The morning air buzzed with tension as we gathered outside the Academy’s transport gates.

  This wasn’t theory.

  This wasn’t sparring.

  This was our first real mission.

  I adjusted the straps on my uniform, the black-and-silver trim catching the early sun.

  Toho fidgeted beside me, practically bouncing on his heels.

  "Field training already," he whispered. "Think we’ll actually get to throw hands?"

  I cracked a small smile. "We’ll see."

  Gohan stood at the front, flanked by a few other instructors. His eyes were hard, his voice clipped as he addressed us.

  "You’re being sent to Celestiala. There have been disturbances in the lower districts. Weapons embedded with Essence are being sold. You will work in squads. Observe, assist local authorities, and — if necessary — engage."

  Lucian stood further down the line, arms crossed, gaze half-lidded but sharp underneath.

  I caught his smirk when Gohan said "engage."

  He was itching for a fight. So was I. But I didn’t need to show it.

  A portal opened with a low hum, swirling with silver light.

  Without hesitation, we all stepped through.

  ***

  The city of Celestiala sprawled before us, a gleaming maze of towering spires and winding alleys.

  Even from the arrival point, you could feel it — a pulse in the air.

  Something was wrong beneath the polished streets.

  Instructor Rael stepped forward, his long coat fluttering in the wind.

  His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — they were sharp, calculating.

  "You’ll move in groups of 5," Rael said. "Standard patrol patterns. Minimal engagement unless authorized.

  Keep your comms open. Any major threat, you fall back and call for support."

  He scanned the group, lingering a second longer on me, as if gauging something.

  Lucian, of course, gave a lazy half-salute and turned away before Rael finished speaking.

  Once squads were assigned, we fanned out through the city.

  Group 1:

  -Zero Langham

  -Toho Isei

  -Selene Virelli (Innate: Moonlit Veil — stealth & defense)

  -Jace Marrow (Innate: Gravecaller — summoning bones)

  -Terra Kincaid (Innate: Gale Ward — support & mobility control)

  Group 2:

  -Arix Dune (Innate: Sandstorm Convergence — battlefield control)

  -Tessa Kain (Innate: Echo Pulse — detection/echolocation)

  -Thorn Blackwood (Innate: Nature’s Wrath — plant manipulation)

  -Mira Solenne (Innate: Solar Flare Genesis — high-powered offense)

  -Caspian Dray (Innate: Abyss Current — gravitational water control)

  Group 3:

  -Kara Valtier (Ironclad Fists — tank/brawler)

  -Lucian Wraith (Spectral Manipulation — summoning spirits)

  -Nia Drakos (Dragon’s Breath — fire and ice breath)

  -Anya Thorne (Flashstrike — hyper speed attacker)

  -Orion Vale (Stellar Reversal — event manipulation)

  The streets were strangely quiet. Too quiet.

  I glanced at Toho.

  He caught my look instantly.

  "You’re thinking what I’m thinking?" he said under his breath.

  "Yeah," I replied.

  "Something’s not right."

  And when had either of us ever been good at sitting around and waiting?

  Without a word, we peeled away from the others, slipping into the deeper veins of Celestiala’s underbelly.

  We moved fast, quietly, following the prickling instincts honed from years of training.

  However, we were being followed. Toho and I exchanged a look. It was apparent that we could sense both of the followers, Lucian and Terra.

  "Guess she sensed us taking off," I muttered under my breath.

  "We have two secret admirers," Toho chuckled.

  We continued leaping across the buildings, not minding Lucian and Terra, who were trailing us from a distance.

  We continued looking for Dren. And it didn't take long.

  A hidden alley. A faint ripple of Essence in the air.

  And at the end of it — a figure.

  Toho and I jumped down from the roof, rolling into the alleyway.

  He was waiting for us, leaning casually against a shattered pillar.

  Sunlight glinted off the heavy, rune-etched chains wrapped around his arms.

  He looked up, grinning like he already knew who we were.

  "Well, well," the man said.

  "Didn’t expect the Academy to send pups."

  The figure straightened up as we approached, the heavy black weapon slung across his shoulders — a twisted blade fused into a chain.

  Mist swirled around his feet, and from that mist, faint ghost-like tendrils of chains slithered along the cracked ground.

  He smiled—not wide, not manic — but cold and certain.

  "Dren Veylor," he said, almost politely.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Remember the name. You'll be screaming it soon enough."

  Toho tensed beside me, already gathering Essence into his fists.

  I stepped forward calmly, tilting my head.

  "You’re the one causing the disturbance here?" I asked.

  Dren's grin widened, but there was no humor in it.

  "Disturbance?" he echoed. "No. I'm just here to see what kind of toys the Academy sends these days.

  And maybe... break a few."

  The ground beneath us darkened suddenly, as black, misty chains erupted from the cracked stone, snapping toward us with frightening speed.

  Gravecoil, his Innate Technique.

  The chains weren’t just reaching for us — they radiated an oppressive force, trying to sap the Essence from our bodies before we could even react.

  I could feel it — like invisible hands clawing at my core.

  Toho jumped back, narrowly dodging one chain that coiled around the air where his leg had been.

  I stood my ground, letting the first chain whip toward me, then pivoted sharply at the last moment, grabbing the chain mid-swing.

  The texture was strange, neither fully solid nor fully energetic.

  Dren raised an eyebrow.

  "Bold. Stupid, but bold."

  With a sharp yank, he tried to pull me off balance — but I planted my feet, twisting the chain around my arm and anchoring myself like a rooted tree.

  In that moment, I felt it again — the Essence drain.

  A weaker fighter would have buckled instantly.

  But me?

  I smiled.

  Because I'd trained my body for these years before I'd ever stepped foot into an Academy.

  Against technique. Against power. Against pain.

  Dren jerked the chain again, expecting resistance — but instead, I stepped into it, closing the distance in a blur.

  His eyes widened just slightly — just enough.

  My fist smashed into his gut like a hammer, Essence reinforcing the strike just enough to rattle him without overcommitting.

  Dren grunted, sliding back a few feet.

  Not bad.

  But not enough.

  With a snarl, he drove his Chainblade forward in a vicious thrust — the weapon extending mid-strike as Gravecoil chains sprouted from its tip, aiming to impale and bind me all at once.

  I weaved aside, my body moving on instinct, sharpened by endless hours of sparring, real fights, and the raw discipline of repetition.

  One step to the left — pivot — drop weight — inside his guard.

  I slammed my elbow upward into his wrist, jarring the Chainblade off-course.

  The blade scraped past me, hissing with dark energy.

  Dren recovered fast — faster than most.

  He flicked his free hand, and from the ground, a forest of chains erupted, trying to ensnare my legs and arms.

  I didn’t retreat.

  Instead, I accelerated.

  Sliding low beneath a sweeping chain, I twisted my momentum into a spinning kick, snapping one of the ethereal chains like it was brittle glass.

  The impact shivered up my leg — these things had bite — but they could be broken.

  Dren sneered.

  "Martial arts? Against me?"

  He lashed out again, this time swinging the Chainblade in a wide, arcing strike.

  The mist thickened around it — heavier, colder.

  This wasn’t just binding anymore.

  This was draining.

  I felt the tug on my Essence grow harsher, a gnawing at the edges of my energy.

  Still, I moved.

  Still, I smiled.

  Because every moment he spent trying to leash me — every time he overreached — I was learning.

  Measuring his rhythm, his flow, his Essence control.

  That's what years of training bought me.

  Not just strength, but the ability to see how someone would lose before they even realize it themselves.

  Toho didn’t stay idle either.

  With a shout, he blitzed forward, Essence crackling off his fists in short, brutal sparks. He wasn't subtle — he didn’t need to be. Dren had to split his attention, and even a fighter as seasoned as him couldn't ignore two threats at once.

  Dren twisted his body, trying to rip his Chainblade around into a defensive coil, but Toho was already there — a blur of motion, hammering a heavy blow against the weapon's shaft. The impact knocked Dren off balance, his boots scraping across the cracked ground.

  I seized the opening.

  With a push of Essence through my veins, I closed the gap — one heartbeat, one blink — and drove a rising knee into Dren's ribs.

  A low grunt tore from his throat. He felt that one.

  But he wasn’t done.

  Snarling, Dren shoved back with a burst of dark mist, forcing both me and Toho to retreat a few steps. His form blurred, the chains slithering faster now, responding to his will like angry vipers.

  "You think pressure's enough?" he rasped, his voice low and savage. "I am pressure."

  Mist boiled at his feet, then exploded outward in a ring of writhing black chains.

  Gravecoil: Binding Maelstrom.

  The chains weren’t striking randomly now — they were moving with surgical precision, weaving a cage around us.

  One chain shot for Toho’s ankle — another for my wrist — a third lashed toward my throat, fast as a whip.

  Move.

  I ducked low, Essence surging to my limbs, and pivoted on instinct—the chain missed by inches, slicing through the air where my neck had been.

  Toho wasn’t so lucky.

  A chain caught his wrist, jerking him sideways and slamming him into a crumbling wall. Dust exploded from the impact.

  “Toho!” I shouted.

  But he just grinned, blood dripping from his lip.

  "Save it," he barked. "Handle him."

  I didn’t hesitate.

  Dren lunged, Chainblade flashing toward me in a wicked downward strike. I caught it on my forearm — Essence-reinforced skin blunting the worst of it — and countered with a rugged cross to his jaw.

  His head snapped sideways.

  But he held on — gods, he was tough — using the momentum to swing a boot into my side.

  Pain flared, but I rolled with it, turning the force into motion. Backpedaling a few steps, I caught my breath.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement — a flicker in the alleyway shadows.

  Lucian and Terra, watching.

  Waiting.

  I drew a sharp breath, centering myself, and reached deeper.

  Into the current of Essence woven into my bones.

  A sigil flared to life across my forearm — a hidden mark I'd etched into my very soul through relentless training. Light bled from it in thin, radiant lines, pulsing with raw, concentrated power.

  Dren saw it. His sneer faltered.

  Good.

  I raised my hand, fingers tracing an invisible pattern into the charged air. The alley dimmed, shadows crawling toward me like moths to a flame.

  "Light Essence: Aether Breaker."

  The words were simple.

  The effect was not.

  The very air around me shuddered — reality twisting like a sheet of paper caught in a violent gust.

  Above me, the air cracked open, forming a jagged glyph of pure silver light, spinning in place, radiating arcs of compressed Essence.

  Dren reacted fast, throwing up a wall of Gravecoil chains between us.

  It wouldn’t save him.

  The moment I thrust my palm forward, the Aether Breaker discharged — a spiraling lance of searing energy, cutting through the chains like they were smoke.

  The blast hammered into Dren’s defense, detonating in a shockwave of silver and black.

  The alley buckled under the force. Cracks spiderwebbed along the walls. Chunks of debris rained down, swallowed by the spiraling maelstrom of Essence at the blast’s heart.

  Dren staggered, his Chainblade ripped from his grasp and clattering to the ground.

  I didn’t give him a second to recover.

  I moved through the smoke and debris, each step a precise strike against the imbalance I'd created in him.

  One.

  My fist slammed into his shoulder, dislocating it with a wet pop.

  Two.

  An elbow drove into his solar plexus, folding him forward with a gasp.

  Three.

  A brutal hammerfist to the back of his neck sent him crashing down to one knee.

  He gritted his teeth, fighting to rise, but the Aether Breaker's backlash still gnawed at his Essence, disrupting his control.

  Toho ripped the chain from his wrist, shaking dust from his hair, and limped to my side.

  "You dropped a nuke," he coughed, grinning like a maniac. "About damn time."

  I kept my gaze locked on Dren, who glared up at us, blood dripping from his lip.

  "You're finished," I said, voice low but steady.

  And the alley held its breath, waiting for the next move.

  I hope you all are keeping up with what's happening in the story. You also read about all the students in our protagonist's class; there are 15 students in his class, but the main ones will soon become more apparent.