The academy bell tolled once — a soft chime echoing through the upper corridors of Argent Hall. It marked the start of the midday break, when most students drifted toward the mess halls or garden lounges.
Caelum didn't.
By the time the first wave of Platinum Class students left the training yard, he had already returned to his room, shut the door, and activated the silence rune.
Then dropped to the floor.
Thud.
Sweat soaked through his training wear as he pushed his body through brutal conditioning sets — low stances, chained strikes, breathing drills tuned to internal circulation. Nothing flashy. Just clean, exhausting repetition.
"Form's off," he muttered. "Reset."
He exhaled, forced his body lower, and moved again. And again. And again.
Eventually, his breath steadied. His motions became clean. Efficient.
He didn't stop.
Not until his limbs trembled.
Only then did he sit cross-legged, spine straight, and begin internal circulation.
His Primal Resonance was still growing, but already he could feel the difference. Each draw felt smoother, like water flowing through polished channels.
"Not enough," he muttered. "Again."
____
Two floors below, Selene Rhiannon sat at a reading table by a window, an open tome of magical philosophy resting beneath her hand. Her silver hair was neatly tied back, her posture impeccable.
Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere.
She'd passed Caelum's room earlier. Felt the faint hum of internal movement behind the silencing rune.
He's still training.
A quiet flick of her finger turned the page. She didn't smile or scowl. Just made a note in her mind.
He's methodical. Tireless.
But she didn't dwell on him long.
Her attention shifted to her own lesson notes — combat formations, casting sequence efficiency, and an old message from the palace. Court expectations were never far behind.
Even here, she thought. They're watching.
____
In the west yard, Zephyr Arkwyn spun into a flaming strike that cracked the reinforced projection dummy in two.
The Silver Class student watching nearby clapped, but Zephyr didn't turn.
Instead, he scowled.
Something about that spar earlier — the way Caelum had finished it — still nagged at him.
It wasn't power. Not really.
It was technique. A very refined technique.
"I don't like that guy," he muttered.
Not because Caelum was better — but because he was unreadable.
He turned back to his dummy, flames swirling around his arms.
"Next time," he muttered, "we'll see who really dominates the ring."
____
Elandra Voss stood alone in the greenhouse meditation chamber, in a patch of living vines and shadow bloom.
Her fingers glowed faintly with venom-imbued mana as she worked her control exercises — forming fine lines of toxin between her fingertips, dissolving them, and reweaving them.
But her mind wasn't still.
She thought about her next refinement test.
She thought about the Voss family's pressure.
____
Draven Thorne moved silently through the weapon hall, practicing his sword forms against empty air. His aura was sealed — barely a whisper of it leaking out.
His thoughts were quiet, too.
Focused on efficiency. On breathing.
The morning spar hadn't impressed him.
But it had reminded him that strength came in many forms — and not all wore it loudly.
____
Iryss Valcairn, by contrast, was in the library, surrounded by floating scrolls and diagrams. She scribbled notes as formulas hung midair around her, light magic pulsing in gentle orbits.
Caelum's mana control had caught her attention.
But her real excitement came from an idea sparked by it — could she create a non-verbal resonance spell trigger?
"Oh stars," she grinned, eyes sparkling, "I might be onto something…"
She hummed to herself, already lost in the theorycrafting.
____
Hours passed.
Caelum remained in his room, alternating between body conditioning and internal refinement. He didn't count reps. Didn't time himself. His body had its own internal clock — forged from failure, pressure, and regret.
He pushed until his arms trembled with lactic fire. Then sat again — not to rest, but to refine his core.
He meditated until the room spun from energy overdraw. Then trained again.
Even when he knew he should stop, he kept going — not out of stubbornness, but because every drop of effort mattered.
A knock finally broke his trance.
He stopped training and opened the door without a word.
Instructor Ardan stood there, arms crossed, his emerald gaze unreadable.
"You've been training since the session ended."
Caelum didn't answer.
Ardan raised a brow.
"Rest isn't weakness, Virellian. Your talent will mean nothing if you burn yourself out before the real pressure begins."
Caelum nodded once. "Understood."
But he didn't step aside. He didn't invite conversation.
Ardan studied him a moment longer.
"You're driven. That's good. But discipline without control becomes obsession. Don't forget that."
Then he turned and left.
Caelum stared at the empty hallway for a breath, then closed the door again.
And went back to training.
...