Chapter 44 – The Path of Fire

The morning sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon when Elara stepped onto Combat Field Two. A fresh breeze stirred her hair as she surveyed the wide, rune-etched training grounds—a rectangular arena surrounded by wooden benches, observation towers, and floating scrying glyphs overhead for faculty monitoring. Today marked the start of practical rune-based combat training, and anticipation buzzed in the air like electricity.

Her class arrived in clusters, most wearing reinforced training robes and carrying makeshift enchanted gear of all shapes and qualities. Some were visibly proud of their creations, others a little sheepish. Elara waited until the last student filtered in before raising her voice.

"Before we begin, I need to inspect your gear. Line up, and show me every item you intend to use today. Only approved items may be used during sparring. No exceptions."

The students formed a line, presenting their offensive and defensive tools one by one. Elara took each in hand, examined the craftsmanship, checked rune alignment, material integrity, and mana stability. Some pieces were decent—clever even. Others were dangerously flawed.

She set aside a mana orb that had a delay rune tuned backwards. A lance-rod with a feedback loop that would've electrocuted its wielder. A charm that was little more than an unbound mana crystal with a prayer rune painted on it.

"This one would blow a hole in the floor—and maybe you with it," she told its nervous creator.

One by one, she disqualified the dangerous or unreliable tools. Then, from her own satchel, she produced a set of sleek, gray-colored medallions. They shimmered faintly with a subtle runic glow.

"You'll all be wearing these," she announced. "They're multi-purpose defensive charms. When triggered by hostile mana, they generate a skin-thin mana shield that will protect your vitals. These are calibrated to deactivate if you take more than two consecutive hits—so don't count on them too much."

Some students looked relieved. Others, disappointed that their own defense tools hadn't made the cut.

For those now standing without an offensive option, Elara handed out flat, palm-sized stones etched with simple water-ball attack runes.

"These are practice-grade projectiles. Reliable, harmless beyond bruises, and they'll give me something to actually assess."

When she finally got to Kaelira, Elara paused.

The Dragonkin girl stood tall, her expression unreadable. Her gear was sparse: a pair of enchanted bracers engraved with precise flame-runed circuitry and a hand-crafted mana focus strapped to her belt. Efficient, minimal, and very likely effective. But not a single defensive item.

"Kaelira," Elara said. "No shield?"

Kaelira raised her chin. "That is not the way of the Dragonkin. These amateurs couldn't touch me anyway."

Elara frowned and held out one of the gray medallions.

"It's not about pride. It's about safety. Wear it. That's an order."

Kaelira hesitated, then snatched it from Elara's hand and clipped it on without another word. But the set of her jaw told Elara the gesture was not appreciated.

The first session began.

Pairs stepped into the center ring and activated their gear. Runes flared with color. Spells flew. Shields shimmered. And, as Elara expected, most of it was... well, underwhelming.

Runes misfired. Attack spells fizzled mid-air. Defensive charms activated too early—or not at all. Several sparring matches ended in awkward collisions or pure luck rather than strategy or skill.

Elara made no comment at first. She observed, took mental notes, and then approached each pair one by one to provide targeted feedback.

"Your charge rune is overcompressed. Add a delay glyph here."

"You're channeling through the wrong conduit rune—swap these two."

"Your spell would be fine if it weren't bouncing off your own interference field. Space your nodes better."

Bit by bit, her students improved. By the end of the day, she saw real sparks of progress.

Except in Kaelira's case.

Kaelira didn't just win every match. She annihilated her opponents.

It wasn't just power. It was precision. Economy of movement. Dominance.

She moved like a warrior born. Her enchanted bracers flared with controlled fire, her strikes landed before the opponent could even react. And her expression remained cool, focused—and increasingly frustrated.

Because no one was a challenge.

The sessions continued for two weeks.

By the end of the first, Elara's students had begun to display a remarkable transformation. Their offensive spells were sharper, cleaner. Their defenses more responsive. Improvised techniques emerged. Creative solutions appeared mid-duel.

Still, no one could match Kaelira.

She plowed through every student in her class, sometimes two at a time. She never boasted, never gloated. But her mounting irritation became impossible to ignore.

Elara watched her closely.

On the final day of the second week, Elara called for the last round of sparring.

Kaelira stepped into the ring.

No one moved.

No volunteers.

The silence thickened.

Kaelira's eyes slid toward Elara.

Then—

"I challenge you, Professor Wyrmshade."

The field froze.

Gasps echoed.

Sylv and Lyria, who had taken to observing from the shaded edge of the field, exchanged a look. Lyria groaned and fished a silver coin from her pocket. Sylv held out her hand with a smug smile.

"Told you," she said. "I did say she would challenge you."

Elara raised a brow. Her voice, when it came, was calm and measured.

"I accept."

The circle cleared.

The scrying glyphs above flared brighter.

And the battlefield shifted.