Instructor Vallen Raenhir was already waiting for me on the training field when I arrived, arms folded, posture as unyielding as stone. Unlike her usual flowing red robes, today she wore battle attire. Practical, fitted, and built for motion.

  That alone was enough to set my nerves on edge.

  Her golden eyes locked onto mine the instant I stepped onto the field. There was no warmth there. Only cold calculation. A silent, burning challenge that made my palms itch and my instincts buzz like static.

  “Ten minutes,” she said, her voice even, sharp as polished steel. “If you land a single hit on me, you win.”

  That was it. No speeches. No explanations.

  One hit.

  I barely had time to register how deceptively simple that sounded before the match began.

  The ground exploded.

  With a casual flick of her wrist, a massive boulder tore free from the earth, spinning through the air like a summoned siege stone. I reacted on instinct, raising my scepter and slashing forward.

  A crescent of compressed air shrieked across the field and struck the boulder.

  It barely chipped the surface.

  The rock didn’t slow.

  I threw myself left, rolling across the packed dirt as the boulder thundered past where I’d stood. The impact behind me detonated in a shockwave of flying stone and dust, the air ringing with violent force.

  Before I could even draw a full breath, the earth moved.

  Stonebind.

  Jagged tendrils of rock burst from the ground, snapping around my legs like the jaws of some starving beast. I gasped as the crushing pressure locked me in place, stone grinding against bone.

  “A combo already,” I muttered, half-strangled. Admiration slipped in despite myself. Of course she chained her spells. Of course she was already several steps ahead.

  [Rejuvenation cast]

  Warmth surged through me as green energy bled into the stone. Cracks spiderwebbed outward before the bindings shattered. I tore free and rolled just as the boulder changed direction midair.

  It howled back toward me under Vallen’s control.

  I barely ducked.

  The stone grazed my shoulder, sending me spinning. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs as I skidded through dirt and dust. I pushed myself upright, but the ground betrayed me again.

  Power rippled beneath my feet. More stone tendrils erupted, coiling tight.

  Her cooldown was faster than my Rejuvenation.

  Enough.

  I activated Inner Beast.

  Wild energy flooded my body. Muscles swelled. A low, feral growl tore from my chest as I ripped free, shattering the rock with raw force alone.

  The ground answered.

  A deep, resonant tremor rolled through the field.

  Earthshatter.

  The earth split open in a violent web of fissures, jagged chasms racing toward me. I leapt just in time as the ground behind me erupted in a deafening explosion, stone and debris blasting skyward.

  Four minutes in.

  It was obvious now that Vallen was stalling. Every approach I made was crushed under Stonebind, driven back by Boulder Barrage, or punished by the earth itself turning hostile.

  Then she added something new.

  The whip hissed through the air.

  Pain flared as the first strike tore across my skin. Then another. Barbed thorns bit deep, injecting a paralytic poison that burned before sinking into numbing cold.

  Still, I forced myself into motion, breaking into a wide arc and releasing Wind Cutters. Not to strike, but to obscure. To disrupt.

  It didn’t matter.

  The field was too open. No cover. No escape.

  Two minutes left. Time for a different approach.

  I had memorized her rhythm. Her spell cadence. Her cooldowns.

  The moment the opening appeared, I ran straight at her and triggered the spell.

  Not Windstride.

  Something faster.

  The air cracked like a whip as my speed detonated in a violent surge. The whip lashed out again.

  Too slow.

  I tore forward like a blur of green light.

  For the first time, Vallen’s eyes widened.

  A transparent barrier snapped into existence between us. I didn’t slow.

  My hands, coated in thin, crackling green energy, slammed into the shield.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  THUD.

  Not my scepter. My bare hands. Each strike sent violent ripples through the barrier, fractures spiderwebbing outward.

  Stonebind clamped onto my legs again.

  I ignored it.

  Galestride.

  Windstride’s brutal evolution. Movement and attack speed pushed far past safe limits, Mana burning away like wildfire, the cooldown punishingly long.

  This is it.

  I forced Inner Beast again.

  With one final, thunderous blow, the barrier shattered.

  My fist drove into Vallen’s stomach.

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  She staggered.

  Panting, arms trembling, I stumbled back a step. “I win,” I breathed. “I hit you.”

  The words tasted right.

  But the moment stretched.

  Too long.

  Vallen didn’t fall.

  She didn’t even look hurt.

  Something was very, very wrong.

  ***

  My triumph collapsed in an instant.

  My fist remained extended, stuck. Buried where Vallen’s stomach should have been. But instead of resistance, instead of flesh and bone, my hand sank into Vallen’s stomach with a wet, heavy slop, like punching a bucket of river mud.

  Clay.

  The figure before me sagged, cracks racing across its surface before it collapsed into a lifeless mound of earth.

  "Time’s up."

  Vallen’s voice rang out, calm and unshaken.

  I snapped my gaze to the side.

  She stood several steps away, completely unharmed, emerging from behind the crumbling decoy with a composed smile.

  "But you did well," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Accepting Aeloria’s Blessing was a smart choice."

  Swallowing my pride, I gave a small nod, conceding defeat.

  “Smart, maybe,” I muttered. “Still not enough.”

  A sharp exhale escaped me, halfway to a laugh that never quite formed. She hadn’t used anything beyond her fundamentals. Never even touching her true arsenal. And even then, I had barely broken through her most basic defenses.

  My knees hit the dirt before I realized I’d stopped standing.

  Every muscle screamed in protest, and the paralytic numbness from her whip crept through my limbs, making it hard to even curl my fingers.

  I clenched my fists anyway.

  A small vial entered my field of vision.

  “Here,” Vallen said, kneeling beside me as she held it out. “You earned this. And no, it’s not poisoned.”

  “Wasn’t worried,” I muttered, taking it without hesitation.

  The bitter liquid slid down my throat, and a soothing warmth spread through my limbs, dulling the pain, though it did nothing for my pride.

  Vallen studied me in silence. "Most people wouldn’t have lasted even half as long."

  "Is that your way of saying I’m special?" I asked, half-laughing, half-breathless.

  “No.” A smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s my way of saying you’re stubborn.”

  I managed a faint grin. "Same thing, really."

  She rose to her feet and offered me a hand. “You’ve got potential. But potential means nothing if you break before the real fight begins.”

  I took her hand and let her pull me up, legs wobbling beneath me. “Then I’ll just have to get stronger. Strong enough to land a real hit next time.”

  “Next time?” She raised an eyebrow. “Planning a rematch already?”

  “Eventually,” I said between breaths. “Maybe not tomorrow… or the day after… but yeah.”

  "Good," Vallen said, turning away. "Because next time, I won’t go easy."

  Vallen Raenhir.

  A veteran adventurer. A woman rumored to have reached the fourth floor, a feat so few had ever achieved.

  And I had barely survived a sparring match against her.

  I leaned back and stared up at the open sky, letting out a slow breath. The gap between us was vast, wider than I had imagined.

  But now, at least, I could see it.

  And someday, I intended to cross it.

  ***

  My crushing loss against Vallen made one thing painfully clear.

  I was still weak.

  I had been blinded by my rapid growth, mistaking momentum for mastery, progress for strength. The sky still stretched far beyond my reach, and I had only just begun my climb.

  The dust of the training field was soon replaced by the scent of old parchment and ink.

  The Grand Library became my second home. Dawn light filtered through towering stained-glass windows as I leafed through brittle tomes, fingers stained with dust and ink. Some texts contradicted each other. Others trailed off mid-thought, their authors long dead or lost to the Tower.

  “Most people skim,” an elderly archivist muttered as he passed behind me. “You’re actually reading.”

  “I don’t want myths,” I replied without looking up. “I want what survived.”

  He snorted. “Then you’re in the right place.”

  Outside the library, my afternoons belonged to the training grounds.

  Sweat darkened the dirt beneath my boots as I squared off against Vallen, scepter in hand, Mana humming beneath my skin.

  “Again,” she said, already moving.

  I feinted left, channeled wind through my hand, and struck.

  “Your footwork’s still too honest,” Vallen said, casually avoiding my spell. “You telegraph when you commit.”

  I clicked my tongue and shifted my stance, feinting left before snapping my scepter forward.

  She didn’t even flinch.

  “See?” Vallen said calmly. “Honest.”

  “Then what do you want me to be?”

  “Deceptive. Patient. Willing to lose an exchange to win the next.”

  We reset.

  Again and again, we practiced basic combat. No Galestride, no Inner Beast.

  By the end of each session, my muscles burned and my Mana pool trembled on the edge of depletion, but my instincts sharpened. Physical movement bled into spellcasting. Gestures shortened. Timing tightened.

  Mistakes hurt.

  Progress did too.

  When I wasn’t training, I was in the forest with Orin.

  She crouched beside a half-buried root, carefully extracting a cluster of glowing spores. “If you rip it out like that, it loses potency.”

  “I know,” I said, adjusting my grip. “I’m trying not to rupture the Mana veins.”

  “Hm.” She glanced at me. “You’re learning faster than last time.”

  “Last time nearly killed us.”

  By nightfall, our pouches were fuller with reagents and sealed vials. The sharp, bitter scent of the brews clung to my clothes, promising survival at a price.

  ***

  Once a week, Sam and I met at the Lionheart Proving Expanse.

  He was too small for the equipment I had bought, robes hanging loose around his shoulders, boots scuffed from being dragged rather than worn. Yet the Mana around him churned unnaturally dense, drawn toward his hands like iron to a lodestone.

  “Don’t release it yet,” I said.

  Sam frowned in concentration, lower lip caught between his teeth. The sphere of light between his palms swelled anyway, threads of Mana snapping and reforming as if eager to escape.

  “I can hold it,” he insisted. His voice was thin, but the power wasn’t.

  “I know,” I said, stepping closer. “That’s the problem.”

  He glanced at me, confused.

  “You’re letting instinct do everything,” I continued. “Magic comes easily to you, so you skip the part where you listen to it.”

  Sam hesitated, then slowed his breathing. The light dimmed, condensed, its surface smoothing from a violent shimmer into something almost calm.

  The pressure in the air eased.

  “There,” I said. “Feel the difference?”

  He nodded slowly. “It’s… quieter.”

  “Exactly. Power isn’t how loud your Mana is. It’s how softly you can make it obey.”

  For a heartbeat longer, the construct held, perfectly stable.

  Then Sam released it on his own, cleanly, without backlash. His eyes shone. Not with excitement, but with understanding.

  I dismissed him soon after, watching as he hurried off across the expanse, robes fluttering around his small frame. Talent like his was rare, but the path ahead was his to walk, not mine to dictate.

  My attention shifted elsewhere.

  We stood before the Guild Registrar, a tired man with a quill that moved faster than my Wind Cutter.

  "Name?" he asked, not looking up.

  "The Storm-Breakers," Muradin offered, puffing out his chest.

  Darwyn snorted, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Sounds childish. It’s like limiting ourselves to a single weapon's capability."

  "Something that lasts, then," I said, thinking of the training sessions with Vallen, the way she broke me down until only the core remained. "Something that doesn't snap when the Tower pushes back."

  "Ironwood," Elena whispered from beside me, her hand resting on the edge of her oversized belt. "It’s deep-rooted. Hard to burn. It just... stays."

  "A blend of dwarf and you forest-lovers. Not bad," Muradin added with a grunt of approval.

  A silence settled over us, a shared weight of agreement. Darwyn looked at his sister, then at me, and gave a slow, solemn nod.

  "Ironwood it is," Darwyn told the registrar.

  The man scratched the name onto a piece of parchment and slid a heavy copper seal across the counter. "Ironwood. Try not to let the termites get you."

  I picked up the seal. It felt solid. Real. It wasn't just a name; it was a promise that we weren't just a collection of individuals anymore. We were a foundation.

  We then filtered potential quests with care, weighing risk against reward, plotting routes that favor preparation over bravado.

  Days passed in a steady rhythm of planning, training, and restraint earned the hard way.

  Then the rhythm broke.

  The first day of the month arrived.

  I stood before the Tower of Ascension once more. Its shadow didn't just cover the plaza. It felt like a weight, a cold reminder of the lives it had already claimed.

  Last time, I had climbed with fear and uncertainty. This time, I stepped into the gloom with a team at my back and a seal in my pocket. We weren't just survivors anymore.

  We were Ironwood. And we were going up.