Henry stepped forward next, chest puffed out like a rooster who thought he owned the farm.
He bounced on his heels, flashing a cocky grin that could have bought real estate in Miro's head if arrogance paid rent.
The fight started — and in a blink, Miro had sidestepped Henry's opening swing, tapped his ribs, swept his legs, and spun him onto the ground like laundry in a washing machine.
Wham.
Henry gasped.
Miro stood over him, calm as a sleeping mountain.
"Confidence," he said, "is the spark.
But preparation..."
He helped Henry up with one arm.
"...that's the fuel."
Henry coughed, laughing at himself, a little wiser now.
---
And then...
Jack.
The boy with lightning veins and analysis eyes — but today, stripped bare of all that glitter and glory.
Just him.
Just his fists.
Just the doubt gnawing at the roots of his heart.
He stepped into the circle as if the ground might collapse under him.
Hands up. Chin low. Breath shaky.
Miro watched him — not to judge.
To understand.
The bell of invisible combat rang.
Jack struck first — a hesitant jab, a half-hearted cross.
Miro dodged with effortless grace, reading Jack like an open journal:
Hesitation. Fear. Memories of Ghouls still gripping his soul like ghost chains.
Miro caught Jack's next punch in his palm.
"Don't fear who you are," Miro said, voice low, voice steady.
"Don't fight your roots. Grow from them."
Jack bit his lip. The tremble didn't leave.
But... he breathed.
Deep.
Once.
Something inside shifted.
No longer chasing technique, or pretending courage.
Just moving.
Instinct kicked.
Emotion became energy.
Jack charged — not with fancy moves, but with raw, honest momentum — and body-slammed Miro clean off his feet!
CRASH!
The courtyard froze.
Eyes wide.
Jaws open.
He did what?!
Jack blinked, panic flashing across his face. He scrambled to help Miro up, heart hammering harder than any punch he'd thrown.
Miro chuckled — not out of mockery, but pure, genuine pride.
"No..." he said, gently pushing Jack's hand away.
"It's okay.
You moved without doubting yourself.
You trusted yourself."
Jack's breath caught.
For the first time, he felt it — the tiny but unbreakable ember within him.
Maybe...he was stronger than he knew.
Not because of his powers.
But because he was still standing.
---
The sunset had melted fully into night now.
But the courtyard was brighter than ever —
with hope,
with laughter,
with the first flames of warriors becoming legends.
They both learned the Spark of sage balance
The Students have learned the basics, now they're about to handle the heavy duty, since sage arts is all about balance and equating to your opponents strength and durability..
Let's see how they'll fare against an Airien knight
The air at The Hanging Mountains was thin — sharp and electric, like breathing in pure adrenaline.
The cliffs dangled from the sky itself, massive rocky islands floating, chained only by threads of Avian Energy so delicate they shimmered like spider silk.
Jack, Henry, Sonia, Kennedy, Charles, Yvonne, Ian, Merina, and Osei stood together, feeling their hearts drumming against their ribs.
Across from them...
Ractor.
An Airien Knight carved not from flesh, but seemingly from the pure idea of speed itself.
His silver hair fluttered like flags of war.
His armor — if you could call it that — was minimalist, designed only to not slow him down.
His very presence split the air into slices of tension.
Without warning, Ractor compressed his aura —
KRAK—!!
— Avian compression so heavy that the mountains shook and the chains trembled.
Yet... he smiled.
"Relax," Ractor said, voice playful yet dangerous.
"I'm still holding back."
(Which, frankly, was as reassuring as telling someone a hurricane was blowing at half-speed.)
Kainen crossed his arms behind them and grinned wide enough to chew a boulder.
"Work together," he said, his voice calm as thunder before a storm.
"Remember what you learned — equate, adapt, move as one."
The group exchanged looks.
Jack inhaled deeply, lightning itching under his skin.
Henry cracked his knuckles.
Sonia clenched her fists.
Kennedy and Charles whispered a quick plan.
Yvonne nodded, serene but determined.
Merina smiled — already flowing into a combat stance.
Ian sharpened his gaze, instinctively reaching for an invisible sword.
Osei simply smiled, a pure, feral grin. His instincts ready to dance.
Then Ractor moved.
No, he disappeared.
In less than a heartbeat, he appeared behind them — foot sweeping out.
BOOM!
The force alone sent a shockwave.
Only Jack's flash instincts saved them — barely shouting in time to warn the others.
They scattered, regrouped quickly.
Henry charged first — a reckless jab of electricity-free fists.
Ractor parried effortlessly, laughing.
"First mistake," Ractor said.
"You don't rush alone."
But before Ractor could capitalize, Sonia flared — focusing her emotions into sharp, weighted strikes.
At the same time, Charles and Kennedy used their strategic minds: Charles read Ractor's subtle tells while Kennedy began weaving around him, anticipating his moves like an artist sketching future steps.
Osei, reading Ractor's instincts without needing to think, cut in like a blade at the perfect moment — forcing Ractor to dodge high.
And that was when Ian, quiet Ian, leapt upward — pivoting midair and swinging a perfect Sage Palm right toward Ractor's ribs.
CRACK—!!
Contact.
Real, tangible contact.
Ractor's body twisted — not in pain, but in respect.
Merina was there too — waiting at the flanks, water affinity secretly prepping a mist shield for her teammates while Yvonne weaved threads of healing energy just in case anyone got clipped.
Jack, sensing the opening, dove forward — the body slam confidence blooming again — no powers, just raw, adapted movement.
He swung.
Ractor caught his punch — but Jack didn't resist. He flowed with it, redirected it, like Miro taught.
Ractor blinked, impressed.
The fight became a wild, beautiful storm of movement —
Punches missed by inches.
Redirections like flowing rivers.
Footsteps like whispers across ancient stone.
They weren't fighting as nine individuals anymore.
They were a unit.
A song.
A flowing organism.
And for the first time since they entered Sage City, they felt it:
They were enough.
Even against a Knight.
---
Finally, after a brutal fifteen minutes of pure, breathless battle, Ractor lifted a hand — calling the fight to a halt.
He stood, untouched but grinning wider than the sky.
"Good," he said. His voice rumbled like falling stars.
"You didn't break apart.
You didn't let fear command you.
You fought as one body with many hearts."
He knelt, a rare gesture of high respect among Airien Knights.
"You have honored Sage City."
The group stood there, battered, breathing hard, but glowing — not with power, but with something better:
Belief.
Belief in themselves.
Belief in each other.
Belief that maybe, just maybe, they could be the heroes this fractured universe needed.
The Cosmic Gym.
That's what the students called it, half-joking, half-terrified.
It wasn't a "gym" in the human sense — no treadmills, no sweaty towels —
It was an endless kaleidoscope of floating arenas, cosmic bridges twisting between them, under a sky that flickered between colors no mortal tongue could name.
Time here?
A fickle friend.
One week inside, one hour outside.
A blessing — and a curse — depending on how you used it.
Enter the Squad:
Henry sparked with electric affinity, bolts dancing between his fingers like loyal pets.
Sonia's emotions bloomed in waves of visible color around her — passion reds, serene blues, determined golds.
Kennedy could shape invisible frameworks around reality itself, sketching possibilities into existence.
Charles weaved inscriptions, invisible tattoos of logic that bent physics around his hands.
Jack carried the storm inside him — divine lightning whispering secrets to his blood, his Analysis Eyes scanning faster than thought.
Osei Jerry was pure instinct, a mind and body that moved before the world even decided to move.
Yvonne stitched barriers and healing threads in midair, a spider weaving life itself back into her friends.
And Ian...
Ian carried hope on his back, in the form of a sword sharp enough to split sorrow itself.
They stood, shoulder to shoulder, before their first opponents:
Combat Dummies.
Except these weren't your grandma's training bots.
These dummies were cocky — talking trash, laughing, moving faster than a hiccup — and they roasted you with words and fists in equal measure.
One dummy, covered in tattoos of failed warriors, sneered:
"Oh look, fresh meat with training wheels."
Another, spinning its arms like helicopter blades, taunted:
"Hope you brought tissues for when you cry yourselves back to your mommy dimensions!"
Kainen and Ractor floated nearby, arms folded, grinning like proud uncles at a birthday brawl.
Kainen's voice echoed across the cosmic gym:
> "Remember! You're not just using powers! Not just Sage arts! You're CREATING! Fighting is an art form —
Improvise! Adapt! Insult them better if you have to!"
The first dummy charged.
Henry snapped forward —
Electric arcs spiraled into his Sage Arts flow — he didn't just punch —
He conducted energy through the dummy's metal bones, using the redirection techniques Miro drilled into him to launch the dummy skyward like a busted firework.
Sonia spun — her emotions spiking into deep magenta —
Her Sage Arts movements sculpted solid emotional energy into chains that grabbed another dummy and yanked it mid-attack, slamming it into an ethereal wall.
Kennedy grinned wildly —
He sketched a framework under a dummy's feet, shifting gravity sideways —
The dummy stumbled, and Kennedy, using Sage Arts momentum tricks, flipped it over his head and into orbit.
Charles was cooler —
Calculating, inscribing symbols into the air — each one a trap.
The dummy chasing him stepped on a mark and WHAM!
It got body-slammed by its own momentum, redirected with a Sage palm!
Jack was different.
He hesitated — for just a moment — but then...
He roared — lightning laced into his Sage movements, not wild but precise, like threading a needle with a thunderbolt.
He used his Analysis Eyes to predict the dummy's moves and slammed it with a lightning-infused grapple that spun the machine until it screeched.
Osei Jerry barely needed to think.
He flowed between dummy strikes like water knowing the shape of the riverbed before the river even formed.
He manipulated the dummy's instincts, subtly tweaking it to dodge too late — and when it did, he was already there, Sage-flicking it into mechanical agony.
Yvonne didn't fight front-line — she fought through the team.
When one of the dummies tried to blindside Sonia,
BAM!
A barrier popped up like an invisible wall of love.
When Henry got singed,
SNAP!
A healing thread stitched his skin before he could even wince.
Ian — sweet, tragic Ian —
His sword sang.
Every slash wasn't just a cut — it was a hopeful prayer mixed with the soft rippling movements of Sage redirection.
He moved around the dummy with a grace that would've made angels weep.
---
By the end of the week (or, like, 45 cosmic minutes later),
the dummies were reduced to scrap and shame, whining and sparking on the arena floors.
The group stood panting, battered but smiling, bruised but laughing.
Because they weren't just a bunch of powered kids anymore.
They were artists.
Cosmic warriors.
Creators.
And even Kainen and Ractor, two of the mightiest knights of Airious, had to admit...
> "They're starting to look like champions."