Chapter 15 – A Shared Path

Ariel sat on the edge of the training grounds, his sword resting across his lap, the faint hum of residual mana still tingling against his skin. The fight was over, but the echoes of it remained in his mind—the weight of each movement, the precise moment he had turned the tide, the way his blade had found its mark at Ethan's throat.

He was satisfied. Not because he had won, but because he had understood.

Every strike, every dodge, every parry—it had all been a lesson. A test of his instincts, of his ability to read an opponent and adapt. He had entered the fight uncertain of how he measured up to the others in the Academy, but now? Now he had his answer.

He belonged here.

A shadow loomed over him.

"Not bad for your first fight," came the voice of another boy.

Ariel glanced up. It was the boy he had chosen to sit next to—tall, with neatly combed brown hair and light green eyes that gleamed with an almost constant amusement. There was something effortlessly confident about him, like he had never once doubted his own place in the world.

'What does he want now?' Ariel thought, suppressing a sigh. He wasn't in the mood for meaningless conversation, especially not from someone who looked like he found life endlessly entertaining.

Arthur stood there, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk playing at his lips. There was no mockery in his tone, no condescension—only amusement, laced with something deeper. Interest.

Ariel exhaled through his nose, lowering his gaze back to his sword. "I wasn't sure what to expect."

Arthur sat down beside him without invitation, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'll tell you what everyone else expected—you to get your ass handed to you. Well, at least until you started glowing like some celestial war god."

Ariel gave him a sidelong glance. "Disappointed?"

Arthur chuckled. "The opposite, actually. I've been stuck in this Academy with the same people, same fights, same predictable nonsense for years. Then you show up and throw a sword in the middle of it all. If nothing else, I'm entertained."

Ariel considered that. Arthur had an easy way of speaking, his confidence unshaken but not overbearing. It wasn't arrogance—it was assurance. He knew exactly what he was, and he knew he was good at it.

"Ethan looked pissed," Ariel noted.

"He'll live," Arthur said, waving a hand dismissively. "He's used to being near the top. Losing stings more when you're not expecting it. And trust me, no one was expecting you."

Ariel traced his fingers along the blade of his sword, lost in thought. "Do they see me as a threat now?"

Arthur tilted his head slightly, considering his answer. "They see you as something new. A wildcard. And if there's one thing people in places like this don't like, it's uncertainty. Doesn't mean they hate you. But it does mean they'll be watching."

Ariel nodded, letting the words settle. He had no intention of making enemies—not yet. But he wasn't here to make friends, either.

Arthur studied him for a moment, then smirked. "You're really not the talkative type, huh?"

Ariel shrugged. "I don't say more than I need to."

Arthur laughed. "Yeah, I got that. Still, we're both third-years now. We'll be seeing a lot of each other." He leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. "You ever trained with someone who broke their First Seal?"

Ariel's gaze sharpened slightly. "You?"

Arthur grinned. "That's right. Broke it a few months ago."

Ariel didn't respond immediately, but his fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword. Breaking the First Seal was an achievement that took most warriors a multitude of years of grueling effort, pushing their bodies and minds to the brink. That Arthur had done it within 2 and a half years was nothing short of incredible—a feat that marked him as a prodigy among prodigies.

Ariel had suspected Arthur was strong, but this? This was something else entirely.

He exhaled slowly, filing the information away.

Arthur let the silence linger, then nudged Ariel with his elbow. "Hey, don't get too broody about it. You've got time to catch up. If you're lucky, I might even give you some pointers."

Ariel shook his head with a quiet huff. "We'll see."

Arthur grinned wider. "Damn right we will."

"Anyway, let's get lunch. I'll introduce you to some of my friends."

Ariel hesitated. He was indeed hungry, but the idea of meeting new people didn't appeal to him. He had spent enough time being observed and judged for one day.

But then again, avoiding them forever wasn't an option. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

'How bad can it be?'

"Fine," he said, standing up. "Lead the way."

Arthur smirked. "You say that now, but if you regret it later, don't blame me. My friends can be... a lot."

Ariel raised an eyebrow. "And you aren't?"

Arthur gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "I'll have you know, I'm the most pleasant person you'll ever meet. A true joy to be around."

Ariel gave him a flat look. "I already regret this."

Arthur laughed, clapping him on the back. "Too late now, silverhead. Welcome to my world."

The dining hall was as grand as the rest of the Academy, a massive structure filled with rows of wooden tables lined beneath elegant chandeliers. Students clustered in groups, chatting loudly, their conversations ranging from combat strategies to rumors of the upcoming Oathsworn Tournament.

Arthur led Ariel toward a table near the center, where two students were already seated. As they approached, one of them—a broad-shouldered boy with short, midnight-black hair and piercing golden eyes—looked up and smirked.

"So, this is the guy? The new wildcard?"

Arthur clapped a hand on Ariel's shoulder. "Alaric, meet Ariel. Ariel, Alaric. Try not to get intimidated by his brooding aura."

Alaric was an imposing figure, easily one of the most physically dominant students in the Academy. His short, midnight-black hair was neatly kept, though a few strands fell across his forehead, giving him a slightly rugged look. His golden eyes gleamed with intelligence, but beneath that lay something deeper—something feral, like a beast restrained only by sheer will. His uniform was worn with a relaxed confidence, the edges of his coat slightly frayed from years of battle. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated—like a predator who had no need to rush.

He radiated strength. Not just the kind born of talent, but the kind earned through relentless discipline.

Ariel took in Alaric's imposing presence. He wasn't just tall—he carried himself with the weight of someone who expected to win every battle he entered. His movements were calculated, his gaze sharp.

"Pleasure," Ariel said simply.

"We'll see about that," Alaric mused, eyeing him with vague interest.

Before Ariel could respond, the other student, a girl with warm hazel eyes and auburn hair tied in a loose ponytail, leaned forward. "Ignore him," she said with a friendly smile. "I'm Summer. And don't listen to anything Arthur says—I promise we're not that bad."

Summer was the kind of person whose presence brightened a room without effort. Her auburn hair caught the light with every movement, an exquisitely beautiful framing a face that was warm and open, yet keenly observant. Unlike Alaric, who exuded silent dominance, Summer's strength was in her demeanor—a quiet confidence, a steady presence that made others feel at ease. But there was something else beneath the surface, something sharp and knowing. Her posture was casual, but Ariel didn't miss the way her eyes sized him up, not in judgment, but in understanding.

She wasn't just friendly—she was perceptive.

Arthur scoffed. "Hey, I take offense to that."

"You should," she shot back without missing a beat.

Ariel felt himself relax slightly. Despite Arthur's dramatics, the group didn't seem insufferable. If anything, they seemed… normal. The kind of normal he hadn't felt in a long time.

Arthur plopped down onto the bench beside Alaric. "Alright, now that introductions are out of the way—let's eat. But before we do, I figure we should let our new friend know exactly who he's dining with."

Ariel glanced between them, sensing where this was going. Arthur leaned in, resting an elbow on the table. "Let's start with the big guy here. Alaric? Give him the rundown."

Alaric sighed, setting down his fork. "Fine. I'm Alaric, fifth-year, and my Legacy is Vaelor, the Scorching Tyrant. It's ranked Ascendant."

Ariel's eyes flickered with recognition. Vaelor. That name carried weight. The kind of Legacy that only a handful of warriors in the kingdom could ever hope to wield. A dragon's power—unrelenting, destructive, and ancient. That explained the controlled, predatory air he carried. 

"It grants me enhanced strength, durability, and partial draconic traits. And before you ask, yes, I breathe fire. No, I'm not going to demonstrate."

Arthur smirked. "Spoilsport."

Ariel turned to Summer, who smiled warmly. "I'm Summer, also a fifth-year. My Legacy is Stormcaller, and it's ranked Greater. I specialize in lightning manipulation and battlefield control."

Ariel nodded. Her calm, unwavering presence suddenly made even more sense. Ice-wielders tended to be composed and methodical—sharp in both mind and combat.

Arthur stretched his arms behind his head. "And me? You already know I'm a third-year like you. But my Legacy is Gale Monarch, ranked Greater. Control over wind, enhanced speed, and, according to some, devastating good looks."

Alaric rolled his eyes. "Your ego is your real power."

"And yet," Arthur shot back, "I'm still the fastest person here."

Summer laughed. "Speed isn't everything."

Arthur turned back to Ariel, leaning forward slightly. "So, now it's your turn. What's your Legacy?"

Ariel hesitated for a moment. He had no reason to lie, but something about outright revealing it felt… wrong. Like speaking it aloud would place weight on something he wasn't sure he was ready to bear.

Finally, he said, "It's the Legacy of the Moon. Ranked Mythic."

Silence stretched for a second too long. Summer's brows lifted slightly. Alaric's gaze sharpened. Even Arthur looked momentarily surprised before he whistled low. "Huh. That's a name you don't hear every day. But I guess it makes sense—people were already calling you one of the chosen ones, and that can only mean one thing."

He leaned forward, studying Ariel with open curiosity. "Although... I expected something more. No offense, but when people talk about Mythic Legacies, they make it sound like those wielders are practically untouchable. When you fought, it didn't seem—" he searched for the right word, "—legendary. It seemed normal."

Ariel let the words sink in before answering. "I only have control over my mana. I haven't been able to access my Inner Soul and establish a connection with my Legacy... Well, it's not like I've tried yet."

Arthur raised a brow, while the others exchanged glances. "You haven't tried?"

"No. I only awakened about three months ago, so I've been focusing on learning how to fight first."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Wait... You're telling me you fought like that with only three months of training?"

Ariel nodded. "Yeah... I lost my memories when I awakened, so—"

The table fell silent. The easy air from before faded slightly, replaced by something heavier. Alaric's expression hardened, Summer's eyes softened, and even Arthur, always quick with a remark, hesitated before speaking.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Arthur said, his usual levity gone. For once, he wasn't teasing or smirking—just genuine.

Ariel didn't respond immediately. He wasn't sure how to. But somehow, the weight of their acknowledgment made it feel... lighter.

Arthur exhaled and leaned back with a grin he thought. 'Well, this just got even more interesting but what the hell who looses their memories after awakening.'