Chapter: The Days of Fire, Wind, and Lightning
The days blurred into each other, a relentless rhythm of sweat, bruises, and burning ambition.
From the crack of dawn until the last light dipped behind the academy towers, Asher, Nick, and Ethan pushed their bodies and minds to their limits, sparing no effort. They trained harder than ever before, each moment driven by a shared hunger: to become strong enough to deserve the weapons being forged for them—and to never again feel the sting of helplessness.
The mornings were always the same: a quick, half-hearted breakfast, barely chewed before they stormed toward the forested training grounds. The vast fields stretched under a misty sky, where the damp grass kissed their boots and the chilly air stung their cheeks awake.
Their first order of business had been spells.
Armed with a handful of basic techniques, the boys made it a daily ritual to visit the Magical Archive—an ancient library housed inside a spiraling tower lined with walls of shimmering spellcards. For every visit, they traded the precious points they had earned, scouring the shelves for new techniques to add to their collection.
The first few days had been filled with awe and excitement. Every spell was a mystery, a door to hidden power. But soon reality settled in: mastering magic wasn't just about learning the names and gestures—it was grueling, unforgiving work.
They could proudly say now that they had each mastered almost half the spells in the beginners' library.
Almost half—and it had cost them dearly.
Their points were completely drained, leaving their cards nearly empty of credits but brimming with newfound power. Still, none of them regretted it. Every point spent was another step closer to survival—and maybe even greatness.
Through long hours of trial and error, the boys made a profound realization:
Even though the academy taught that no spell was inherently stronger than another—that a caster's talent was what mattered most—each spell felt profoundly different.
Some spells hurled destruction over vast distances with a single whisper; others needed delicate hand signs, intricate patterns woven through the air. Some demanded a mountain's patience to prepare, and others roared into life like a spark to dry leaves. There were spells that cracked the earth open, spells that danced on fingertips, and spells so complex they left headaches throbbing behind their eyes.
Every day brought fresh scars and fresh lessons.
Training alone was grueling. Training together?
That was war.
Out of pure boredom (and a competitive spark that refused to die), Asher one day slammed his staff into the dirt and shouted,
"Game time! Whoever's the biggest loser today has to carry all the food tomorrow!"
Nick and Ethan, both exhausted and sweaty, looked at each other—and grinned.
And so began the Great Spell-Off, a chaotic, hilarious competition where every ounce of training, essence, and stubbornness was tested.
The results were… illuminating.
Nick, calm and unshakeable, turned out to have an enormous reserve of essence, like an endless well hidden behind his quiet demeanor. His wind spells were sharp, fast, and fluid, like streams of air slipping through the forest. He could cast longer than either of them without gasping for breath.
Ethan, to no one's surprise, was the fastest caster. His lightning affinity made his spells crackle to life with almost reckless speed. Where Nick wove spells like a master craftsman, Ethan struck—sharp, sudden, and devastating.
And Asher?
Asher was pure chaos incarnate.
His fire spells had a massive range, often torching more trees than targets, but they were wild, uncontrollable at times. One particularly memorable moment had been when Asher tried to cast a simple flame dart—and instead set an entire bush on fire, then accidentally caught his own robe.
"I call that one 'Firestorm Frenzy Deluxe'," Asher had said proudly, batting the flames off his sleeves as Nick and Ethan looked on in horror.
"You're a menace," Nick had declared.
"A walking natural disaster," Ethan agreed.
"Thank you," Asher beamed.
Despite the burns, falls, and near-misses, they improved. Rapidly.
They learned when to duck under a spell and when to charge headfirst. They learned how to weave magic between breath and thought. They learned to trust each other, even in the midst of friendly sabotage and endless teasing.
Still, exhaustion took its toll.
When their essence ran dry and their bodies trembled from fatigue, they called truce and sprawled under the massive oak tree that had become their unofficial base. They lay on the grass, staring up at the endless stretch of sky while catching their breath.
Sometimes they'd argue over meaningless things:
Who would win in a fight, a fire dragon or a storm phoenix?
Whether the food hall was secretly trying to poison them.
Other times, they'd wander back to the library—not to study spells, but to lose themselves in the dusty tomes and records of the Bloodborne Kingdom's history. Stories of ancient heroes, fallen empires, dragons that once soared so high their wings blotted out the sun.
The more they learned, the more their perspective shifted.
Magic wasn't just power.
It was heritage.
It was responsibility.
It was survival.
The more spells they mastered, the easier it became to understand the next one. Each new magic wasn't just memorized—it was felt, lived, woven into their muscles and spirit.
Days passed like that: training, battling, joking, collapsing, dreaming.
Until one morning, as Ethan tied his boots and Nick adjusted his sword belt, Asher came skidding into the courtyard, arms flailing like a man on fire (which was entirely plausible, given his magic).
"GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS?!" he shouted.
Ethan blinked. "It's... Tuesday?"
"No, you walnut!" Asher clapped a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "It's weapon day! It's the day we get our glorious, beautiful, destiny-shaping weapons forged by the fiery hands of Kael the Unforgiving!"
Nick calmly packed his satchel. "I'm surprised you remembered."
"I marked it on my arm in charcoal! See?" Asher held up a smeared black mark that might have once been a date.
Ethan laughed, his spirits lifting immediately.
The weight of waiting was finally gone.
Today was the day they would truly begin.
With new weapons.
With new power.
And maybe—just maybe—with the beginnings of the legends they once only dreamed about.
They set off toward the forge, hearts pounding, feeling as though the world itself was about to change.
And in a way—it was.