Alyra shifted on her feet and bit her lip. The gym was unusually quiet. Varom could walk in at any moment, yet even without him none of the students had the energy for their usual chatter. The silence carried a weight, as if everyone knew something she didn’t.

  A few had whispered that today was when things would get ‘serious.’

  The word clung to her like a stone in her stomach. Training was always serious, wasn’t it?

  No one ever bothered to explain. She pressed her hands together, palms damp. If there was some special preparation for this lesson, she would find out too late.

  All she knew was that they had been divided into pairs and told to line up with their assigned partner.

  This time, hers was Faela.

  Her gaze lingered on the girl beside her. Faela stood with a distant look in her eyes, unreadable as ever. Alyra’s chest tightened at her presence. Quiet, withdrawn, yet sharper than the rest. Certainly far more composed than Alyra herself.

  Her long, whitish-gray hair hung loose and messy. Gray eyes drifted blankly into the distance, as if fixed on a world no one else could see. Her face was pale, and while her uniform was always spotless, it sagged on her frame, wrinkled as though it didn’t quite belong. Outside of combat practice she moved sluggishly, except for the fingers of her right hand, which never stopped twitching and shifting, as if tallying something invisible.

  Weird.

  Nobody ever wanted to be paired with her. Which, of course, left Faela with the other girl no one wanted: Alyra.

  To be fair, Varom had assigned the pairs in the previous class and left no room for questions. No complaints, no requests, no excuses. He alone would decide if and when a pairing changed.

  Still, it was hard not to think the two outsiders had been deliberately matched together.

  Faela had accepted Alyra as her partner without the slightest flicker of annoyance, but then again, she probably would’ve shown the same indifference if she’d been paired with a practice dummy. Alyra doubted she had preferences of any kind. Friends least of all.

  Not that Alyra was much different. A small part of her had hoped Mirelle might volunteer to stand with her, but when that didn’t happen, she hadn’t been surprised.

  Mirelle was kind and devout, treating everyone with the same gentle courtesy. Any friendliness toward Alyra was likely just a reflection of that nature.

  Tanya, on the other hand, had rushed to join one of the more advanced girls. Their pact only applied outside regular class hours. Inside the gym, Tanya made it clear Alyra was on her own.

  The sound of measured footsteps echoed as Varom entered the gym. His tall, lean figure and close-cropped white hair made him tower over all of them.

  It was hard to pin down his age. He had once been Isabelle’s instructor, so he couldn’t be young anymore, yet the straightness of his posture and the sharp precision in his bearing gave him a presence untouched by age.

  He stepped to the side of the room where he could see them all, his face unreadable. Approval or disapproval, if he felt either, he gave no sign. After a moment, his voice carried across the silent gym.

  “The martial arts practiced by Novices at the Orbisar Academy trace their roots back over four millennia, to the Era of First Descent, the time when the first Orbisar spheres began falling from the sky.”

  The girls stood in their pairs, facing the Instructor.

  Varom continued. “It was soon discovered that the ability to absorb a sphere’s power depended on one’s auric strength, a measure of how much raw energy the chakras could sustain and channel. Without sufficient auric strength, neither body nor mind could safely host the sphere’s power.”

  His gaze swept across the line of students, sharp and measuring.

  The silence thickened, blanketing the gym.

  Alyra gave a quick nod, schooling her face into an expression of interest. She had heard all of this before. Why was Varom starting with a lecture on the basics of sphere usage?

  “Today,” he declared, his voice rising, “for the very first time, the Sprout rank will attempt to channel chakra energy into their strikes. An essential step toward true control.”

  Alyra’s heart stumbled, then broke into a sprint. Channel chakra energy into a strike? A real strike? That couldn’t be what he meant. She wasn’t ready for something like this.

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  Varom paced slowly among them, each step deliberate, his eyes locking on one girl after another. “Today you will discover the purpose of the breathing drills, the circulation exercises, and the martial techniques practiced under Instructor Claudine. All of it converges into the skill you attempt today. If you’ve worked diligently, I expect no great difficulty.”

  He stopped by Tanya. “From those ahead of the rest, I expect refined control. Not only must you wield your energy, you must learn to modulate its impact at will.”

  The Thorne held his gaze and gave a quiet nod.

  Varom moved on. “You’ve been taught to visualize energy as rivers flowing through you, converging at the chakras. By acting upon the chakras, you redirect the flow of those rivers. Until now, you have been asked to calm and balance them, steadying yourselves.”

  He halted in front of Alyra and fixed her with a direct stare. “Today, you are asked to unleash those rivers, concentrating their power into a proper Fulcrum Strike delivered against your opponent.”

  Alyra’s chest tightened. She glanced at Faela, who stared back at her, pale-faced.

  Varom remained impassive. “Each of you has been assigned a partner so that you may train by confronting one another’s auras as you perform the technique. Your strike must be unleashed at the full strength of your chakras.”

  Alyra nearly let out a gasp. Full strength? The thought froze her. They weren’t even wearing gloves. If they actually managed to channel their energy, someone could be seriously hurt. She had once seen a Fulcrum Strike split the trunk of a tree. What sense did that make?

  Varom kept pacing, his boots echoing under the doubtful stares of the other Sprouts. Tanya allowed herself a faint smirk, while the older girls didn’t so much as flinch.

  “But today,” Varom continued, “you will not only learn to strike. You will learn to defend. As you have studied, chakra energy can be directed to harden your bodies. A punch or a kick cannot harm one who has mastered their chakras. Any part of your body can become a focal point of energy, and once it does, that part grows far more resilient.”

  He returned to his place at the side of the gym and let his gaze sweep over them one by one. “You will now take turns striking and blocking. You will not stop until I say so. The tournament approaches, and I intend to show the other schools that even our Sprouts can compete at high levels.”

  He waited.

  At last, a hesitant hand rose.

  “Speak, Mirelle,” he said.

  The young Sprout’s cheeks flushed, but her eyes burned with resolve. “May I have the honor of being the first to try?” she asked.

  The small brown-haired girl paired with her went pale, eyes wide. Clearly, she didn’t share Mirelle’s eagerness to take a Fulcrum Strike head-on.

  Varom straightened his chest, lifted his chin, and let his gaze sweep across the room.

  No one else seemed as eager as Mirelle to please him.

  A shiver ran down Alyra’s spine. She had only ever studied the technique in theory: a straight punch from the abdomen, powered by a burst of energy driven from the abdominal chakra to the hand chakra. Done right, it carried crushing weight even at low speed.

  There was no way to land it without causing pain, unless you completely messed it up. And that was more than likely. But failure only meant Varom’s irritation and a forced repeat.

  That wasn’t even the worst that could happen.

  If Faela failed to dodge or block, Alyra would break her.

  Her gaze lingered on the girl’s gaunt face, her frail body, the wide gray eyes drifting somewhere far away. Faela didn’t look like she could withstand even a slap, let alone a properly executed Fulcrum Strike.

  Alyra had promised herself she wouldn’t ask questions today, that she would stay invisible and focus only on the lesson. But how could she stay silent now?

  She raised her hand.

  Varom turned toward her.

  Several heads followed his gaze.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks under the weight of their stares, but she clenched her teeth and held her ground.

  “Alyra Greaves,” Varom said. “ I see you have your hand raised. My compliments.”

  A few stifled giggles bubbled up behind her.

  Alyra’s cheeks burned. “Yes, sir. I-I just have a question, if I may.”

  Varom’s expression didn’t shift. His steel eyes locked on her.

  It was done. She had to speak now. Her doubt was valid, what could possibly go wrong?

  From the corner of the gym, Thomas, the boy assigned to cleaning, slipped in with a mop and froze, watching curiously.

  Alyra’s heart sprinted in her chest. She cleared her throat. “What happens if I actually… you know, hit my partner? I mean, I don’t want to hurt her.” She pointed at Faela.

  The instructor shrugged. “Then it is up to her to block the strike.”

  Tanya gave her a flat look and shook her head.

  Heat flared across Alyra’s face. It wasn’t a stupid question. Why did everyone look at her like it was? “Yes, but… what if she can’t block it?”

  Faela’s eyes widened, then dropped immediately to her toes.

  Varom’s gaze shifted to her. “Did you hear that, Faela? It seems your partner has little faith in your abilities. She fears hurting you.”

  Murmurs rippled through the girls. Thomas frowned at Alyra.

  Faela kept her gaze on the floor and said nothing.

  Alyra’s mouth opened in protest. “That’s not what I meant at all—”

  Varom raised his hand, silencing her. “What you said was clear, and everyone heard it. You are concerned for your opponent’s safety because you believe she cannot defend herself against your strike.”

  The whispers swelled, no longer contained. This time, Varom let them spread unchecked, as though he welcomed them.

  Alyra tried to swallow, but her throat was bone-dry. She turned toward Faela, who looked even more beaten down than usual. Why had she reacted that way? “Faela, that’s not what I meant. I’m only worried no one gets hurt!”

  “Alyra,” Varom’s voice boomed, imperious. “The doctrine of the Church of Orbisar rests on one founding principle, and I expect you know it.” He lifted a finger. “The spheres our God sends are trials, proofs that we are worthy to serve Him. Overcome the trial, and Orbisar’s power strengthens us. Fail, and demons seize our minds.”

  He stepped closer, his stare drilling into her.

  Her legs locked. His presence swallowed the room. Even if she had words, her throat wouldn’t let them out.

  “Alyra,” Varom pressed on. “You have just implied that this disciple of Orbisar is not worthy. Therefore, I believe Faela has the right to prove your insinuation false.”

  The pale girl lifted her gaze from Varom to Alyra. Gray eyes shimmered like wet steel.

  Alyra’s stomach curled into a knot. She already knew what was coming. She had squandered her chance to keep silent.

  Varom turned to the others, his voice thundering through the gym. “Form a circle. Alyra and Faela will give us today’s first demonstration.”

  Shoes scraped against the floor, whispers buzzed, and in seconds the girls had formed an almost perfect ring.

  Varom stood inside the circle with them, arms folded. “As I said, what you are about to witness is no ordinary spar.”

  His voice carried to every corner of the gym. “Today, you will not strike only with your fists, but with your auras. This duel will not end until one of you delivers a flawless Fulcrum Strike.”

  Faela stared at her, wide-eyed.

  Alyra shaped the word sorry with her lips, though no sound came out.

  She had never wanted to put Faela through this. Maybe the others were right to keep their distance. She was just a girl from a jungle village, out of place in this sacred hall, never knowing how to act. If only her village hadn’t been destroyed. If only she could return to her old life.

  How she missed it. Her grandmother, her parents, the animals, the home she had lost—

  A prickling sensation spread across her hands.

  Something black, like a tiny serpent, slithered beneath her skin and vanished up her forearm.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She shoved her hands behind her back on instinct. She hadn’t seen that thing since the fight with the abomination at Ebonshade. Why now, in front of everyone? And what if it surged through her strike against Faela? The memory of her fists tearing craters into that monster’s flesh still burned too vividly.

  “Well?” Varom barked, his brows drawn tight. “I asked if everything is clear.”

  Alyra froze. She had missed the question. Heat flooded her face as she nodded too quickly. “Y-yes, sir. Sorry.”

  The instructor stepped back and spread his arms. “Then begin!”

  Before Alyra could even raise her guard, the gym rang with a high, trembling cry.

  Faela screamed and lunged at her with a fist.

  Alyra’s world narrowed to that single attack.