The morning after the duel was chaos.

  I didn’t mean the academy burning down, though that might’ve been more rexing. I meant the whispers, the pointing, the wide-eyed stares from students and staff alike. Every hallway I walked through echoed with quiet gasps or the occasional very loud “That’s the one who destroyed Tareth’s core!”

  Yeah. That was me.

  Cain “Spirit-Bonded Wind Gremlin” William.

  I leaned back in the cafeteria courtyard chair, legs stretched out like I owned the pce. Elira sat across from me, nibbling a sweet bun and very consciously trying to avoid attention. Too bad the world wasn’t cooperating.

  A group of human students passed, staring.

  “Hey,” I said with a wave, “it’s rude to gawk unless you’re drawing me for a heroic portrait.”

  They scurried off.

  Elira hid her ugh behind her tea cup. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “I earned it. You try almost getting turned into roast elf by fire magic, then tell me I don’t deserve a little campus fame.”

  She smiled softly. Not just polite — real. Her shoulders were looser, her eyes steadier. She still fidgeted with her braid, but now it looked more like habit than hiding.

  Of course, the moment the bread hit my mouth, Luna arrived.

  And by “arrived,” I mean descended like the wrath of ten thousand tornadoes.

  “Training,” she said.

  “Can I digest first?”

  “No.”

  Training Grounds – Round 492 (or so it felt)

  Luna didn’t ease back into drills. She hit harder than ever.

  “Again,” she ordered as I tried and failed to recast a mid-air burst while redirecting my bde swing. “You used this in the duel, but your posture was off. Repeat it until your body does it without thought.”

  “Sure,” I muttered. “Because what I really wanted after winning a death match was another date with muscle strain and regret.”

  “Elira,” she called.

  The healer girl jolted upright. “Y-Yes?”

  “Come. You as well.”

  Luna pulled her aside. I watched, curious — and a little concerned — as Luna stood over her like a mentor with a scalpel, cutting her mental defenses apart word by word.

  “You hesitate,” she said calmly. “You cast like someone afraid their magic will be judged.”

  Elira flinched.

  Luna didn’t stop. “Your healing is strong. Refined. But your heart is soft in the wrong pces. You cast spells expecting to be corrected.”

  Elira bit her lip.

  “You must cast,” Luna said, “as if your magic is the difference between life and death. Because it is.”

  “I... I don’t want to make a mistake—”

  “You already do. Every time you doubt, you dey. You fear rejection.”

  Elira looked down.

  Luna knelt to her level. Her voice softened.

  “Do not heal to be liked. Heal to make others survive. You are not their comfort. You are their lifeline.”

  There was silence.

  Then—Elira looked up. No stuttering. No shivering. Just... crity.

  “I’ll try,” she whispered. “No. I’ll do it.”

  Luna nodded once. “Again. From the top. Heal Cain while he trains. Mid-movement. No fear.”

  I muttered, “Great. I’m her practice dummy again.”

  “You’re always a dummy,” Luna said.

  And thus began Hell: Extended Cut.

  By the time training ended, the sun had dipped behind the west wing of the academy, and my body felt like it owed someone an apology.

  I colpsed on a bench. Elira sat beside me, glowing slightly from overuse of healing magic. She looked... different. Not like she changed outfits or hair.

  She just carried herself taller. Straighter. More sure.

  “You’re scary when you want to be,” I told her.

  She blushed, but only slightly. “So are you. When you stop joking.”

  “Tragic, isn’t it?”

  We hadn’t even recovered fully when two familiar shadows approached the training yard.

  Arin Velhart and Kae Dorne.

  The “protagonist duo.”

  Arin, the calm quadra-mage, had her hands in her pockets. Kae, all fme and fire and zero self-censorship, waved with both arms like we were long-lost siblings.

  “Yo! Storm boy!” Kae called. “And Team Healer-Who-Actually-Does-Stuff!”

  I blinked. “Is she always like this?”

  Arin nodded. “Since birth.”

  They stopped beside us. Kae pnted herself on the edge of the bench like she’d been invited (she hadn’t). Arin stood like she could fight a war without raising her voice.

  Kae leaned in toward Elira first. “You were awesome out there. Like zap, then whoosh, then healing sparkle stuff. Real cool.”

  Elira turned red. “I-I was just—um…”

  Kae grinned. “Don’t even try. You rocked it. You’re like the hidden badass character from chapter three who shows up ter and saves the team.”

  Cain: still convinced they were characters in a light novel.

  Arin turned to me. “You fight recklessly.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

  “But you adapt. That’s rare.”

  “She means you’re a cocky idiot who doesn’t die. Yet,” Kae transted.

  “Ah,” I said. “My favorite character archetype.”

  Luna stepped up behind me. Arin’s eyes shifted. The moment their gazes met, the air around them stilled.

  The elemental wind curled between them.

  Arin gave a respectful nod.

  Luna inclined her head, barely, but enough to acknowledge something.

  “We’re not here to challenge you,” Arin said. “We just wanted to say we’ll be watching your progress.”

  “And eating popcorn,” Kae added.

  Arin sighed. “There is no popcorn.”

  “I can make some,” Kae replied, eyes glowing with fire.

  I snorted. “Please don’t start a kitchen fire just to spectate.”

  Kae winked. “Too te.”

  As they left, Elira looked after them, smiling in quiet admiration.

  “They’re so... confident,” she said.

  “So are you,” I replied. “You just don’t brag about it.”

  She looked at me. Her cheeks pinkened, but she didn’t look away this time.

  Luna stood behind us, arms crossed, watching the fading light with half-lidded eyes.

  “You’ve taken your first step,” she said.

  I groaned. “Please tell me there’s no second step.”

  “There are seven,” Luna said.

  I closed my eyes. “Of course there are.”

  And somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard Selene writing it all down in that cursed little report journal of hers.