever since stepping foot in Terra Vallis, he thought, I've felt it — like something's been calling me from the depths. I didn't know what it was until now.
The call was stronger here, thrumming beneath his chest like a second heartbeat.
He kept walking.
The ground grew uneven as the forest thinned, opening into a wide plateau scattered with boulders and long grass that waved beneath the biodome's simulated wind. Above, the artificial sunlight began to dim slightly — simulating dusk.
Then the earth trembled.
A low rumble rolled through the soil, shaking loose the dust at his feet. The drone flickered red in alarm.
"Seismic activity detected," it chirped.
Zander's hand went to his dual blades instinctively. The two swords — his old companions — hung comfortably at his hips. He hadn't yet replaced them, but they'd never failed him.
The rumble grew louder.
Then — a shadow emerged through the trees.
A massive Spinosaurus, scales gleaming like wet obsidian, lumbered into the open field, its sail-like back cutting through the canopy as if it were made of paper. Steam rose from its nostrils as it let out a guttural snarl.
But it wasn't alone.
From the opposite side, sabertooths — at least seven of them — stalked low, their eyes glowing with predatory intent. Their fur shimmered in shades of gray and bronze, their muscles tensing in synchronized readiness.
The Spinosaurus roared, a sound that split the air like thunder.
The sabertooths lunged.
Zander stepped back instinctively as chaos erupted before him — claws against scale, teeth against flesh. The Spinosaurus swung its massive tail, crushing one of the sabertooths instantly, but the others leapt onto its sides, clawing furiously.
The ground quaked with every movement.
Zander watched for a heartbeat, eyes wide in awe — then realized one of the predators had spotted him.
It growled.
And the next moment, it lunged.
Zander barely rolled aside, his blades flashing free. Steel met fur — a clean arc severing across the creature's shoulder, sparks flying as his blade's edge sliced through bone. The beast yowled and retreated, but another came from the side.
He spun, slashing upward — a glimmer of Heaven's Duality Flow dancing in the movement. The strike cut through the beast's jaw in a burst of crimson.
But there were too many.
Three surrounded him now, circling like phantoms, their growls blending with the Spinosaurus' furious bellows. One lunged from behind — he twisted, crossing his blades in time to block its jaws, but the impact sent him skidding back through the dirt.
The Spinosaurus turned its attention toward him now, its predatory gaze narrowing.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Zander muttered.
The creature roared, stepping forward — and for a terrifying second, both species turned toward him, drawn by his movement, his scent, his defiance.
He gritted his teeth. "Alright then... come on!"
He dashed forward, slicing through another sabertooth's flank, flipping over a boulder as the Spinosaurus' claws raked through where he'd just been standing. Dust and fragments exploded upward.
The fight blurred into motion — instinct, reflex, and survival.
But even Zander could feel it — the tide was turning against him. His breathing grew ragged. His blades were slick with blood and mud. The sabertooths kept coming, their numbers relentless, while the Spinosaurus' tail swings forced him constantly on the move.
He could feel the energy in his core flickering — not exhaustion, but something else. A warning.
Then — everything stopped.
A sound tore through the valley.
A roar unlike anything he had ever heard. It was deeper, older — like the voice of the earth itself, rumbling through his bones and shaking the very air. The Spinosaurus froze mid-swipe, its gaze snapping toward the mountains. The sabertooths immediately whimpered, their bodies trembling as they turned and bolted into the forest without hesitation.
Zander stood frozen, chest heaving, his blades glinting in the fading light.
The Spinosaurus gave one last defiant snarl — and then, with surprising caution, lumbered away, its heavy steps echoing until only silence remained.
Zander lowered his blades slowly, the echo of that roar still vibrating through his skull.
The forest was dead quiet now.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
He looked toward the mountains — the direction of the sound. The pull inside his chest was stronger than ever.
Whatever had roared... it was what had been calling him all along.
He sheathed his blades, tightening the strap of his backpack, and whispered to himself:
"Guess it's time to find out who's calling."
And with that — he started toward the mountains, the silence of the biodome following behind him like a held breath.