3

  “Argh, cheer up guys, for the love of Blunare, the class was over two hours ago! Get over it! Professor M has always been a mood killer; we’ve all known that since year one,” Newt exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He looked around the room, his enthusiasm a sharp contrast to the gloomy atmosphere.

  Mark, sprawled on the couch in his usual laid-back fashion, sighed heavily. Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and black slacks, matched with equally black footwear, he looked every bit the model student – except for the exhausted expression on his face. Leaning forward, he locked eyes with Newt, who was sitting directly opposite him in the lounge of their male dormitory.

  “They just finally understood what you and I have known for a long time…” Mark began, his voice low and serious. “Which is… they could die at any moment out there, and in certain situations, their deaths would be without meaning.”

  Newt blinked, his usual cocky demeanor faltering as he processed Mark’s words. “Oh… I see.” He nodded slowly, a comforting smile playing on his lips as he realized the gravity of the situation. For a moment, Mark thought his friend had finally grasped the delicate mood of the room.

  “If you guys are so scared of death, don’t worry! I’ll be the strongest very quickly, so you all won’t have to fight! You weaklings can leave all the battles to me,” Newt added with a grin, completely missing the point.

  Mark groaned inwardly, smacking his open palm to his forehead. “Newt…”

  The room, which had been shrouded in uneasy silence, suddenly burst into life. It was as if someone had shaken a hornet’s nest, and now all the bees were buzzing with anger.

  “Who are you calling weak, you garbage spare royal pain in the neck?” a voice shot out from the back of the room, followed by a chorus of agreement.

  “Yeah! What do you mean protect us? I could just as easily end up becoming far more powerful than you, once I awaken my profession,” another student yelled, his face flushed with indignation.

  “Even if you all got good professions… a coward is still a coward,” Newt shot back, his grin widening.

  “I am going to kill you.”

  “I will beat you so bad, royalty won’t want your name in their books anymore.”

  The arguments and threats flew across the room, each student trying to outshout the other. Mark, seeing where this was going, began to tune them all out. He leaned back on the sofa, resting the back of his head and closing his eyes, trying to escape the chaos around him.

  “At least the room isn’t so lifeless anymore,” Mark thought, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the situation.

  “You should stop them before this becomes a problem,” a quiet voice roused Mark from the clutches of sleep.

  Mark blinked and sat up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Griffith standing beside him. The man had somehow slipped into the room without Mark noticing, and that was saying something.

  “Griffith,” Mark acknowledged, still a bit shocked that someone had managed to get so close without him realizing. “You’re getting better at sneaking around in general. I’m truly impressed with your growth.”

  Griffith gave a small, self-deprecating smile, his eyes flicking to the chaotic scene in front of them. “Thanks, but this isn’t the time for compliments. We need to do something before they start throwing punches.”

  Mark nodded, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stood up and cleared his throat loudly, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Hey, enough! Calm down, all of you!”

  The noise level dropped slightly, but the tension was still palpable. Mark stepped forward, positioning himself between Newt and the rest of the room.

  “Look, I know everyone’s on edge after what Professor M said,” Mark began, his voice steady and firm. “But fighting each other isn’t going to help. We need to think about what we learned and how it’s going to affect our future careers.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, but the students still looked wary. Newt, however, seemed unperturbed. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “What? Are we really going to let some old guy’s words scare us? I’m telling you, once I awaken my profession, none of this will matter.”

  Griffith sighed and shook his head. “Newt, it’s not just about being strong. Professor M wasn’t just trying to scare us. He was trying to make us understand the reality of the world out there.”

  “Exactly,” Mark agreed, nodding at Griffith. “It’s not just about power. It’s about survival. You can be the strongest person in the world, but if you’re not smart about it, you’re still going to end up dead.”

  “But that’s the thing,” another student piped up, his voice shaky. “What if our professions aren’t what we expect? What if we’re not cut out for this?”

  A heavy silence fell over the room as the students exchanged worried glances. This was the fear that had been gnawing at them ever since Professor M’s lecture. The realization that their future was uncertain, that they might not be as strong or as capable as they had hoped.

  “That’s what we need to figure out,” Mark said, his tone thoughtful. “We need to take what Professor M said seriously and think about our options. We have to be realistic about our strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Yeah, but what if our professions aren’t what we want?” someone else asked, their voice laced with anxiety. “What if we get stuck with something useless?”

  Griffith stepped forward, his expression calm and reassuring. “It’s not about what profession you get. It’s about how you use it. Every profession has its strengths and weaknesses. It’s up to us to figure out how to make the most of it.”

  “Griffith’s right,” Mark added. “We can’t control what profession we get, but we can control how we approach it. We need to start preparing ourselves mentally and physically for whatever comes our way.”

  Newt, for once, seemed to be considering their words. He glanced around the room, noting the worried faces of his classmates. “So, what? We just train harder and hope for the best?” Another student asked

  “Not just train harder,” Mark corrected. “We need to train smarter. We need to learn everything we can about the world out there, about our enemies, about ourselves. Knowledge is just as important as strength.”

  The room fell into a contemplative silence as the students absorbed Mark’s words. It was clear that the reality of their situation was finally starting to sink in.

  “Look,” Griffith said, breaking the silence. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. But we need to stick together and support each other. That’s the only way we’re going to make it through this.”

  Mark nodded in agreement, glancing around the room. “Griffith’s right. We’re all in this together. We need to stop fighting among ourselves and start focusing on what really matters.”

  Newt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I guess you’re right. But I’m still going to be the strongest, just so you all know.”

  A few of the students chuckled, the tension in the room finally easing. Mark shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “Sure, Newt. We’ll see about that.”

  As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the atmosphere in the room relaxed. The students began to discuss their training plans, sharing tips and strategies with each other. The earlier tension was forgotten, replaced by a renewed sense of camaraderie and determination.

  Mark leaned back against the wall, watching his classmates with a sense of relief. They still had a long way to go, but at least they were finally starting to face the reality of their situation. And as long as they stuck together, he knew they had a fighting chance.

  Griffith moved to stand beside him, his gaze also on their classmates. “You did good, Mark,” he said quietly.

  Mark shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “I just said what needed to be said. To some extent we’re all scared, but we can’t let that fear control us. We have to be smart about this.”

  Griffith nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Exactly. And with the right mindset, we’ll get through this. Together.”

  Mark returned the smile, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. For the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful about their future. They had a lot to learn, and the road ahead was uncertain, but at least they were facing it together.

  And that, Mark realized, was the most important thing of all.

  The Bonds of Mana

  Leaning back against the seat, the arguments of his classmates slowly faded into the background. Mark focused his mind on his mana, feeling the energy pulse within him like a heartbeat. It was an exercise he had dutifully practiced every day for years—the only martial knowledge his father had passed down to him.

  "Close your eyes, draw forth your mana, and keep it barely contained as much as you can," his father's voice echoed in his memory. "Do this every day, and by the time you are ready to choose a profession, no matter what fate awaits you, your mana will always be strong enough to protect you."

  Seven years had passed since his father had given him those instructions, and six long years since the tragic day when both of his parents were taken from him. Since that day, Mark hadn't missed a single day of his mana exercise, a ritual that had become as natural as breathing.

  As he focused, Mark’s skin began to strengthen and glow faintly, a soft aura of power surrounding him. By his estimation, he could now maintain seventy percent control of his mana while applying sixty percent output. It wasn’t the fine control that Annabeth had mastered, but considering he had four times the amount of mana she did, he was satisfied with his progress. He was on the right track.

  This was the same exercise he had shown Griffith after seeing his friend struggle with controlling his own mana. Griffith’s mana was considered volatile, responding unpredictably to shape manipulation and resisting control. It was a difficult hand to be dealt.

  Opening his eyes, Mark looked across the room to where Griffith had risen and was now engaging another classmate in conversation. Griffith had grown more than anyone else in their class. Mark recalled their first day—Griffith had to wear mana cuffs to prevent his mana from lashing out randomly. Now, he was one of the most controlled and disciplined among them.

  "I won’t apologize! I spoke my truth!" Newt’s voice rang out, breaking Mark's reverie. He turned to see his best friend being lifted into the air by the other students, who were carting him off toward the exit. A light laugh bubbled up from Mark’s lips.

  "Don’t just sit there laughing! Help me out!" Newt called back, his tone half-serious, half-amused, but there was a hint of genuine desperation in his voice.

  "No, I don’t think I will," Mark replied, his smile widening as he watched the scene unfold. "Just apologize, Newt."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Never! I am royalty!" Newt declared, his voice dripping with mock grandeur. Mark laughed harder, the sound echoing in the room. The corny "I am royalty" line was proof enough that Newt was enjoying the spectacle. Newt had never been one to stand on ceremony or take himself too seriously.

  After the students finally let Newt down, he strutted over to where Mark was sitting, an exaggerated pout on his face. He brushed off his uniform with the flair of a man who had been wronged by the world.

  "Enjoying yourself, are we?" Newt grumbled, plopping down beside Mark with a dramatic huff. "My best friend, ladies and gentlemen, watches as I’m carried off like a sack of potatoes!"

  Mark turned to him, still grinning. "Well, you did say you were royalty," he teased, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you might appreciate the royal treatment."

  Newt shot him a glare, but there was no real heat in it. "Ha ha, very funny," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You know, a good friend would have come to my rescue. A decent human being, even."

  "And here I was thinking I was helping you learn a valuable life lesson," Mark retorted, his tone mockingly serious. "The value of humility, perhaps?"

  "Humility? Me?" Newt scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "You know I don’t do humility. That’s your department."

  "Maybe," Mark conceded with a chuckle. "But you have to admit, you seemed to be enjoying yourself back there."

  Newt paused, then a reluctant smile crept onto his face. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But that’s not the point, Mark! You’re supposed to have my back."

  "I always have your back," Mark said more seriously, the smile fading from his face. "But sometimes, you’ve got to handle things on your own. Plus, you’ve got a pretty good handle on dealing with people, don’t you think?"

  Newt sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, though he still looked mildly annoyed. "But that doesn’t mean you get to just sit back and watch me get manhandled!"

  Mark laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Consider it payback for all the times you’ve dragged me into conversations I didn’t want to have. You know, like every time you made me talk to people I barely knew."

  Newt snorted, the last remnants of his faux anger dissipating. "Touché," he said, giving Mark a sidelong glance. "But if I didn’t, you’d never talk to anyone except Elizabeth."

  At the mention of Elizabeth, Mark’s playful demeanor faltered slightly. He looked away, his expression growing distant. Newt noticed the shift immediately, his keen eyes narrowing in concern.

  "What’s up?" Newt asked, his tone softer now, laced with genuine curiosity. "Something bothering you?"

  Mark hesitated, his fingers fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. He sighed, feeling the weight of his unspoken worries pressing down on him. "I’m just… worried about her. About what happens after we graduate."

  Newt leaned in closer, his eyes searching Mark’s face. "Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What are you worried about?"

  "She’s strong, Newt," Mark said, his voice quiet, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "But I don’t want her following me down this path. It’s not what’s best for her."

  Newt’s expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on Mark’s shoulder. "Have you talked to her about it?" he asked, his tone careful, as if he didn’t want to push too hard.

  Mark shook his head, his brows knitting together. "Not yet," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m not even sure how to bring it up. I don’t want to hurt her, but…"

  "But you don’t want her to get hurt either," Newt finished for him, understanding dawning in his eyes.

  "Exactly," Mark murmured, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just… I want her to be safe. But how can I tell her that without making it sound like I don’t trust her to make her own choices?"

  Newt was silent for a moment, his hand still resting on Mark’s shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, steady. "You know, for someone who’s so good at controlling mana, you’re pretty bad at controlling your emotions," he said, though there was no malice in his words. "But maybe that’s what makes you such a good person, Mark. You care too much."

  Mark let out a short, humorless laugh. "Caring too much doesn’t seem like such a good thing right now."

  "It is, though," Newt insisted, his grip on Mark’s shoulder tightening slightly. "It means you’re not going to just throw her into something dangerous without thinking it through. But you’ve got to talk to her, Mark. Be honest. She deserves that much, and so do you."

  Mark looked up at Newt, seeing the earnestness in his friend’s eyes. He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "You’re right," he said, his voice more resolute. "I need to talk to her. I just… I need to find the right moment."

  Newt smiled, giving Mark a supportive pat on the back. "You’ll figure it out," he said confidently. "And when you do, you’ll know what to say. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Mark. Trust it."

  "Thanks, Newt," Mark said, feeling a rush of gratitude for his friend’s unwavering support. "I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes."

  "Well, for one, you’d be a lot quieter," Newt joked, though his smile was warm. "But seriously, anytime you need to talk, I’m here. We’ve got each other’s backs, remember?"

  "Always," Mark agreed, the bond between them feeling stronger than ever.

  As they sat in comfortable silence for a moment, a tall, dark-skinned figure with striking yellow eyes approached them. Arran Atkins, one of the most formidable students in their class, and Mark’s long-time rival, loomed over them with a mischievous grin.

  "Am I interrupting something important?" Arran asked, his voice deep and resonant, but with a playful edge.

  "Just the usual—Mark failing to be a proper hero," Newt quipped, shooting Mark a teasing look.

  "Is that so?" Arran said, raising an eyebrow as he sat down beside Mark. "Well, maybe you’ll have better luck tomorrow when you try to beat me in our final one-on-one before graduation."

  Mark met Arran’s gaze, his competitive spirit flickering back to life. "Maybe," he replied, his tone challenging. "But don’t expect me to go easy on you."

  "I wouldn’t have it any other way," Arran said, his grin widening. "After all, you’re my rival. I expect the best."

  Mark rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smile. "I never agreed to this rivalry, Arran."

  "Too late for that," Arran said with a shrug. "You agreed the day you almost beat me. Ever since then, we’ve been pushing each other to be better."

  Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you’re right. It’s been a long journey."

  "And it’s not over yet," Arran said, his tone serious now. "We’ve still got a lot to prove—to ourselves and to everyone else."

  "Agreed," Mark said, feeling a surge of determination. "Tomorrow, we’ll see who’s really grown the most."

  "Looking forward to it," Arran replied, standing up and giving Mark a nod. "Until then, try not to let Newt get into too much trouble."

  "I make no promises," Mark said with a grin, watching as Arran walked away.

  Newt leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, he really does see you as a rival. You’ve pushed him just as much as he’s pushed you."

  "Yeah, I guess so," Mark replied, thoughtful. "But it’s more than that, isn’t it? We’ve all pushed each other. That’s why we’ve come this far."

  "And that’s why we’re going to keep going," Newt said firmly, his eyes glinting with determination. "No matter what."

  Mark nodded, a sense of resolve settling over him. With friends like these by his side, he knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. And as for Elizabeth, he would find the right moment to talk to her, to make sure she understood why he was making the choices he was.

  For now, though, he was content to sit here with Newt, enjoying the moment, knowing that together, they could handle anything.

  ==========================================================

  Elizabeth groaned softly, the sound resonating in the stillness of the early morning. The faint light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting a muted glow across her room, but she kept her eyes stubbornly shut, unwilling to face the new day. The world outside was beginning to stir, yet within her sanctuary beneath the soft, purple bedsheets, Elizabeth clung to the last vestiges of night. Sleep, however, had long eluded her—slipping through her grasp like sand through fingers.

  Her body, conditioned by the relentless routines of training, was a clockwork mechanism that defied her protests. Mark had been unyielding in their regimen, pushing them to their limits day after day. Now, even in this rare moment of supposed respite, her muscles remembered the discipline, twitching in readiness for the strain they expected. Morning had become synonymous with the burn of exertion, the sting of sweat, and the unspoken bond of shared purpose. The absence of that familiar routine this morning only heightened her awareness of the silence.

  She had pleaded with Mark for this break, her argument infused with the desperation of someone grasping for a fleeting moment of peace. It was their final week at the Academy, she had reasoned. They should savor these last days, soak in the freedom that would soon be nothing more than a memory. Mark had relented, though not without a knowing look that suggested he doubted she would find the rest as satisfying as she claimed. Now, in the quiet of the early hour, Elizabeth felt the truth of his unspoken doubt settling over her like a weight.

  With a sigh more of resignation than relief, she pushed the covers away. The sheets slid from her body, leaving a coolness against her skin that contrasted sharply with the warmth she left behind. Slowly, she sat up, bracing her hands against the mattress, feeling the familiar ache in her shoulders and the lingering tension in her back. With deliberate care, she stretched, arching her spine in a slow, measured motion, like a cat unfurling from sleep. The satisfying crack of her neck offered a small release from the tightness that had gathered there overnight.

  Her gaze drifted to the calendar hanging on the wall opposite her bed. The days were meticulously marked, each one crossed off with a thin line of red ink. But it was the date circled in bold, aggressive strokes that drew her attention—a bullseye, a target she had set for herself, glaring back at her with silent accusation. Today was the day. The excitement that had once accompanied the thought was now tempered by the weight of what lay ahead.

  Today was meant for combat exercises, the one aspect of her training that consistently humbled her. It was the chink in her armor, the weak link that left her feeling exposed. In most areas, she could hold her own against Mark and her rival, but in this—hand-to-hand combat—she faltered. It wasn’t for lack of effort; she had poured hours into honing her skills, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion. Yet, progress was slow, and each small victory hard-won.

  Elizabeth stared at the calendar for a moment longer, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on her shoulders. But there was no room for hesitation, no time for self-doubt. The day would come whether she was ready for it or not. With a final, reluctant sigh, she pushed herself off the bed, her feet finding the cool floor with a soft thud. She winced inwardly as she recalled the last time she had faced Mark in combat training. He had held back, but even so, the difference in their skill levels had been painfully clear. She had barely lasted two minutes against him.

  As she moved through the familiar motions of her morning routine, the memory lingered—a stark reminder of her limits. Elizabeth was proud of her growth, but she was also exhausted. The constant push to reach a greatness she had never seen in herself or others was wearing her down. When the pressure became too much, she often looked to Mark for strength. He always seemed so certain, so sure of where he was going and why. Mark had a way of making even the harshest truths seem bearable.

  "The world isn’t a forgiving place," he would often say, "especially to those who are truly kind." He had repeated that phrase one too many times for her liking, a sentiment she had not hesitated to vocalize. Yet, deep down, she knew there was truth in his words.

  A few hours later, Elizabeth found herself absorbed in her studies. She spent the morning immersed in the intricacies of mana theory, her mind seeking solace in the familiar patterns of magical energy. Mana manipulation and control were where she truly shined, and she harbored the hope that her professional awakening would enhance or complement these natural talents.

  As Elizabeth crossed the hall, her thoughts still tangled with the weight of the day ahead, the buzz of students moving around her felt distant, almost muted. It wasn’t until a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise that she was pulled back into the present.

  "Good morning, Elizabeth," Reyna Rivers called out, her tone smooth but carrying a subtle edge that Elizabeth had grown accustomed to over the years.

  Elizabeth turned to see Reyna striding toward her with her usual confidence. Reyna was always a striking figure, impossible to overlook with her blood-red hair cascading in waves down her back and her coal-dark eyes that seemed to pierce through whatever facade anyone put up. She stood taller than Elizabeth by a few inches, her presence commanding as if she owned every space she walked into. The sharpness of her features only accentuated the cool smirk she wore—a smirk that Elizabeth knew well.

  "Reyna," Elizabeth acknowledged with a nod, her voice measured. "Up early, as always."

  Reyna fell into step beside her, her eyes flicking over Elizabeth in a quick, assessing glance that seemed to take in every detail, from the tension in Elizabeth's shoulders to the faint shadows under her eyes. "Of course. It’s not every day we face, final combat evaluations." There was a pause, a momentary hesitation before Reyna added, "You seem... well-rested."

  Elizabeth caught the slight pause, the almost imperceptible suggestion that she might have taken it easy. She shook her head lightly, refusing to rise to the bait. "Not really. I didn’t get much sleep. The pressure’s starting to get to me, and to be honest, I almost wish today would just be over."

  Reyna’s smirk widened just a fraction, the competitive spark in her eyes unmistakable. "Pressure? From you, Elizabeth? You’re the second-best student in our year—right behind me. I didn’t think you’d be the type to crack under a little stress."

  There it was—the rivalry that had simmered between them for years, always just beneath the surface. Despite the mutual respect they had for each other’s skills, the competition for the top spot had added an undercurrent of tension to their interactions. Elizabeth managed a small smile, knowing Reyna’s words were as much a reminder of her own standing as they were a subtle dig at Elizabeth’s current state.

  "Crack? No," Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice even and controlled. "But it’s hard not to feel the weight of it all. With every day that passes, the expectations seem to double. I’m sure you feel it too, Reyna."

  For a moment, Reyna’s expression softened, but only slightly, like a mask slipping to reveal something deeper before it was quickly replaced. "Perhaps. But unlike some, I find the pressure exhilarating. It pushes me to be better, to sharpen every skill until there’s no room for doubt. And let’s be honest, Elizabeth—you’ve got a lot going for you. Mana manipulation, for one. They say your control is unmatched. If I were you, I’d be more excited about what’s to come rather than anxious."

  Elizabeth nodded, though her thoughts drifted momentarily back to the mana theories she had been studying earlier in the morning. The intricacies of mana flow, the delicate balance of control and release—this was where she felt most at home, where she found solace in the methodical patterns of energy. She had spent hours immersing herself in those concepts, hoping that when the time came for her professional awakening, it would align with her natural affinity.

  "That’s one way to look at it," Elizabeth said, her tone sincere but tinged with caution. "But I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. You and I—we’re the two highest-ranking females in our year. There’s a lot riding on today, more than just our performances. Our futures could very well be determined by what happens out there."

  Reyna’s gaze sharpened, and she slowed her pace, turning slightly to face Elizabeth as they walked. Her eyes narrowed, studying Elizabeth with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "There’s always more to it, Elizabeth. Today isn’t just about proving our skills—it’s about setting the stage for what comes next. You know as well as I do that our performances today will define our paths. Not just for us, but for everyone who’s watching."

  Elizabeth met Reyna’s gaze, the unspoken understanding between them crystal clear. They were both acutely aware of the stakes. This wasn’t just another evaluation; it was a defining moment in their lives, one that could determine their future roles within their society, their families, and their reputations among their peers.

  "Then let’s make sure we give them something to remember," Elizabeth said, her voice steady, though the resolve in her eyes was unyielding.

  Reyna’s smirk returned, this time with a hint of camaraderie that was rare between them. "Oh, we will. But don’t expect me to go easy on you."

  Elizabeth’s lips curved into a smile, one that matched Reyna’s in its competitive edge. "Wouldn’t dream of it," she replied, the fire of rivalry rekindled in her chest. Reyna had always been her greatest competition, but in that competition, she had also become her greatest motivator.

  They continued their walk toward the training grounds in a charged silence, the rivalry between them no longer a barrier but a driving force that had pushed both of them to excel beyond their limits. They had spent years honing their skills, each aware that the other was the benchmark they needed to surpass.

  As they neared the training grounds, the buzz of activity around them grew louder. Final-year students were scattered across the field, preparing for the combat exercises that would soon begin. Elizabeth took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as the familiar scent of earth and sweat filled the air. The weight of the day still pressed down on her, but now, with the memory of her morning studies and Reyna’s words in mind, she felt more centered, more focused.

  As they reached the edge of the training field, Elizabeth’s eyes instinctively scanned the area, her gaze immediately locking onto Mark. He was already there, warming up with a series of stretches, his movements fluid and precise, his focus entirely on the task ahead. When he noticed her approach, he offered a small nod, a silent gesture of reassurance that eased the last of her doubts.

  "You’ve got good support in Mark," Reyna observed, her tone neutral, though there was a hint of something else beneath the surface—perhaps envy, or maybe just a recognition of what Elizabeth had. "He’s solid, dependable. You two make a good team."

  Elizabeth glanced at Mark, a fond smile playing on her lips. "He’s been my anchor through all of this. Whenever I start to doubt myself, he’s there to remind me why we’re doing this, why we keep pushing."

  Reyna was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her voice softer than before. "It’s good to have someone like that. Not everyone does."

  Elizabeth turned to Reyna, sensing a rare vulnerability in her tone. "You’ve got your own strengths, Reyna. You don’t need anyone to lean on—you’ve proven that time and again."

  Reyna’s eyes flicked back to Elizabeth, and for a brief moment, the competitive edge between them softened. "Maybe. But sometimes, it’d be nice to have someone to share the burden with. Not that I’m complaining," she added quickly, the steel returning to her voice. "I’ve made it this far on my own, and I intend to keep going."

  Elizabeth studied Reyna for a moment longer, recognizing the mix of pride and isolation in her words. They were more alike than either of them cared to admit, both driven by an intense desire to prove themselves, yet both keenly aware of the cost that came with their ambitions.

  "You don’t always have to go it alone, Reyna," Elizabeth said quietly. "We’re rivals, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be allies when it counts."

  Reyna’s gaze softened, and for the first time that morning, she smiled—genuinely, without the usual undercurrent of competition. "Maybe you’re right. But don’t think I’m letting you off easy today."

  Elizabeth laughed, the tension between them easing just enough to allow for a moment of levity. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

  The training grounds were now fully in sight, alive with the energy of final-year students preparing for the combat exercises that would soon determine their futures. Elizabeth took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her body ease as she focused on what lay ahead. This was it—the culmination of years of training, the moment that would define who they were and where they were headed.

  As they approached the training field, Mark walked over to meet them, his expression calm but focused. "Ready?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Elizabeth and Reyna.

  Elizabeth nodded, her resolve solidifying with every step she took. "Ready."

  Reyna met Mark’s gaze, her smirk returning, though this time it was directed at both of them. "I hope you two aren’t planning to hold back. Because I won’t."

  Mark chuckled, the sound low and confident. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Reyna."

  With that, the three of them made their way onto the training field.