The old training grounds had been cleared of rubble, but not memory. Shallow grooves from past effigy clashes still lined the stone. Mana-scorched pillars stood like tired watchers, bearing the weight of many failed attempts and few triumphs.
Cass stretched his arms, the lightpath sigils along his spine flaring faintly with golden pulse. "You ready to get destroyed?"
Silas glanced at him, eyes dull. "More ready than I was when the hounds attacked. So… yes?"
Cass laughed. "Solid optimism."
Keal stood a distance away, arms folded. No chain. No summoned effigy. He cracked his knuckles instead, a pair of black gloves worn tight over his hands—the same gloves he'd fought in before. They were part of his effigy now, shaped perfectly to his movements.
Silas couldn't see a single shimmer of magic around Keal. No circling presence. No signal of command.
"Are you sure your effigy's even out?" he asked.
Keal smirked. "Why don't you step forward and find out?"
Velira sat nearby, legs crossed, a large tome open beside her. She looked up as Silas approached the ring. "Try not to get too hurt," she said mildly. "It's still early in the cycle."
"I'll scream your name if my limbs snap," Silas muttered, stepping into place beside Cass.
Cass gave him a look. "On three?"
Silas nodded. "On three."
They moved in unison, Cass's effigy casting a narrow light barrier around them as Silas's shimmered with faint shadows, ready to spring forward.
Keal didn't flinch. He invited them.
Cass was the first to close the gap, light pulsing from his palm as he launched a flicker-beam—something small, sharp, meant to test reaction time. Keal blurred sideways, not with a spell, but with footwork. His gloves flashed once, and Cass's effigy was on the ground, jaw cracked from a single uppercut.
Silas launched a Void Clot, coating Keal's legs with that clinging mass of entropy. It should've slowed him down.
It didn't.
Keal didn't even try to dodge it. He let it cling—then drove forward, skating across the floor as if he weighed nothing. One glove burst with fire—a trickle of Cass's spell mimicked by Silas's Thread Theft—but Keal twisted his body and shattered the incoming flame with a backhanded blow.
"Adapt faster," Keal called, still grinning.
Cass scrambled up. "He's just—he's toying with us!"
Silas grimaced. "No. He's measuring us."
They tried again. Cass went low, light coiling around his arms, throwing out blinding flares. Silas waited for the angle, using his second spell—Ashpiercer Bolt—the spear of light and shadow crackling into shape and flying toward Keal's side.
For a heartbeat, it almost worked.
Then Keal's hand blurred. He caught the bolt with his glove, the sigils on his arm flaring—and simply crushed it.
Cass shouted a warning. Too late.
Keal moved like a ripple in fabric, his gloves lighting up with a searing punch that sent Silas flying. Cass blocked the second strike—barely—his barrier cracking like glass.
From the sideline, Velira closed her book and winced.
A few breaths later, Silas and Cass both lay flat on the ground, panting.
Keal exhaled once, satisfied. "Better. Still not good enough."
He turned and walked away without another word.
Cass rolled over. "Remind me never to fight that man again."
Silas coughed. "Remind me why we did."
"Because you wanted to see how far you'd come," Velira said, standing over them now. She handed Cass a flask. "Answer: not far enough."
Cass groaned.
Velira offered Silas her hand. "You okay?"
He took it. "Just bruised. Not broken."
They stood together under the flickering mana lamps. The fight had left their bodies sore—but something about it felt good. The kind of pain that meant you tried. That you failed, yes—but also that you had the strength to fail.
"I think I'm gonna keep training with Keal," Silas muttered.
Cass looked at him, incredulous. "Did that knock something loose in your brain?"
"Maybe," Silas said. "But I want to win next time."
Velira smiled faintly. "Then you better get used to falling."
And so the training cycle began again.