Chapter 15: A Test Of Will
The morning sun was pale, hidden behind a thin layer of clouds as Orin stood on the Academy's training field. Around him, the other students stretched, sparred, or focused on honing their abilities. But Orin's mind was elsewhere—on Azail, on the scroll Hiroshi had shown him, and on the whispers that refused to leave him.
He clenched his fists, willing himself to focus. The questions could wait. For now, he had to prove he belonged here. He had to show that he wasn't just another burden waiting to be cast aside.
"Slain!" **Instructor Korran's** gruff voice broke through his thoughts. The massive taskmaster strode across the field, his eyes sharp. "You're up. Let's see what you've got."
Orin stepped forward, his blade strapped to his side. His stomach churned as Korran motioned toward the sparring circle. Inside, Wake was already waiting, his expression a mix of encouragement and challenge.
The sparring match began with a sharp crack of Korran's staff against the ground. Orin and Wake circled each other, the tension between them palpable. Wake moved first, his fists igniting with flickers of phoenix flame as he closed the distance.
Orin barely dodged the first strike, the heat of Wake's flames grazing his cheek. He countered with a quick slash, his blade slicing through the air. Wake blocked it with ease, his forearm glowing as the flames formed a barrier.
"You've got to do better than that, Orin!" Wake said, his voice calm but firm.
Orin growled under his breath, pushing forward with a series of rapid strikes. Each one was met with a counter or deflection, Wake's movements fluid and precise. Frustration began to bubble in Orin's chest as his attacks failed to connect.
The beast stirred, its voice a low growl in the back of his mind. *You're weak,* it hissed. *Let me out. I'll show him power.*
"No," Orin muttered, shaking his head as he stepped back. Wake tilted his head, his flames dimming slightly.
"What was that?" Wake asked, his tone shifting. "You talking to yourself now?"
Orin didn't answer. He couldn't let the beast distract him—not now.
The match continued, the intensity rising with each exchange. Orin began to find his rhythm, his blade moving with more precision. He focused on Wake's movements, looking for patterns, for openings. But Wake was relentless, his flames growing brighter with each strike.
Finally, Orin saw his chance. As Wake lunged forward, Orin sidestepped, his blade arcing upward in a calculated strike. The tip of his weapon grazed Wake's shoulder, forcing him to retreat. Orin pressed the advantage, his strikes faster, more deliberate.
The crowd around the sparring circle murmured in approval as Orin forced Wake back toward the edge of the ring. For the first time, Orin felt a flicker of confidence. He could do this.
But Wake wasn't finished. His grin widened as his flames roared to life, enveloping his entire body. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance, his fists blazing as they connected with Orin's blade. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, and Orin staggered back, his grip faltering.
"Don't hold back, Orin!" Wake shouted, his voice fierce. "If you want to stand here, you fight for it!"
Orin's chest heaved, his body trembling as the beast clawed at his mind. The whispers grew louder, the pressure unbearable.
*Let me out,* the beast snarled. *You'll lose without me.*
"No," Orin said aloud, his voice steady despite the chaos inside him. He tightened his grip on his blade, his eyes locking onto Wake's.
He moved forward, his strikes precise and controlled, each one aimed to disarm rather than destroy. The crowd fell silent as the match reached its peak, the air crackling with tension.
In a final, desperate move, Orin feinted to the left before pivoting to the right, his blade slicing through the air. Wake, caught off guard, stumbled back, his flames flickering as Orin's blade came to a stop just inches from his chest.
Korran slammed his staff against the ground, signaling the end of the match. "Enough!" he barked. "Slain, step back."
Orin lowered his blade, his chest heaving as he took a step back. Wake grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Not bad, Orin. Not bad at all."
The sparring session ended, and the students dispersed. Orin lingered near the edge of the training field, his thoughts racing. The beast was quiet now, its whispers replaced by a faint sense of satisfaction. For the first time, Orin felt like he'd fought on his own terms.
"You're getting there," a familiar voice said. Orin turned to see **Zeela**, her sharp gaze fixed on him. She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.
"You've got potential, Slain," she continued. "But don't think one win makes you invincible. You're still holding back."
Orin frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Zeela stepped closer, her voice low. "I've seen the way you fight. There's something inside you—something you're afraid of. If you don't face it, it'll destroy you."
Her words sent a chill down Orin's spine. He wanted to deny it, to push her away, but he couldn't. She was right. The beast wasn't just a part of him—it was a threat, one he couldn't ignore.
That night, Orin found himself back in his room, the weight of the day pressing down on him. He sat on the edge of his bed, his blade resting across his lap. The whispers were faint now, a distant murmur that he could almost ignore.
Almost.
The scroll Hiroshi had given him lay on the desk, its faded text burned into his memory. *Azail.* The name was a thread, unraveling a tapestry of secrets he didn't yet understand.
Orin clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He didn't have all the answers, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn't let the beast define him. He would fight—against it, against the shadows, against the secrets that threatened to consume him.
He would survive.
And he would find the truth.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone