Weeks had passed since that evening when Menma and Ayame, exhausted but smiling, had shared that simple moment, almost out of time. Since then, their connection had quietly settled in, subtle yet real, present in every glance, every shared silence.
That day, at the dawn of the second term, the academy of Aeloria already buzzed with a new tension. Menma felt the weight of a clear goal on his shoulders, imposed by the upcoming trial — a challenge that could reshape the very hierarchy of the students.
They met again on the training grounds, as usual.
Ayame didn't say anything special when she arrived, but one knowing look was enough for Menma to understand she was there — and that she'd still be by his side.
— "You're improving, you know," she said, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.
Menma shrugged, both proud and a little shy.
— "Without you, I'd still be pulling my hair out."
A comfortable silence followed, filled only by their breathing and the rhythm of their hearts. Ayame calmly unrolled a small scroll, scribbled with notes and diagrams, and laid it out before them.
— "I've made you a new training program. It's more intense. But it should help you refine your amplification."
Menma narrowed his eyes as he scanned the details. Each exercise demanded more precision, more finesse. No longer brute strength — this was craftsmanship.
— "You need to be ready for the next trial," Ayame said firmly.
They began working, with a newfound fluidity. Menma felt his body respond better. The pain lessened. Ayame corrected his form, subtly rewrote his magical flow to lighten the effort, and from time to time, she laughed — a light, genuine laugh that warmed the air around them.
Later, they would often sit side by side, talking about nothing in particular, or simply watching the sky fade to ochre. The weight of training seemed lighter when she was there.
[ Interlude – Life in Aeloria, beyond the spotlight ]
Within the ancient walls of Aeloria, life went on, often unnoticed. Not everything was duels, power, or rankings. There were also daily rituals, crowded hallways, and quiet libraries where pages crackled under students' fingertips.
Every morning, the Orion wing echoed with hurried footsteps, lively chatter, or sleepy sighs. Some walked in groups, others alone, hood up, eyes tired. Professors passed by in long strides, often silent, sometimes casting a sharp glance.
The Orion common room, far more modest than that of the Nova class, buzzed with activity. It was where rumors were shared, crumbs of bread passed around, and secrets exchanged. The magical clock floating above changed colors by the hour — green at dawn, blue through the day, then violet in the evening, marking curfew.
That day, a red-haired boy named Kilen had the whole room laughing as he mimicked Professor Sylvain explaining combined magic with his slow voice and exaggerated gestures. In a corner, a girl named Kira scribbled frantically in a notebook, entirely focused on a spell-fusion diagram. She rarely looked up, except to mumble formulas she tested on scraps of parchment — which usually burst into flames, melted, or floated — to the janitor's dismay.
Another student, Hale, spent hours each day training his density control — a minor magic that let him increase or decrease the weight of simple objects. He often used apples stolen from the cafeteria for practice, earning regular detentions. But he didn't care. His goal wasn't grades — he wanted to become the academy's best strategist.
In the hanging gardens, Nova students gathered, loud and confident. People envied them. Their black attire, elegantly trimmed with gold along the collar, emphasized their poise and subtly revealed their status among the elite but their arrogance grated on many.
Once, an Orion student challenged one of them — an impromptu duel among flowers and fountains. The Nova won easily. But instead of mocking him, he extended a hand and said:
— "You hit well. Come back when there's fire in your eyes."
Scenes like that played out from time to time. Rivalries, yes — but respect too. Aeloria wasn't a cage, but a crossroads. Some grew in silence. Others burned their wings trying to fly too soon.
At night, the mood shifted. The halls quieted. Flux-lamps lit up with soft light. Students studied in the golden glow, wrote letters they'd never finish, or dreamed while gazing at the star-painted ceiling above their beds.
That was Aeloria, too.
Not just the trials.
Not just the powerful.
But the sum of all those unseen moments.
Meanwhile, Menma continued his training with Ayame. Their relationship had changed since those early sessions. She was no longer that cold, arrogant girl, but a steady, thoughtful partner. Ayame would rewrite Menma's magical flow in real time, reducing his pain and refining his control.
One evening, after a particularly intense session, as Menma caught his breath, William and Alina approached quietly.
— "How's it going?" Alina asked with a gentle smile.
— "It's progressing," Menma replied, tired but content.
William raised an eyebrow.
— "You better be ready. That trial's coming fast."
— "Yeah…" Menma murmured, eyes on the horizon.
— "You know, this term's trial won't be like the others," William muttered one night, arms crossed, eyes sharp with challenge.
Alina nodded, a bit nervous.
— "I'm scared it'll be complicated."
William smirked, confident.
— "It'll be my turn to prove I'm the strongest."
Menma said nothing. He kept his goal close to his chest, his burning desire to break through. His determination never wavered, though deep down, he feared this challenge more than any before.
But beneath the surface of this routine, a shadow grew.
One evening, as Menma walked alone through the silent academy halls, he heard voices behind a slightly ajar door.
— "During the trial, you'll identify the most promising powers," said a low, firm voice, dripping with menace. "You'll report them to me."
Another voice, submissive, replied:
— "Yes, Master Lunovar."
Menma's heart pounded. He hid near the door, holding his breath.
Moments later, Professor Nox Leir stepped out, looking troubled.
— "This generation is truly fascinating," cackled the voice that remained inside, alone now, almost deranged.
A cold shiver ran down Menma's spine. Something dark was stirring. He realized this trial wasn't just a test. It was a prelude to something far more sinister.
In the days that followed, the mood at the academy shifted. Excitement mingled with unease. Menma knew he was being watched — but showed no sign of it.
His goal remained unchanged: master his power, face the trial, and break into the Nova class.
The countdown had begun. And this time, he wasn't aiming just for glory — but for survival.