Raiden Alaric

The previous night had been a whirlwind of activity. After my parents finally recovered from the shock of learning about my situation, they'd insisted on staying over. Mom had claimed she needed to "process everything properly" while Dad had made jokes about wanting to test out the guest beds. Iris, of course, had been thrilled at the prospect of an extended sleepover in what she kept calling her "princess castle."

I'd given them a tour of the mansion. Well, I'd started to give them a tour before getting hopelessly lost trying to find the library and having to call for Celia to rescue us. She'd appeared with that professional smile and seamlessly taken over, guiding us through rooms I didn't even know existed. I watched my family's expressions shift between amazement and bewilderment. Dad kept muttering things like "indoor pool" and "library bigger than our house" under his breath. Mom had been quieter, taking everything in with that analytical look she got when she was trying to solve a particularly complex problem.

Iris had claimed one of the guest rooms with a view of the gardens and had apparently spent half the night at the window, watching the fountain lights change colors.

The whole family sleeping under the same roof again, even in circumstances this bizarre, had felt... right somehow. Like a piece of normalcy in the chaos my life had become.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like my entire internal system had been rebuilt from the ground up. The forging and tempering session with Chronos had done something fundamental to my Core. It no longer felt like a flickering candle struggling against the wind. Instead, it pulsed with the steady rhythm of a proper engine, humming with contained power that responded instantly to my will.

Aura Release today. Finally going to learn how to project energy beyond my body.

I stretched and made my way toward the kitchen, already looking forward to cooking breakfast for everyone. It would be nice to have a normal family meal in this place that was still trying to feel like home.

But as I passed the dining room, I stopped dead in my tracks.

My mother stood in the center of the room with her arms crossed, wearing the expression I remembered from childhood, the one that meant someone was about to get the lecture of their lives. Around her, every single maid in the household was on their knees with their heads bowed down like they were waiting for absolution.

What the hell?

Then I spotted Seraphina among them, her perfectly composed demeanor completely shattered as she knelt with the others, head down in apparent shame.

Holy shit. Mom got Seraphina, a Violet Rank, on her knees? How is that even possible?

"And another thing," Mom was saying, her voice carrying that particular tone of maternal authority that could command armies, "I don't care what your 'protocols' say. When I want to help make breakfast in my son's house, you're going to let me help make breakfast. Is that understood?"

A chorus of muffled "Yes, ma'am" responses came from the kneeling maids.

Oh no. She tried to cook breakfast and they stopped her.

I could picture exactly what had happened. Mom had woken up early, as she always did, and headed to the kitchen with the intention of making her famous pancakes for the family. The maids, following whatever strict instructions Seraphina had given them about not letting anyone cook, had tried to intercept her.

They had vastly underestimated the force of nature that was my mother when someone tried to keep her out of a kitchen. Funny, that she managed to memorize where the kitchen is, of all places. It is her territory, after all.

"Furthermore," Mom continued, pacing back and forth like a drill sergeant, "when breakfast is ready, everyone, and I mean everyone. is going to sit down and eat together. Like civilized human beings. No standing around serving. No refusing to join the meal. We eat as a family, and that includes all of you."

She's doing exactly what I did.

The parallel was almost funny. Both of us had run into the same wall of formal household hierarchy, and both of us had responded the same way, by insisting on basic human decency and shared meals.

Does that phrasing work when it comes to Elves?

"Mrs. Alaric," came Seraphina's voice from somewhere in the cluster of kneeling figures, "the household protocols specifically state—"

"I don't give a damn about your protocols," Mom interrupted, her voice rising slightly. "My son owns this house. I'm his mother. And if I want to make breakfast for my family and include all of you in that breakfast, then that's what's going to happen."

Yep. There's the Alaric family stubbornness in full display.

I cleared my throat softly. "Morning, Mom."

Every head in the room turned toward me. Mom's expression immediately shifted from maternal drill sergeant to slightly sheepish, as if she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, honey, you're up," she said, smoothing down her shirt. "I was just... having a discussion with the maids about breakfast."

I looked at the still-kneeling maids, then back at my mother, and couldn't help but grin.

"Let me guess," I said. "You tried to make pancakes, they tried to stop you, and now you're implementing the same 'everyone eats together' policy I've been fighting for?"

Mom raised an eyebrow. "You too?"

"Same problem," I confirmed. "Though I never got them on their knees with words alone. I had to threaten their wages so I could use the damn stove."

A moment of understanding passed between us. Then Mom started laughing, that genuine, warm laugh that had always made everything feel better when I was growing up.

"Like mother, like son, I suppose," she said, shaking her head.

I looked at the still-kneeling maids, then back at my mother with newfound respect.

"How did you even...?"

"Honey, I've been dealing with stubborn people my whole life," Mom said with a slight smirk. "Partners who think they know better than the research, clients who refuse to listen to legal advice, opposing counsel who won't accept reality even when it's staring them in the face. You think a few maids are going to out-stubborn a lawyer who's spent fifteen years in litigation?"

There's definitely more to learn from my mother than I thought.

I turned to address the still-kneeling maids. "You can all get up now. And yes, we're eating breakfast together. All of us. That's not a request."

The maids slowly rose to their feet, looking between me and my mother with expressions of resigned acceptance. Seraphina, in particular, looked like she was mentally rewriting every household protocol she'd ever implemented.

"Well then," Mom said, clapping her hands together, "let's go make some pancakes. And I want everyone in that kitchen helping, not hovering."

As we all headed toward the kitchen, I caught Seraphina's eye and gave her a knowing smirk, waggling my eyebrows.

"Hope you're ready for family breakfast," I told her quietly. "Because when Mom sets her mind to something, resistance is futile."

She nodded with the expression of someone who had just learned this lesson the hard way.

At least now I know where I get my stubbornness from.

Later that morning, I found myself back in the training hall with Chronos. My Core still hummed with that new stability from yesterday's forging and tempering work. The family breakfast had been chaotic but satisfying. Watching Iris charm every single maid while Dad spent an hour deep in conversation with Marina about the mansion's aura-tech systems and how they compared to the infrastructure he worked on at rift sites. Meanwhile, Mom had somehow gotten into a technical discussion with Seraphina about household management and the legal complexities of running such a large estate, applying the same analytical mind she used for litigation to completely different problems. Of course, she'd also seamlessly taken charge of the kitchen like she'd been running it for years.

But now it was time to focus on the next step in my training.

"Ready for Aura Release?" Chronos asked, settling into his usual teaching position.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the steady flow of energy through my channels. "More than ready. I've been waiting for this."

"Good. Yesterday's foundation work was essential, you can't project what you can't properly control." He gestured to the open space around us. "Aura Release is about extending your energy beyond the boundaries of your body. It's the difference between having a sword and knowing how to swing it."

"Aura Release is about temporarily supercharging your capabilities," Chronos began, settling into his teaching stance. "Think of it as unleashing your forge's molten torrent for a brief, explosive burst. It'll amplify your strength, speed, precision, everything, but at a significant cost."

He gestured toward my chest. "Remember yesterday's work? The forging and tempering? That was preparation for this. Your Core and channels need to be stable enough to handle the pressure."

I nodded, feeling my newly solidified Core pulse with anticipation.

"The process has four stages," Chronos continued. "First, Core compression. You draw your aura inward and compress it in your Aether Core, like stoking a forge to white-hot intensity. This builds dense, high-pressure aura in seconds."

He demonstrated, and I watched his aura shift, becoming more concentrated around his core.

"Second, channel alignment. That compressed aura flows through your channels, which must be smooth to avoid tears. This is why Green ranks struggle, their channels are still rough, unlike Blue ranks who've undergone purification."

Good thing I just worked on mine yesterday.

"Third, directed release. The aura surges outward, directed to wherever you need it. Legs for speed, arms for strikes, or throughout your body for overall enhancement."

Chronos's aura suddenly flared, a controlled demonstration that made the air around him shimmer.

"Finally, stabilization. After the release, you cool your Core with controlled breathing to prevent collapse. Failure here can cause serious damage."

He let his aura settle back to normal levels.

"Now, the effects. For a Green rank like yourself, you'll be able to lift around 1500 pounds during release. That's a significant jump from the 950 you managed in your strength test. Your sprint speed will hit about 30 mph instead of your baseline 20. Strikes will crack stone, and your movements will blur to untrained eyes."

Holy shit. That's almost double my normal capabilities. Also funny how you just casually mention how you watched my performance at my exam.

"But," Chronos's expression grew serious, "the risks are substantial, especially for Green ranks. Your Core can fracture under the pressure, causing internal burns. Your channels might tear, leading to muscle spasms or paralysis. You'll burn through your aura reserves in 5-10 seconds, and recovery takes hours."

He met my eyes directly.

"There's also the mental aspect. The strain can stir up dark impulses, rage, hubris, old traumas. You become vulnerable to emotional instability during and after the technique."

Of course there's a dark side to it.

He paused, then continued with even more gravity in his voice.

"And speaking of dangerous shortcuts, there's another technique you need to know about, though I pray you never encounter it. Spiritfire." I nodded, familiar with the name. Spiritfire was referenced in documentaries and historical accounts. Those dancing flames of pure aura energy that swirled in an almost kaleidoscope of colors, shifting and flowing like liquid light. I'd seen similar visual effects in high-end aura crystals and some of the more expensive decorative pieces in the mansion that mimicked the pattern, but I'd always assumed it was just an advanced technique, not something literally deadly.

"Spiritfire is a forbidden technique that requires a complex activation sequence, specific chest pressure points, hand gestures, and a soul-focused incantation. It promises massive aura boosts far beyond anything Aura Release can provide, but it burns your life force and triggers random, catastrophic backlash when your reserves deplete. Most who attempt the full sequence die instantly. Those who survive become mindless husks, driven by feral instincts."

Wait, what?

I'd always thought it was just an advanced technique. I had no idea it was literally turning people into mindless husks or killing them outright.

He met my eyes directly.

"Stick to Forging and Tempering. They're slower, but they'll actually get you where you want to go without destroying you in the process."

So that beautiful kaleidoscope of colors I've seen is actually people slowly killing themselves. That's horrifying.

"Now," Chronos said, his tone shifting back to instruction, "let's start with Aura Release. But first, let's revisit the glass cup meditation you learned for Forging and Tempering."

I nodded, already picturing the familiar visualization. "The one where I'm a cup, and my aura's the water filling it to the brim."

"Exactly," Chronos said, his eyes sharp with approval. "You're the cup, the room's the world, and your aura must stay perfectly balanced at the brim, never overflowing. For Aura Release, this focus is critical to control the energy surge without destabilizing your Core."

"Got it," I said, centering myself. "Fill the cup, hold it steady, no overflow."

"Good." Chronos stepped back. "Now, use that meditation to anchor your Core. Let's begin."

He began to walk around as he explained.

"For now, we'll start with the Green rank variant, Duskrelease. It's a sustained boost that will enhance all your abilities until you either run out of aura or deliberately cut it off. You'll see your natural aura color flare around your entire body when you execute it correctly."

Chronos moved to a safe distance.

"Begin with the glass cup meditation. Fill to the brim, hold it steady. Then, while maintaining that foundation, start compressing your aura in your Core. Visualize it as molten energy building pressure, waiting to be released."

I closed my eyes and found my center, feeling the familiar sensation of being a perfectly filled glass cup. Then, carefully, I began drawing my aura inward, compressing it in my Core.

The sensation was intense, like trying to contain liquid fire in my chest. My Core felt like it was glowing white-hot, pressure building with each breath.

"Good," Chronos said, somehow sensing my progress. "Now, when you're ready, release it throughout your entire body. Let it flood your channels and enhance everything."

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. The pressure in my Core was almost unbearable now, demanding release.

I let it go.

Azure blue light exploded outward from my Core, flooding through my channels and wrapping around my entire body like living flame. The sensation was incredible, every muscle felt supercharged, every sense heightened, every movement effortless.

I looked at my hands, watching the brilliant blue aura dance around them like controlled fire.

"Incredible," I breathed, my voice sounding stronger, more confident.

"Now test it," Chronos instructed. "But remember, you're burning through your aura reserves rapidly. You probably have 5-10 seconds before depletion hits."

I sprinted toward the training dummy, moving faster than I'd ever moved before. The world seemed to slow down around me as I covered the distance in a blur. When I threw the punch, it connected with devastating force, sending the dummy exploding backward into the wall.

But I wasn't done. The aura was still flowing, still enhancing everything. I spun and kicked another dummy, watching it shatter from the impact. Then I jumped, clearing a height that would have been impossible moments before.

Then, suddenly, the azure light flickered and died. The exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My legs nearly buckled, my Core felt hollow and aching, and my entire body burned from the sudden power loss.

"Excellent," Chronos said with satisfaction. "About eight seconds of sustained release. How do you feel?"

I struggled to catch my breath. "Like I was... superhuman for a few seconds. And now like my entire aura system is completely empty."

"That's normal. You just burned through most of your aura reserves in under ten seconds." He walked over to examine the destroyed dummies. "This is what I mean about it being a trump card. Incredible power, but it drains you fast."

I stared at the multiple pieces of wreckage I'd created while the release was active.

This is just the Green rank version. What can higher ranks do?

"Rest for a few minutes," Chronos instructed. "Then we'll work on the stabilization breathing and learn how to cut off the release early to conserve aura."

After I'd caught my breath and my Core had recovered enough to function, Chronos had me run through a series of control exercises. The goal was to learn how to modulate the output, activating Aura Release at different intensities and cutting it off precisely when I wanted to.

"Think of it like a dimmer switch rather than an on-off button," he explained. "Full release will drain you in seconds, but if you can throttle it down to 70% or 50%, you can maintain it much longer."

The next hour was spent practicing partial releases. I'd compress my aura, then let out just a portion of it, watching the azure flame around my body flicker at different intensities. At 75% power, I could maintain it for about fifteen seconds. At 50%, nearly thirty seconds. Each time, I practiced the stabilization breathing to cut off cleanly and prevent Core strain.

But as I worked through the exercises, I kept noticing... inefficiencies. Little things that bugged me. When I activated the release, I could feel aura dispersing into areas where I didn't need it. Flowing to my left hand when I was only planning to punch with my right, or spreading through my torso when I just wanted to enhance my legs for a sprint.

Why is it flooding everywhere when I only need it in specific places?

During my next attempt at a 75% release, I found myself automatically trying to guide the flow, attempting to direct the aura only where I actually needed it instead of letting it blanket my entire body. The result felt... cleaner somehow. More controlled.

Chronos was watching me with growing interest. "You're adjusting the technique."

I paused, realizing what I'd been doing. "It just felt wasteful. All that aura going places where I didn't need it." I flexed my fingers, still feeling the residual energy. "I was trying to be more... selective."

My grin started small but grew wider as I thought about the implications. If I could direct the flow precisely, maybe I could maintain higher power levels for longer, or use less aura for the same effect.

"I think I can improve this a bit," I said, the words coming out before I'd fully processed the thought.

Chronos raised an eyebrow, then slowly began to grin himself. The same expression he'd worn when I'd told him about the stealth pulse. Anticipation mixed with professional curiosity.

"Show me."

I took a deep breath and settled back into the glass cup meditation. This time, instead of just compressing and releasing, I focused on being more deliberate about where the aura went.

I compressed the energy in my Core, building that familiar pressure. But when I released it, I tried to guide it specifically. Sending the azure flame primarily to my legs and right arm while keeping the rest of my body at minimal enhancement.

The result was immediately noticeable. The power felt more concentrated, more purposeful. I sprinted forward and delivered a devastating punch to another training dummy, and while the force was about the same as my previous full-body releases, I could feel that I was using less overall aura to achieve it.

"Interesting," Chronos observed. "How long did that last?"

I checked my internal state. "About the same, maybe eight or nine seconds. But it felt more... efficient. Like I was getting better value for the aura I spent."

"Try varying the percentages on different parts of your body," he suggested. "See if you can maintain precision control."

Over the next several attempts, I experimented with the concept. Legs at 80% for speed, arms at 60% for striking power, core at 40% for general stability. The control wasn't perfect, sometimes the aura would bleed over into areas I didn't intend, but I was definitely getting better at directing the flow.

The duration didn't improve much. If anything, the mental effort of maintaining such precise control sometimes shortened my releases by a second or two. But the efficiency was undeniable. I could hit just as hard while using less aura, or maintain combat effectiveness while reserving power for when I really needed it.

"You're creating targeted enhancement zones," Chronos said with approval. "Most Ascendants treat Aura Release like flooding a room with water. You're learning to use it like a precision irrigation system."

I wiped sweat from my forehead, feeling the familiar exhaustion of repeated releases. "It's harder to control, but it feels... smarter."

"That's exactly what innovation looks like," Chronos replied. "Not necessarily making something more powerful, but making it more refined. More yours."

He gestured toward the destroyed training dummies scattered around the room.

"I think that's enough Aura Release for today. Your Core needs time to fully adapt to the new techniques. Tomorrow we'll work on advanced applications."

With training finished and my family settled in for an extended stay, I found myself with something I hadn't experienced in a while: free time. I'd been living in the mansion for several days now, and while I'd seen most of it during my various attempts at navigation, there were still a few places I'd deliberately avoided.

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Places that scared me with the level of wealth they represented.

As we walked through the familiar corridors, Celia following at her usual respectful distance, I finally made a decision.

"I think it's time I stopped being a coward about my own house," I said, changing direction toward a set of doors I'd been deliberately avoiding.

Celia immediately understood. "Ah. The garage?"

"The garage," I confirmed, steeling myself. "I've been walking past those doors for days now, always finding excuses to go somewhere else. But hiding from it isn't going to make it go away."

I'd avoided the wine cellar, the art collection, the home theater, all the places that would make the full extent of what I now owned feel more real. More overwhelming.

But it was time to rip off the bandaid.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Master Alaric?"

"No," I admitted. "But let's do it anyway."

I pushed open the doors and immediately regretted everything.

The garage was enormous. And it was full.

Not just full of cars, but full of automotive perfection. I counted at least twelve vehicles, each one looking like it belonged in a museum or a billionaire's private collection. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, a Bugatti that I was pretty sure cost more than most people's houses, and several cars I couldn't even identify but that screamed "expensive" in every line and curve.

"Oh…" I said weakly. "Oh no…"

Before Celia could even open her mouth, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"The 2023 Bugatti Chiron Super Sport," Lyralei announced, materializing from behind one of the classic cars, "produces 1,577 horsepower and can reach speeds of over 300 miles per hour."

"Have you been waiting here this whole time?" I asked.

She completely ignored my question and continued, "The engineering is absolutely sublime, quad-turbocharged W16 engine, all-wheel drive, carbon fiber construction throughout. It's like a work of art that happens to be capable of breaking the sound barrier."

"Please don't," I said weakly, but she was already moving to the next car.

"And this McLaren P1! Limited production hybrid hypercar with 903 combined horsepower. The electric motor provides instant torque while the twin-turbo V8 delivers that signature McLaren sound. Only 375 were ever made, and this one has the optional Track Pack with enhanced aerodynamics—"

"Lyralei, stop," I managed, holding up a hand. "Just... stop."

She looked at my pale expression with what could only be described as barely contained smugness, her enthusiasm shifting into something more teasing. "Are you alright? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," I lied, though my legs still felt unsteady. "I just... this is a lot to process."

Lyralei's expression shifted to something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "Ah. The overwhelming reality of sudden wealth." She nodded knowingly with just a hint of teasing in her voice. "The Brightmoors had impeccable taste when it came to their automotive collection. It takes time to adjust to owning such... substantial assets."

I looked at her sharply. "Have you adjusted yet to your new paycheck?"

Her composure immediately cracked, and she had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That's... different. And you know it."

"Right," I said, turning around and starting to walk away. "At least when you have financial breakdowns, you do it with dignity instead of sliding down walls."

"I crawled across the carpet!" she protested, following behind me.

"Like I said, with dignity." I paused and turned back with a grin, still leaning against the wall. "Besides, you'll be getting that bonus soon, so you really have no room to talk about anyone else being overwhelmed by money."

Lyralei's legs immediately gave out and she collapsed to her knees, then proceeded to drag herself forward using her arms while her legs trailed uselessly behind her.

"You can't just... casually mention... the five million..." she gasped between dragging motions. "I was finally starting to... function normally... and you just..."

"There's the dignified response I was expecting," I said cheerfully, continuing to walk while using the wall for support as she dragged herself after me.

"This is psychological warfare!" she called out, still crawling. "You're weaponizing my financial anxiety!"

"And it's working beautifully." I paused in my wall-assisted walking. "Consider us even for now."

The names meant nothing to me beyond 'ridiculously expensive,' but hearing them explained with such enthusiasm somehow made it worse. Each one represented more money than my family had ever seen.

I turned around and started walking away, but my legs were still unsteady. It was as if the weight of what I'd just seen made it physically difficult to move normally.

How many millions of dollars was I just looking at? How many people could live comfortably for their entire lives on what's sitting in that garage?

"Master Alaric?" Celia's voice was concerned as she followed behind me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I managed, though my walking was still uneven. "I just... I need a minute."

This is too much. This is all too much.

An hour later, I found myself sitting on the front lawn of the mansion, staring up at the afternoon sky. The grass was perfectly manicured, probably by Naia, and the whole estate stretched out around me like something from a movie.

I'd needed to get outside, away from the overwhelming opulence of the house. The garage had been the final straw, but honestly, even the everyday luxury was starting to get to me. Golden door handles, marble everything, artwork that probably cost more than most people's salaries. It was beautiful, but it felt like living in a museum. At least for High Elf standards.

What am I supposed to do with all this?

My family was inside somewhere, probably still exploring and marveling at everything. Mom had taken over the kitchen completely, and Dad was asking Celia increasingly technical questions about the mansion's architecture. Iris was in her element, being pampered by the maids like the little princess she'd always pretended to be.

But I needed space to think. Or maybe just space to not think for a while.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my brooding. I pulled it out, expecting another message from someone who'd heard about my Academy evaluation results or maybe Chronos with some training adjustment.

Instead, it was Sol.

Sol: Spar?

I didn't even hesitate. The idea of getting into a good fight, of using my body and aura for something straightforward and physical, sounded perfect right now.

Me: Time and place.

My phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Sol: My guy, at least give my message a minute or two to settle in. You sound desperate.

I laughed out loud, the first genuine laugh I'd had all day.

Me: Maybe I am. A.A. sparring chambers?

Sol: On my way. See you there.

I stood up, brushing grass off my clothes and feeling lighter than I had all day. A straightforward sparring match with Sol sounded like exactly what I needed. No overwhelming wealth, no family dynamics, no cars worth more than houses. Just two guys beating the hell out of each other in a controlled environment.

Perfect.

—

The Ascendant Association building was buzzing with activity when I arrived. Students and instructors moved through the corridors with purpose, some heading to evaluation rooms, others to training facilities. The familiar sounds of combat echoed from various chambers. The sharp crack of enhanced strikes, the controlled breathing of focused aura use, the occasional grunt of effort or satisfaction.

It felt like coming home.

Sol was already waiting near the reservation desk, looking relaxed in his usual training gear. He spotted me approaching and grinned.

"Alright," he said. "Ready to get your ass kicked?"

"We'll see about that," I replied, feeling my competitive spirit stirring for the first time in days. "Though I should warn you, I've improved since we last had our little spar."

"Ooh, mysterious," Sol said with mock interest. "Can't wait to see what the great innovator has come up with now. But don't think you're the only one."

We approached the reservation desk, where a bored-looking clerk glanced up from his paperwork.

"Name?" he asked without much enthusiasm.

"Raiden Alaric," I said.

The clerk's expression immediately shifted as he looked at his computer screen. His eyebrows went up slightly.

"Oh. Uh, any chamber preference, Mr. Alaric? You have... priority access. Any room you want is available."

Sol glanced at me with curious interest. "Priority access?"

"Don't..." I said, feeling heat creep up my neck. "Don't ask."

Sol's grin widened, but he didn't push it. "Seems like you have some serious backers. You're a curious one I'll give you that."

"Something with good reinforcement," I told the clerk, trying to change the subject.

The clerk nodded quickly and handed over a key card. "Chamber 7 is our best. Reinforced for Blue rank combat, full safety protocols."

As we walked toward the sparring chambers, Sol couldn't help himself.

"So, priority access, huh? You have connections with the A.A?"

"Seriously, don't ask," I repeated. "Let's just say, I didn't exactly ask for it, but a certain… thing, just handed it over."

"That so?" Sol said, though I could tell he was filing that information away for later.

As we walked toward the sparring chambers, I felt the last of my tension melting away. This was familiar territory. This was something I understood.

Just me, Sol, and a good fight. Nothing complicated about that.

Chamber 7 was one of the larger sparring rooms, with reinforced walls designed to handle Blue rank combat and plenty of space to move around. The familiar smell of training mats and the faint ozone scent of residual aura hung in the air.

I immediately started my usual pre-fight routine, dropping into a series of stretches to loosen up my muscles and get my aura flowing properly. Hip circles, shoulder rolls, some light leg swings, the same warm-up I'd been doing since I started training with Chronos.

To my surprise, Sol began mirroring my movements exactly. When I shifted into a hamstring stretch, he did the same. When I moved to shoulder blade squeezes, he followed suit. Every movement I made, he copied with careful precision.

After a few minutes of this, I had to ask.

"Uh, Sol? Why are you copying my warm-up routine?"

Sol straightened up from the calf stretch he'd been mirroring and grinned sheepishly.

"Well, you beat me in hand-to-hand combat last time we sparred," he said with a casual shrug. "So I don't see why I shouldn't follow your lead. Maybe I can learn something by doing what you do."

I blinked at him. "You're... studying my stretching routine?"

"Hey, if it works for the guy who kicked my ass, it might work for me too," Sol replied, completely unashamed. "Besides, your movement patterns during our fight were different from what most people do. More... fluid, I guess. Figured maybe it starts with how you prepare."

He's not wrong. My Origin does make me move differently.

"That's actually kind of smart," I admitted, continuing with my stretches. "Though I should warn you, most of what I do is pretty instinctive. I'm not sure I could explain the theory behind it."

"That's fine," Sol said, following me into a hip flexor stretch. "Sometimes the best learning happens when you stop thinking and just do."

We continued warming up in comfortable synchronization, and I found myself oddly touched by Sol's approach. No ego, no pride getting in the way. Just genuine interest in improving, even if it meant copying someone else's routine.

This is why I like sparring with him. No drama, just two people trying to get better.

"Alright," Sol said, finishing up his stretches and rolling his shoulders. "Ready to see if copying your warm-up makes any difference?"

I grinned, falling into a loose fighting stance. "Hand-to-hand first? No aura?"

"Sure," Sol agreed, mirroring my position. "Let's see what we can do without enhancement first."

We circled each other for a moment, both getting a feel for the space and each other's positioning. Sol moved with that same fluid grace I remembered from our previous fight. He was naturally athletic, with good instincts and solid fundamentals.

But I wasn't the same fighter I'd been a week ago.

Sol opened with a testing jab, quick and controlled. I slipped it easily, feeling how much smoother my movement had become since the forging and tempering work. My body responded like a well-tuned instrument instead of the slightly clunky machine it used to be.

I countered with a light hook toward his ribs, nothing serious, just returning the greeting. Sol blocked it cleanly but I could see the slight surprise in his eyes at the speed.

"Okay," he said, still circling. "Definitely faster than last time."

"Told you I'd been working out," I replied, feinting a straight punch and following up with a leg kick that Sol barely managed to check.

The pace picked up gradually. Sol threw a combination, jab, cross, hook, that would have given me trouble before. Now I found myself reading his movements more clearly, my enhanced reflexes letting me slip the first two and catch the hook on my forearm with a smooth redirect.

I flowed immediately into a counter, throwing an elbow strike that Sol ducked under, then transitioning into a knee that he had to backstep to avoid.

"Jesus," Sol muttered, breathing a little harder. "What the hell have you been doing? You're moving like a completely different person."

If only you knew.

I didn't answer, instead pressing forward with a series of strikes that combined techniques I'd absorbed from various opponents. Lucas's momentum-based approach flowing into Nico's compression principles, enhanced by my improved physical conditioning. Nothing Sol couldn't handle, but definitely more complex than what I'd shown him before.

Sol adapted quickly, though. He started using longer combinations, trying to overwhelm my defense with volume rather than individual technique. It was smart, he'd recognized that my reflexes were better than his, so he was trying to create situations where that advantage mattered less.

But my Origin was cataloging his patterns even as we fought, and each exchange gave me more information to work with.

When Sol threw his next combination, I was ready. I slipped inside his guard, caught his lead arm, and used his own momentum to guide him into a hip toss that sent him tumbling across the mat.

He rolled smoothly and came up grinning.

"Okay, now I know you've been holding out on me," he said, getting back into his stance. "That was way too clean to be luck."

"Maybe you're just getting predictable," I teased, though I was impressed by how quickly he'd recovered and reset.

"We'll see about that," Sol replied, and I could see him shifting his approach, becoming more unpredictable in his timing and attack patterns.

This is exactly what I needed. Just a good, clean fight with someone who can keep up.

Sol came at me with renewed focus, mixing up his rhythm and throwing strikes from unexpected angles. But my Origin was working overtime now, cataloging every subtle tell, every slight weight shift that preceded his attacks.

When he threw a feint high and followed with a low kick, I was already moving. I checked the kick with my shin, caught his extended leg, and swept his standing foot in one fluid motion. As he fell, I followed him down with a controlled punch that stopped just inches from his solar plexus.

"Point," I said, offering him a hand up.

Sol took it, shaking his head with a rueful grin. "Damn. That was clean." He dusted himself off and looked at me seriously. "Alright, where was my flaw? I thought I had you with that feint."

I considered how to explain it without revealing too much about my Origin. "Your feint was good, but you telegraphed the follow-up. When you committed to the high fake, your weight shifted toward your kicking leg about half a second before you actually threw it. Plus, you've used that exact combination twice now, high feint to low kick. Once I recognized the pattern, I could react to the setup instead of the actual attack."

Sol nodded thoughtfully, processing the breakdown. "So I'm being predictable and giving away my intentions with body language."

"Pretty much. Your individual techniques are solid, but you need to work on masking your tells and varying your combinations more."

"Got it." Sol reset his stance, determination clear in his eyes. "Again. I want to see if I can fix those issues."

I grinned and fell back into my fighting position. This was what I loved about sparring with Sol, no ego, no excuses, just genuine desire to improve.

"Your call. Let's see what you've got."

After several more rounds of hand-to-hand combat, both of us were breathing harder and had worked up a decent sweat. Sol had definitely improved his pattern variation, though I still had a significant advantage in reading his intentions.

"Alright," Sol said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I think I'm ready to step it up. Aura?"

I nodded, feeling my Core pulse with anticipation. "Sounds good. Though I should warn you again, I've learned some new tricks."

"Oh really?" Sol grinned, his competitive spirit clearly kicking in. "In that case, how about we make this interesting?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Sol's grin turned mischievous. "Loser buys lunch. There's this great place near here that does amazing burgers. House sauce is a must."

I laughed. "That's it? Just lunch?"

"Hey, don't underestimate the power of a good burger," Sol said with mock seriousness. "Plus, bragging rights. I'm still not over how easily you handled me last time."

"Fair enough," I said, extending my hand. "You're on."

We shook on it, and Sol's competitive grin widened. "Hope you brought your wallet, because I've been working on some new stuff too."

"We'll see about that," I replied, beginning to channel my aura.

I started drawing my own aura up through my channels, feeling the familiar warmth spread through my body. "Maybe I am."

"We'll see about that," Sol replied, his aura beginning to flare around him in a steady golden glow.

I let my own azure aura respond, the blue light dancing around my form like controlled flame. The difference in our energy was immediately apparent. Mine felt more stable, more controlled than it had during our previous encounter.

"Ready?" Sol asked, settling into a combat stance.

"Ready."

Time to see how my new techniques hold up against a real opponent.

We moved simultaneously, closing the distance in an instant. Our forearms crashed together with a sound like thunder, the impact sending shockwaves through the reinforced chamber. For a moment we were locked together, each testing the other's enhanced strength.

Sol broke the deadlock first, spinning away and launching into a series of lightning-fast strikes. His fist whistled past my ear, the wind from the near-miss whipping my hair as I ducked under it. I countered with an uppercut that he barely avoided, the force of my swing creating a sharp crack in the air.

He backflipped away from my follow-up, his golden aura trailing behind him like liquid fire. The moment his feet touched the mat, he launched himself forward again, covering twenty feet in a single bound.

I met his aerial assault with a jumping knee strike. We collided mid-air, the impact launching both of us backward. I used the momentum to my advantage, tucking into a backward flip and landing in a crouch. Sol hit the wall behind him, but instead of being stunned, he used it as a springboard to ricochet back at me with even more speed.

His kick came at me like a missile. I crossed my arms to block, but the force sent me skidding across the chamber floor, my feet leaving grooves in the reinforced mat. Before I could fully recover, Sol was airborne again, spinning in a horizontal tornado kick that would have taken my head off if I hadn't dropped flat to the ground.

The wind from his passing strike was so intense it actually moved the heavy training equipment bolted to the walls.

I swept his legs the moment he landed, but Sol leaped over my sweep, flipping forward to drive both heels down where I'd been a split second before. The mat cracked under the impact, sending up a small cloud of debris.

"Not bad!" Sol called out, his breathing slightly elevated but his grin intact.

I smiled back, feeling the thrill of a really good fight. "You too! But I'm just getting started."

I launched myself at him with enhanced speed, feinting a straight punch before transitioning into a spinning heel kick. Sol ducked under it, but the force of my strike created a visible distortion in the air behind him. He responded with a knee strike that I caught on my forearm, the impact reverberating through the chamber like a gunshot.

We separated, circled briefly, then clashed again. This time our exchange was faster, more brutal. Strike, counter, redirect, flip, we moved like we were defying gravity, leaping off walls, spinning through the air, each impact sending one or both of us flying only to recover and engage again.

Sol caught me with a solid hit to the ribs that launched me sideways into a wall. I used the impact to wall-run horizontally before pushing off to dive at him with a flying elbow. He rolled aside at the last second, my strike cratering the floor where he'd been standing.

"Okay," Sol panted, wiping sweat from his brow as we faced each other across the now-demolished training space. "I'm definitely buying lunch. This is incredible!"

And I haven't even used Aura Release yet.

The thought made me pause for a moment. I could feel the technique waiting there, ready to be activated. The compressed power in my Core, the knowledge of how to unleash that devastating boost to all my capabilities. It would end this fight in seconds.

But looking at Sol's grinning face, seeing the pure joy he was getting from our evenly matched battle, I realized something important.

I don't want to ruin this.

This was what I lived for. The thrill of a real challenge, the rush of being pushed to my limits by an opponent who could match me blow for blow. The back-and-forth exchange where either of us could win, where skill and technique mattered more than raw power.

If I used Aura Release, all of that would disappear. The fight would become a massacre instead of a dance, a demonstration instead of a competition. Sol would never see the finishing blow coming, and I'd be left standing over his unconscious body wondering where the fun had gone.

No. This feeling, this pure thrill of fighting someone who can actually challenge me, this is too precious to throw away for a quick victory.

I made the decision right then and there. Aura Release would be my absolute last resort, reserved only for moments when my life was genuinely on the line. Every other fight, every spar, every challenge, I wanted to feel this. I wanted to earn my victories through skill and determination, not nuclear-option power.

The technique was too much like cheating, and cheating would rob me of what I loved most about fighting.

"Come on," I said, grinning back at Sol and settling into my stance again. "I'm not done yet. I'm already paying, so let's go another round!"

Let's see how far I can push these new techniques while keeping the thrill alive.

We engaged again, and immediately I noticed something different about Sol's approach. When he threw his first combination, there was no telegraphing, no weight shift to give away his intentions. He'd already adapted to everything I'd pointed out during our hand-to-hand rounds.

He fixed his tells. All of them. In the middle of a fight.

My grin widened. This was exactly what I'd been hoping for.

Sol launched into a spinning back-kick that I barely managed to duck under, the force of it creating a visible shockwave that rattled the reinforced walls. But instead of following his usual pattern, he immediately transitioned into an unexpected elbow strike that caught me off-guard. I had to twist awkwardly to avoid it, the enhanced strike whistling past my face with millimeters to spare.

He wasn't just using different combinations. He was actively varying his timing, making each sequence unpredictable. When I tried to counter with a knee strike, he was already moving, flowing around my attack like water and responding with a hammer-fist that I caught on my crossed forearms.

The impact sent me sliding backward, but I used the momentum to launch myself into a wall-assisted backflip, kicking off the reinforced surface to come at him from an unexpected angle. Sol read my trajectory perfectly, but instead of blocking, he side-stepped and grabbed my ankle mid-flight.

For a split second, I thought he had me. Then I twisted in his grip, using his hold as an anchor point to swing my other leg around in a devastating heel kick aimed at his temple. Sol released me and leaned back, the kick missing by inches but the wind pressure from it actually moved his hair.

We both landed and immediately sprang apart, reassessing.

"Nice adaptation," I called out, genuinely impressed. "You fixed everything I mentioned and then some."

"Had a good teacher," Sol replied, bouncing lightly on his toes. "But I'm not done learning yet."

He came at me again, this time with a series of attacks that showcased just how much he'd improved. A feint high that looked identical to his previous tells, but when I moved to counter the expected low follow-up, he continued the high attack instead. I barely got my guard up in time, his enhanced fist slamming into my crossed arms with enough force to numb them.

Before I could recover, he was already flowing into his next sequence, a spinning elbow that forced me to duck, followed immediately by an upward knee that I had to arch backward to avoid. The knee came so close I felt the heat from his aura against my chest.

I responded by dropping into a sweep kick, but Sol jumped it and used his aerial position to attempt a downward axe kick. I rolled aside as his heel cratered the mat where I'd been, then sprang up with an uppercut that he deflected with a perfect arm redirect.

We were both moving faster now, our enhanced reflexes pushing the limits of what the human eye could follow. Strike, counter, redirect, flip, each exchange lasted only seconds but contained dozens of individual techniques.

Sol caught me with a glancing blow to the shoulder that spun me around, but I used the rotation to add power to a back-fist that he had to lean away from. The strike passed so close to his face that it actually cut through some of his golden aura.

"This is incredible!" Sol laughed, even as he launched himself into a flying knee that I barely managed to side-step.

I couldn't help but agree. This was fighting at its purest. Two skilled opponents pushing each other to greater heights, each adaptation forcing the other to adapt in turn. No overwhelming advantages, no cheap tricks, just pure skill meeting skill.

This is why I fight. This feeling right here.

As we continued our high-speed exchange, I began to notice a pattern in Sol's defense. He was favoring his left side slightly, probably compensating for the shoulder strike I'd landed earlier. When he threw his next combination, I saw my opening. A small gap in his guard after his cross that would let me slip inside for a finishing blow.

I feinted high to draw his guard up, then ducked low to exploit the opening. But instead of the counter-strike I expected, Sol did something completely unexpected.

He lunged forward and wrapped me up in a grapple.

Interesting choice.

Sol's arms locked around my torso as he tried to control my movement, clearly hoping to use his size advantage to ground me and limit my striking options. It was actually a smart tactical decision. If he couldn't match my speed and technique, he'd try to make it a wrestling match instead.

Too bad for him that I'd spent considerable time learning grappling from Chronos and had absorbed additional techniques from Marcus during our encounters.

We tumbled to the mat in a tangle of limbs, both of us fighting for position. Sol managed to get on top initially, trying to establish control, but I immediately went to work. I trapped his arm, shifted my hips, and started working toward a sweep. Movements that felt as natural as breathing after months of training with Chronos.

Sol fought the transition, using his enhanced strength to try to maintain his position, but I was already three moves ahead. I used his resistance against him, allowing him to think he was stopping my sweep while I actually transitioned to a different attack entirely.

We rolled and scrambled across the mat, a blur of grips, shifts, and counter-positions. Sol was strong and had good instincts, but grappling was as much about technique and leverage as it was about power. Every time he tried to establish dominance, I had an answer.

When he attempted to mount me, I bridged and rolled him off. When he tried for side control, I created space and worked back to guard. When he went for a submission attempt of his own, I countered it and transitioned to my own attack.

The scramble lasted nearly a minute, an eternity in grappling terms, but finally I saw my chance. As Sol tried to pass my guard, I trapped his arm and threw my legs up around his neck and shoulder, locking in a triangle choke.

Sol's eyes widened as he realized what had happened. He tried to posture up and break the hold, but I had it locked in tight. His enhanced strength was working against him now, the more he struggled, the tighter the choke became.

After a few seconds of futile resistance, Sol tapped my leg twice.

I immediately released the hold, and we both lay on the mat for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Nice," Sol said, sitting up and rubbing his neck with a rueful grin. "I thought I had you when I got the takedown."

"Good attempt," I replied, offering him a hand up. "Your instincts were right, taking it to the ground was smart. You just picked the wrong opponent for a grappling match."

Sol laughed as I pulled him to his feet. "Lesson learned. Though I have to say, you're full of surprises."

We gathered our things and headed toward the exit, both of us feeling the satisfying exhaustion that came from a really good fight. As we reached the door, Sol turned to me with that competitive glint back in his eyes.

"Next time," he said with a grin, "I'm using my sword."

My own grin turned absolutely feral at the prospect.

"Can't wait."

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