The school day swept past with a relentless urgency, a rapid blur of classes and lunch breaks, leaving no room for the moment to linger. It was as if time itself had joined the hustle of the day, propelling me forward toward what I both anticipated and dreaded: combat training. The mere thought filled me with a volatile mix of excitement and apprehension. While the idea of honing my skills was thrilling, the potential for public humiliation loomed large, a dark cloud over my optimism.

  In the realm of magic, knowledge was often a treasure you could gather through books, lectures, or observation. You could sit in the safety of a classroom, absorbing facts and theories like a sponge. Combat, however, was a different beast entirely. It demanded action. You couldn’t learn to wield magic in a fight from a book or a video. You had to throw yourself into the chaos, learn through trial and error, and accept the bruises—both to your body and ego. As someone barely past novice status, I braced myself for what felt like an inevitable spiral of awkwardness.

  Tisiah and I descended to the combat training room via an elevator, its slow journey downward adding to the mounting tension. When the doors finally opened, we stepped into a space that felt like another world. The room defied all my expectations. Instead of mats, sparring equipment, or any indication of a traditional training area, the chamber had an almost ethereal quality.

  The first thing I noticed was the array of wooden stands, each holding ancient tomes, their spines cracked with age. Students stood beside them, gripping their wands with a seriousness that made my stomach tighten. The ambiance was warm and intimate, like stepping into an old-world library. Polished wooden tables, towering bookshelves, and a chandelier casting a golden glow made the room feel less like a battleground and more like a sanctuary of arcane knowledge. The scent of lavender mingled with a faint breeze that seemed to come from nowhere, adding an almost surreal tranquility to the scene.

  But amidst the calm, my nerves had one focus: the instructor.

  Standing at the room's center was a striking figure, her aura commanding instant respect. She was bald, her smooth head decorated with an elaborate dragon tattoo that seemed alive, its wings poised for flight. Her attire—a vibrant orange robe cinched with a brown belt—was a stark contrast to the subdued tones of the room. The robe flowed gracefully, hiding her feet and adding an air of mystique to her every movement.

  Her voice, calm yet firm, broke the silence. “You must be the new kid,” she said, her gaze piercing as it locked onto me. I nodded, suddenly hyperaware of the unfamiliar faces around me.

  There was no sign of Malachi or his crew, a relief that was almost palpable. Yet, I couldn’t help scanning the room for September. She wasn’t here, and the absence felt sharper than it should have.

  A cheerful voice drew my attention. “Oh, hey Tisiah!”

  I turned to see a girl approaching. She was shorter than me, with sleek mocha-colored hair that gleamed under the chandelier’s light. Her skin was a rich, warm brown, and her confident demeanor was amplified by her outfit—a camouflage-patterned shirt and impossibly skinny jeans. Small hoop earrings shimmered as she moved, her lips glossy with a shine that caught the golden light.

  “Hey, sis,” Tisiah greeted her, the connection instantly clear.

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  She smiled warmly at me, her eyes dancing with curiosity. “Nikki, this is Connor. Connor, meet Nikki.”

  “Hi,” I said, managing a smile despite my sudden self-consciousness.

  “It’s your first time here, huh?” she asked, her tone light but probing.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “First time for combat training. Hopefully, not my last.”

  Her laugh was soft, a sound that somehow eased the knot in my stomach. “You’ve got this. Tisiah says you’re the one who saved him from Malachi. That was brave.”

  I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “No big deal. Friends look out for each other. Tisiah’s a good friend, and I’m sure you are too.”

  To my surprise, the conversation flowed naturally. But before I could dwell on the novelty of it, Tisiah reminded us of why we were here. “Alright, class is starting. Get your wands ready.”

  I froze. Wand? I didn’t even know how to retrieve mine.

  Tisiah noticed my hesitation and grinned. “Press the button on your yellow utility belt,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  I followed his instruction, and to my amazement, the button extended, revealing a sleek yellow wand. Its design was intricate, with a small dragon wrapped around the shaft, its mouth poised as if ready to breathe fire.

  The instructor began to speak, her voice drawing the room’s attention like a magnet. “I am Sensei Waine,” she announced. “Master of wandcraft and the elements. Today, we will focus on ice. But first, let us explore what it means to wield elemental power.”

  She walked gracefully among the rows of students, her presence both calming and commanding. “Every element demands energy,” she continued. “Most mages specialize in one because mastery of multiple elements is rare and taxing. Yesterday, we explored fire—a force of destruction and passion. Today, we will turn to its opposite: ice.”

  A murmur ran through the room, the prospect of mastering ice sparking both excitement and trepidation.

  “Close your eyes,” Sensei Waine instructed. “Imagine yourself in a frozen realm. Your wand will guide you to an ice crystal, but beware—an ice beast guards it. Overcome the beast, and the crystal’s power will be yours. Fail, and the element may not be your calling.”

  I did as instructed, shutting my eyes and letting her words guide me.

  The temperature dropped suddenly, the chill biting into my skin. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the training room. Instead, I stood in an icy wasteland, snow falling heavily from a blackened sky. A steep slope loomed before me, and beyond it, I sensed something dangerous waiting.

  Dressed as I was in my usual attire—a white coat, black shirt, and sneakers—I was woefully unprepared for the freezing cold. But there was no turning back.

  Clutching my wand tightly, I began to climb the slope. The snow clung to me, the wind cutting through me like a blade, but I pressed on. Reaching the top, I froze in place.

  A massive creature stood before me, its form both terrifying and mesmerizing. It had the body of a sasquatch but the head of a wolf, its eyes glowing an ominous crimson. Its roar shattered the stillness, and it charged toward me with terrifying speed.

  Panic surged, but instinct took over. I raised my wand, summoning a wall of ice between us. The beast collided with it, momentarily stunned.

  Seizing the chance, I conjured ice blocks to create a path closer to the creature. With a leap, I aimed my wand at the beast, summoning a barrage of ice spikes.

  The spikes struck with force but shattered on impact, barely scratching the creature. It roared again, closing the distance with alarming speed. My heart pounded as I desperately tried to think of a new strategy.

  But before I could act, the beast lunged, its jaws wide and teeth gleaming.

  And then, I was back.

  The training room came into focus, the golden light of the chandelier soothing after the harsh cold of the ice realm. My classmates were still immersed in their meditation, but Sensei Waine’s gaze was fixed on me.

  “Well, you’ve returned early,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “I assume you didn't defeat the ice beast. But... what happened to your arms?”

  Startled, I looked down. My arms glowed faintly, a fiery red light pulsating beneath my skin—a strange echo of the mysterious event from days before.