Chapter 15: The Forge and the Anvil
The weeks went by, punctuated by the academy's ruthless calendar. The days began before dawn with endurance races on the obstacle course, where the morning mist mingled with the breathless breath of the students. Afternoons were devoted to theory or combat, and evenings to ether control sessions that each pushed to its limits.
Hakime had discovered an affinity for the spear. Under Master Rylan's demanding supervision, his movements had gone from stiff and predictable to fluid and unpredictable. He learned to use the length of the weapon to keep his opponents at bay, to feign, to exploit openings. He often trained with Conor, whose stone defense was an excellent test of his accuracy.
"Faster!" rumbled Rylan during their sparrings. "Your point must find the weak spot, not hit the fortress!"
At the same time, his control over the light was becoming more refined. He was no longer content to create a stable sphere. He could now project fine, concentrated rays, although this required considerable mental effort and consumed his ether at an alarming rate. He learned to fashion simple shields of light, basic "Aegis" that could deflect a minor attack before breaking. Every success was a victory, every failure, a costly lesson in energy.
One afternoon, during a strategy class, they had to analyze archival footage of an assault by laziness monsters. Hakime noticed how the mist thickened around the strongest creatures, and how it seemed to shrink from the blasts of pure energy.
"The mist is corrupt and inert ether," explained the instructor. "A high concentration of pure ether may temporarily dispel it. This is vital information for any Awakened One who faces this tower."
This revelation opened up new perspectives for Hakime. His light was the embodiment of pure ether. Perhaps it was the key to counteracting the draining effect of laziness.
In the evening, exhausted, he went back to his room. Arthur had made remarkable progress in mobility. He could now string together three successive "Quicksteps," moving in a zigzag at disconcerting speed. On the other hand, his offensive control remained limited; his etheric impulses lacked power.
Conor, on the other hand, had strengthened his iron skin. He could now hold his Ironskin all over his chest and arms for several minutes. His strength had increased, but his slowness remained a handicap against agile opponents like Arthur.
The past two months had turned the group of newcomers into a promotion of up-and-coming soldiers. The faces had widened, the eyes had hardened. The ranking, though still based on zero points, was beginning to take shape in people's minds, each silently evaluating their peers. Hakime knew he was being watched, being judged. His SSS rank was an official secret, but rumors were circulating. Some saw him as a future leader, others as a dangerous curiosity.
As he fell asleep, his body aches, but his mind alerted, Hakime felt the transformation taking place in him. He was no longer the lost orphan; he was a block of raw marble, gradually carved by the ruthless forge of the academy. The expedition was approaching, and with it, the first real test. He was ready to show what metal he was made of.