Kael turned and walked out of the silent classroom, the heavy door closing behind him with a sense of finality. The corridor outside seemed too bright, too normal. He leaned against the cool stone wall for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to process the enormity of what Maya had implied. *A kinship with the Void.* The thought was sickening.
"Took you long enough! Thought she'd decided to keep you for advanced brooding lessons."
Kael looked up. Darius, Lira, and Thea were waiting a little way down the corridor. Darius leaned against the opposite wall, attempting his usual grin, though it didn't quite erase the tension around his eyes. Lira hovered nearby, concern etched on her face. Thea stood quietly, her storm-grey eyes searching Kael's face with open worry.
"Everything okay, Kael?" Lira asked immediately, stepping closer. "You look like you've seen another Oblivion Maw."
"Just… more orientation," Kael deflected, pushing off the wall. He managed a tight smile. "Von Storm has high expectations. What did I miss?"
"Just the thrilling revelation that our next stop is the Crucible," Darius said, pushing himself upright. "Combat training with the infamous Instructor Goran. Rumor has it he bathes in dragon's blood and sharpens his teeth on granite. Should be a laugh."
Lira swatted his arm. "He's tough, but fair, Darius. And we need tough." Her expression sobered. "After that footage…"
Thea nodded silently, her gaze still lingering on Kael. He could feel the unspoken question, the shared dread from the classroom amplified by whatever shadows she saw in his eyes now. He gave her a small, hopefully reassuring nod. "We need training," he agreed, his voice firmer. "Lead the way."
The Crucible wasn't a training yard; it was a monument to brutal pragmatism. Located deep within the academy's bedrock foundation, it was a vast, cavernous space lit by harsh, flickering magelights embedded high in the rough-hewn ceiling. The air was cool, damp, and carried the distinct, metallic tang of old blood and sweat ingrained into the hard-packed earth floor. Training dummies made of reinforced leather and woven steel cable stood like silent sentinels in one corner. Weapon racks lined the far wall, holding everything from simple wooden staves to blunted but deadly-looking steel replicas of swords, axes, and spears. The center of the space was a wide, open circle of earth, scarred by countless impacts.
Standing in the center of that circle, radiating an aura of barely leashed violence, was Instructor Goran. He was a mountain of a man, easily a head taller than Darius and twice as broad. His shaved head gleamed under the magelights, a network of scars crisscrossing his scalp and disappearing beneath the collar of his simple, sleeveless training tunic. His arms, thick as tree trunks, were knotted with muscle and etched with more scars and faded tattoos depicting snarling beasts and broken blades. His face was a roadmap of old battles – a flattened nose, a thick scar pulling down the corner of one eye, and a perpetual scowl etched deep. He held a thick, worn baton loosely in one hand, tapping it rhythmically against his thigh.
As Class A filed in, the usual chatter died instantly, replaced by a palpable wave of nervous silence. Goran's gaze swept over them like a physical blow, cold, assessing, and utterly devoid of welcome.
"Took you maggots long enough," he growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the cavern. "Name's Goran. You will call me 'Instructor' or 'Sir'. You will not speak unless ordered. You will move when ordered. You will bleed when ordered." He paused, letting the words sink in. "This is the Crucible. This is where soft things get broken and reforged into something useful. Or they get discarded. Your choice."
He pointed the baton towards the weapon racks. "First lesson: Tools. Grab something you think you can swing without cutting your own foot off. You have ten seconds. Move!"
There was a frantic scramble. Kael, drawn instinctively to the raw simplicity of force, selected a heavy, blunted training sword. Darius, with a gambler's eye for opportunity, grabbed two short, weighted batons. Lira hesitated, then chose a sturdy quarterstaff. Thea's fingers hovered over a slender practice rapier before settling on a pair of balanced, blunted daggers.
Goran watched the chaos with a disdainful curl of his lip. "Pathetic. Half of you grabbed the shiniest toy. The other half grabbed what felt comfortable." He strode into their midst, his presence forcing them back. "Comfort gets you killed. Shiny gets you noticed… and dead. Your weapon is an extension of your will. It should fit your Affinity, your build, your *soul*. But today, we start simpler. We start with *form*."
He paired them off with brutal efficiency, barking names like commands. Kael found himself facing a tall, wiry boy with nervous eyes who clutched a spear awkwardly. Darius was paired with a solidly built girl wielding a massive, two-handed training maul. Lira faced a quick-footed boy with twin short swords. Thea was matched against a lean, focused girl with a blunted saber.
"First set!" Goran bellowed, positioning himself at the edge of the central circle. "Footwork and balance! No strikes. Only movement. Evade. Control your space. Your opponent is the Void. It comes from everywhere! BEGIN!"
Kael's opponent lunged clumsily with the spear. Kael sidestepped easily, his body instinctively settling into the balanced stance Maya had emphasized earlier. He felt a flicker of that cold focus, the hum beneath his skin momentarily quieting the lingering unease from his talk with Maya.
"VANCE!" Goran's voice cracked like a whip. Kael froze. The baton smacked hard against his lower back, not enough to injure, but enough to sting fiercely and drive the breath from his lungs. "Eyes up! You dodged the spear, but you planted your feet like a statue admiring the scenery! The Void doesn't take turns! Where was your next move? Your exit? Your counter-position? FLOW! Like water around stone! Again!"
Chastened, Kael refocused. When the spear thrust came again, he sidestepped, but immediately shifted his weight, circling, keeping his blade ready, his eyes scanning not just the spear point, but his opponent's feet, his shoulders, anticipating the next move. Goran gave a grunt that might have been approval.
Across the circle, Darius was dancing around the girl with the maul. He was quick, using his batons to deflect rather than block the massive, slow swings. "GAMBLER!" Goran roared. "Stop dancing like a court jester! You're reacting! Predict! That maul has weight, momentum! Use it against her! Step *inside* the swing, not away! Make her overcommit! NOW!"
Darius, startled, obeyed. As the maul came down in a powerful overhead arc, he ducked low and darted forward, inside her guard, one baton jabbing towards her ribs. She stumbled, off-balance. Goran nodded sharply. "Better! Control the tempo!"
Lira was holding her own against the twin swords, her quarterstaff a blur of defensive sweeps, keeping the faster boy at bay. "CARER!" Goran called, his voice slightly less harsh. "Defense is good. Survival is paramount. But the Void doesn't tire. You do. Find the opening. That fancy footwork leaves his lead leg exposed on the pivot. Sweep it next time he commits!" Lira's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in concentration.
Thea and her opponent moved with a deadly grace, a whirl of blunted steel. Thea's daggers were a defensive shield, parrying the saber thrusts with precise, economical movements. "STORM-EYES!" Goran's voice cut through their duel. "Too passive! You're waiting! Hesitation is death! You see the opening after the third feint – *take it*! Commit! Drive forward, inside her guard! Stop treating this like a dance and make it a fight!"
Thea flinched almost imperceptibly at the command, but then her expression hardened. On the next sequence, as her opponent feinted high, Thea didn't retreat. She exploded forward, ducking under the expected high strike, her lead dagger slashing upwards in a controlled arc that would have opened the other girl's forearm from wrist to elbow with live steel. The movement was sudden, brutal, and perfectly executed. Her opponent stumbled back, wide-eyed.
"ACCEPTABLE!" Goran barked. A flicker of something – respect? – might have crossed his scarred face. "Finally remembered you're here to kill Void, not impress at a ball."
The first set lasted an eternity under Goran's relentless critique. Batons found ribs, shoulders, backsides with stinging precision whenever form slipped, balance wavered, or awareness faded. Sweat stung eyes, muscles burned, and lungs heaved. When Goran finally called a halt, several students slumped to the ground. Kael leaned on his practice sword, breathing hard, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the deeper unease.
"Water," Goran grunted, pointing to buckets and ladles in the corner. "One minute. Then Second Set: Pain Tolerance and Control."
As they gulped down tepid water, Darius limped over to Kael, rubbing his shoulder where Goran's baton had landed. "Stars above, the man hits like a charging Dread Maw. Think he takes payments in merit points for going easier?" he joked weakly, though his eyes held a new respect for the Crucible's harsh reality.
Lira handed Thea a ladle, her expression concerned. "Are you alright? That was intense."
Thea nodded, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her eyes met Kael's. "It's necessary," she said quietly, but Kael saw the slight tremor in her hand. Goran's command to *commit*, to tap into that aggressive instinct, had shaken her controlled calm.
"Second Set!" Goran's bellow cut through their brief respite. "Pain is information! It tells you you're hit. It doesn't mean you stop! You will take controlled strikes. You will learn to push through. Shields up! Controlled force! BEGIN!"
This set was brutal. Goran ordered them to block attacks with their arms, their shoulders, their practice weapons held defensively. Stinging blows rained down. Kael gritted his teeth as a powerful thrust from the spear-user jarred his arm despite his block. He focused on the vibration running up the practice sword, the *feel* of the impact, letting the cold clarity he'd discovered during the trial rise, not to destroy, but to *endure*. He absorbed the shock, shifted his weight, and pushed back, forcing his opponent to retreat a step.
"VANCE! Good! Absorb, redirect! Don't just stand there and take it like a sandbag! Use the pain, use the force! Turn their strength against them!"
Darius yelped as the maul connected solidly with his crossed batons, driving him back. "GAMBLER! Stop bracing like you're holding up a collapsing building! Roll with it! Redirect the energy! Side-step and use her momentum to unbalance her!"
Lira took a solid hit on her raised forearm from a sword strike, wincing but holding her quarterstaff steady. "CARER! Don't lock up! Flexibility! Absorb and *move*! Create space! Pain is a signal, not a sentence!"
Thea, blocking a flurry of saber strikes with her daggers, took a stinging blow to the ribs. She gasped, her defensive rhythm faltering for a split second. "STORM-EYES!" Goran roared. "Control your breath! Control the pain! Don't let it steal your focus! Tighten your core! Brace through the impact! Now, counter!"
Thea sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes snapping back into focus. When the next strike came, she didn't just block; she deflected it hard to the side, stepping into the opening and driving her shoulder into her opponent's chest, knocking her back.
"BETTER!" Goran acknowledged. "Hurt is inevitable. Paralysis is failure."