ShadowBound: The Need For Power

The warm-up exercise led by Professor Orin was brief and efficient. He didn't waste time pushing students beyond their limits; instead, he gauged each of them based on their current mystical proficiency. After just a few minutes, he gave a nod of approval, signaling that their bodies were ready.

Once the students settled, Professor Orin stepped to the center of the room, his back straight as he faced them. "Today's focus," he began, "is a fundamental, yet often underestimated principle of fire myst: streamline channeling."

He raised one hand and extended two fingers, summoning a thin thread of fire that pulsed with life. "This technique," he explained, "is about precision and consistency. Not power. You're to create a continuous stream of flame—no flare-ups, no dips, just a steady output from your myst channels. Think of it like keeping a flame alive in a storm. Balance is key." He outlined the three-step method:

•••

1. Myst Compression – "Condense the myst into a tight stream at your core. Not your hand—your core."

2. Output Regulation – "Channel it steadily through your limbs. Not fast, not slow. Just... constant."

3. Surface Control – "Finally, release it from your palm while keeping the flow unbroken. The stream should look like a thin glowing thread, no wider than a finger."

•••

He demonstrated once more—fluid, seamless, and controlled—then extinguished the flame. "Try it. Fail. Try again. You have the rest of class."

Soon, the room was filled with muttered curses and flickering bursts of unstable flame. Many couldn't even condense the myst properly, and those who did often lost control at the output stage. Liam was among the better few. Though his stream wasn't perfect, it was thin and mostly stable. He adjusted his stance slightly, focused on his breathing, and kept trying.

Asher, on the other hand, stood still for a few seconds, his brows furrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, a smirk played across his lips. 'This feels familiar... that technique Nila kept nagging about,' he thought. 'Internal heat regulation—'feel the burn before you show the burn,' she said. Tch. Damn annoying genius witch.'

He clicked his tongue. 'Still... thanks, you bossy gremlin. Guess you weren't talking nonsense after all.'

Asher raised his palm and began to apply the technique. His flame came out thinner, smoother, and far more consistent than anyone else's. His body language was focused but uncharacteristically calm. In moments, it became obvious—he was nailing it.

Watching from the front, Professor Orin adjusted his glasses and observed Asher closely. 'Impressive,' he thought. 'That boy's channeling rate is already bordering advanced. If he keeps refining that level of internal regulation, it won't be long...' His eyes narrowed slightly behind the lenses. 'Plasma will come knocking.'

Meanwhile, Liam remained stuck at the second stage of the technique—not due to difficulty, at least not in the same way the others were struggling. His delay was intentional. Streamline channeling wasn't the only thing occupying his attention.

He had quietly activated Mystsense, allowing his awareness to drift across the room. He scanned the mystical cores and energy signatures of every student—and even the Professor.

Among the students, most registered as 5-star low-tier myst users, just like himself with light green cores. A smaller number were at 4-star high-tier, deep earthy yellow cores.

Then there was Asher. His gaze lingered on him for a second. Asher's core glowed brighter, more refined—a 5-star mid-tier, the classic emerald hue. Liam also noticed he was close to a bottleneck, and it wasn't gonna be long before he hits it.

Professor Orin, however, was another story. His core was brilliant. A deep indigo core—7-star high-tier. It radiated such intensity that it made the rest of the room feel dim by comparison. Still, Liam couldn't pinpoint whether Orin had just stepped into the high-tier realm or was brushing against a breakthrough. In the end, he dismissing the thought, classifying it as unimportant.

Simultaneously, Liam had activated his keen sense of smell, subtly sniffing the air around the nearest students—and even the Professor as he passed by. He was checking for the scent of hybrids.

To his relief, there was none. 'Thank the stars,' he sighed inwardly. 'If there was even one, the whole period would've been a headache—choking on that stench.'

With those mental boxes checked and his scans complete, he redirected his focus to the task at hand. 'Alright, this to get back to this Streamline channeling. Class ends soon.'

His eyes flicked toward Asher, who was utterly composed with a confident smirk tugging at his lips.

'He looks calmer than usual,' Liam observed. 'And there it is—that smug little grin he wears when he knows he's got the edge.' He stared for a beat longer, unbothered, then turned his attention back to his own flame.

By the time the academy bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, Asher had successfully performed Streamline Channeling more than five times, refining the process with each attempt. Liam, on the other hand, had just completed his fifth successful execution when the bell went off.

They weren't the only ones who had managed to get it right—several other students had succeeded as well. However, neither Liam nor Asher could ignore the fact that they had performed the technique more times and with greater precision than the rest.

As class ended, Liam took the opportunity to conduct one final check. Subtly, he scanned the air with his enhanced sense of smell, confirming once again that none of his classmates carried the stench of hybrids. The same applied as he walked through the hallways—students, professors, passing academy staff—clean.

As the two made their way toward their Knight Combat Training class, Asher hummed, his mood radiating pure satisfaction.

"First day back, and I already crushed this weakling," he said, flashing a smug smirk.

"Does everything have to be a competition with you?" Liam replied without looking at him.

"Obviously. As long as you refuse to admit that I'm better than you."

"Guess you'll be waiting for a long time then," Liam said, his tone indifferent.

"So be it," Asher said confidently. "Not like you could ever do something that would surprise me or give you an upper hand over me. So, stay in your place, weakling."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Liam side-eyed Asher and spoke.

"Hey… you've already unlocked plasma, haven't you?"

Asher paused for a second before glancing at Liam. Then, with a roll of his eyes, he scoffed. "Yeah. Guess you're still as annoyingly observant as always."

"Thanks for the compliment," Liam said, unfazed. "But honestly, you're just bad at hiding things."

Asher's expression twitched. "First of all, that wasn't a compliment. Second, I wasn't hiding it. I just—"

"Haven't gotten a clear grasp on it yet," Liam interrupted, his gaze fixed forward.

Asher hesitated.

"...Yeah," he admitted. Then, a second later, his brow furrowed. "Wait. If you already knew, why ask in the first place, idiot?"

Liam's lips curled slightly in the faintest hint of a smirk. "Is it really right to call someone an idiot when they figured something out before you told them?" He didn't wait for Asher to answer before continuing. "Anyway, it was just a guess—a calculated one. The way you handled Streamline Channeling on the first try made it obvious you had already learned it or something similar before."

He glanced at Asher again. "And if you have that kinda advanced heat control, it's only right for to try your possibke best to rwach the next level. Plasma."

Asher clicked his tongue. "You really are annoying, you know that?" He shook his head before throwing Liam an unimpressed look. "Next time, try minding your damn business."

With seconds they reached the Knight Combat Training hall, changed into their combat attires and stood at the center of the hall waiting fhe rest to arrive.

Everyone arrived within minutes as the hall was filled with chats but very low ones.

***

Within seconds, Liam and Asher reached the Knight Combat Training Hall. They headed straight for the locker rooms, changed swiftly into their combat attire, and returned to stand at the center of the hall.

Gradually, the others arrived. Students trickled in one by one, forming small groups. Soft murmurs and brief exchanges filled the air, but no one dared raise their voice above a hushed tone. The memory of last semester's brutality still lingering.

Then, the heavy doors swung open. Darius walked in first then Garrick followed.

Darius' eyes scanned the students with his coldness. Then his lips curled in visible disappointment.

"Have you all failed to learn manners over the break?" he asked, his voice low but venomous. "Back straight. Hands behind your back. Eyes forward. You're not children anymore. Start acting like it."

Without waiting for a response, Darius tapped a rune on the holographic interface embedded in the wall. A sharp blue light flickered—and suddenly, massive stone boulders materialized across the room, landing with a thunderous thud.

"Pick them up," he ordered.

No one moved.

Darius smirked. "Oh, how I missed this. Watching your faces twist in pain… your trembling arms struggling to lift what you barely understand… it brings me joy."

As the students scrambled to lift their boulders, grunts and strained breathing filled the hall. Some managed it quickly, others staggered beneath the weight. Darius paced before them slowly, almost like a predator among prey.

"Welcome back from your precious break," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Some of you probably used the time to rest. Sleep in. Waste your muscles and let your minds rot. So let me be clear—this semester will not be kind to you."

He stopped walking and turned to face them fully.

"You're here to become knights. Not peacekeepers. Not pretty soldiers in shining armor. But killers of monsters. So if you expect sugar-coated lessons and leniency…" He laughed under his breath. "You should've stayed home."

With his final word hanging in the air like a guillotine, he nodded toward Garrick.

Garrick stepped forward, arms crossed. "What he said," he muttered. "Except worse."

A few students gave weak laughs, most remained silent.

"This semester," Garrick continued, "you should expect nothing less than hell. We're done spoon-feeding you the basics. From here on out, your survival depends entirely on how fast you learn and how much pain you can endure."

He glanced around, then added, "Sir Vance won't be around for the next two weeks. Some business at the border. So, it's just me and Darius for now."

That earned a collective groan from the students—soft but very audible.

Darius didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed in amusement, and he casually tapped the interface again. The boulders increased in weight by twenty pounds each.

"Didn't realize I gave you permission to complain," he said with a smirk.