– Chapter: Days of Preparation
Astral Academy – Outer Training Fields
The sun rose over the eastern cliff, washing the Astral Academy's grand spires in hues of gold. Birds flew in spirals above the stone towers, and students had begun to stir. Today marked the first of the three days Anay had before the unnamed elder's possible return—an open window of time, but one he would not waste.
Anay stood at the edge of the outer training fields, dressed in a simple dark tunic, arms folded. Around him, dozens of students from different years trained in designated circles. The air buzzed with movement—blades clashing, elemental sparks flying, feet pounding the earth.
Sato was there too, already instructing three students in hand-to-hand sparring. He gave Anay a small nod.
Anay took a deep breath.
No waiting.
He stepped into the open sparring circle marked with spiritual runes. A few second-years recognized him instantly, whispering to each other.
"That's him... the one who fought Sato."
"They said he didn't even use his full strength."
Anay ignored the chatter. He raised a hand.
"I'm looking for a partner."
A third-year fire wielder stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, confidence shining in his eyes. "I'll go. Let's see if the rumors are true."
Anay simply nodded.
The duel began without ceremony.
The fire user launched twin arcs of flame toward him, fast and aggressive. Anay sidestepped, his movements fluid, slipping between the flames with practiced ease. The crowd leaned forward. Anay didn't attack right away. He let the student burn off energy, waiting for the right opening.
When it came, Anay closed the distance in a flash, touched the student's wrist, and spun behind him, bringing him gently but firmly to one knee.
Match over.
The fire wielder blinked, stunned—but smiled in respect.
"You're good."
"You're better than you know," Anay replied.
The next two days followed a similar rhythm.
Each morning, Anay arrived before the bell, warmed up alone with spiritual breathing exercises and silent movement drills he had learned during his hidden training. His body moved like wind over water—every shift controlled, every breath purposeful.
Students came to train with him—some curious, some competitive, some quietly admiring. Anay welcomed them all.
He sparred with twin-dagger wielders in close range. He dodged long-range elemental shots. He even helped a first-year earth mage stabilize his stance, guiding him gently by adjusting his center of balance.
Word spread.
"He's training with everyone."
"And helping them too?"
"Maybe he's the next Top 3."
By the end of the second day, even instructors observed quietly from the shadows, murmuring about his growth.
That night, Anay sat near the outer waterfall, his shirt damp with sweat, hands bruised from repeated wooden blade duels.
He closed his eyes.
"Zettai Anant," he whispered within. "I won't just wait. I'll earn every step."
A quiet hum responded.
Day three arrived. The final day.
Anay arrived early again—before the sun even touched the training stones. Mist clung to the grass. He stood alone, eyes closed, body still.
Then he moved.
One by one, he conjured weapon forms through sheer movement—a mimicry of Zettai Anant's potential without summoning it.
Spear. Sword. Glaive. Dagger. Staff.
Each flowed into the next like a dance. Not flashy, not loud. Just precise.
Other students began to arrive.
By midday, nearly thirty had gathered around the open field.
They watched Anay not as a mystery—but as a beacon.
And when the academy bell rang to signal midday, a message was delivered:
"The Elder has returned. Report by sundown."
Anay stood tall, wiped his brow, and smiled.
He turned to the students.
"Thank you for training with me."
And then he walked—calmly—toward his next path.
Toward the outside world.