The aftermath of Julius’s crushing defeat weighed on his body and spirit like an iron shackle. Every breath he took seemed to remind him of the fight—the sting of Galeen’s wind, the sharp tang of blood in his mouth, and the endless sensation of being overpowered.

The infirmary was quiet, except for an attendant's occasional footsteps shuffling between cots. Julius sat slumped on the edge of a small bed, his tunic wrinkled and streaked with dirt and blood. His father’s sword lay at his side, a silent reminder of how far he had to go.

“Still sulking?” Aria’s voice broke through the stillness. She stepped into the room, her green eyes sharp and unreadable. The faint earth stains on her gloves showed she’d been training—again. “I thought farm boys were tougher.”

Julius shot her a glare, though it lacked fire. “You’re hilarious.”

Aria didn’t smile. Instead, she dropped onto a stool across from him, her sharp gaze studying him like he was some new puzzle she hadn’t yet figured out. “You lasted longer than most would’ve.”

Julius sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Doesn’t matter. I still lost. It wasn’t even close.”

Aria crossed her arms, her tone steady and matter-of-fact. “You fought someone using their Virtue. That fight was over before it even started.”

Julius frowned, the word stirring his frustration. “Virtue this, Virtue that. What is it with everyone talking about Virtue like it’s the end-all, be-all?”

Aria stared at him for a long moment, gauging him. “You really don’t know?”

Julius shrugged. “It’s some kind of magic, right? Powers you’re born with?”

At that, Aria snorted. “You make it sound so simple. Virtue isn’t just magic. It’s willpower made manifest.” She leaned forward slightly, her expression turning serious. “Every knight who awakens their Virtue draws power from their deepest convictions. It’s not something you’re handed. You earn it.”

Julius raised an eyebrow. “You earn it? How?”

“By surviving yourself,” Aria replied. “The Virtues are Courage, Justice, Generosity, Faith, Mercy, Nobility, and Hope. Each one represents a truth about who we are—or who we want to be.”

She held up a fist, and stone crept over her knuckles, forming her signature gauntlets. “Faith. Earth. It’s my will to endure and protect. That’s what gives me this power.” The gauntlets crumbled to dust as she opened her hand.

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Julius stared at her, processing the explanation. “So what? You just decide you want to be virtuous, and suddenly rocks fly out of the ground?”

Aria rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t just choose a Virtue—it’s tied to who you are. It reflects your beliefs, your struggles, your convictions. The stronger your will, the stronger your Virtue.”

Julius scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t have one. Guess that means I’m just some guy with a sword.”

Aria’s expression softened—just a little. “Not yet. But you survived that fight longer than anyone expected. Even Galeen was surprised.”

Julius looked away, her words cutting deeper than she probably realized. “Doesn’t feel like it matters.”

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right place,” Aria said quietly. “The strength of a Virtue comes from within. It comes from what you’re willing to fight for.”

Julius let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve been fighting to prove myself since I got here. Doesn’t seem like it’s enough.”

“It will be.” Aria stood, turning to leave. “Try harder, Johnson. Or don’t. But sitting here feeling sorry for yourself won’t change anything.”

Her footsteps echoed as she left the infirmary, leaving Julius alone with his thoughts.

----------------------------------------

Hours later, Julius found himself back in the training yard. The sun had set, leaving the grounds cloaked in shadows and lit only by the flickering glow of torches along the walls. His sword sat heavy in his hands, the familiar weight offering little comfort.

“Willpower made manifest,” he muttered, Aria’s words replaying in his head. He raised his sword and swung it in slow, deliberate arcs. “What do I have to fight for?”

The question lingered, unanswered, as he moved through the motions. His strikes grew sharper, faster, each swing fueled by frustration and a deep, gnawing feeling of inadequacy.

“Come on,” he muttered, gripping the hilt until his knuckles turned white. “If everyone else has this Virtue, why can’t I—”

Pain shot through his body as he overextended, his knees hitting the stone. “Pathetic,” he whispered, panting.

Stand up.

The voice sent chills through him, deep and guttural, like gravel scraping against steel. Julius froze, his hazel eyes darting across the empty yard.

Stand up, boy.

It wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t anyone’s voice.

Julius pushed himself to his feet, sweat dripping down his face. “Who’s there?”

The silence seemed to stretch, heavy and suffocating. Then, he felt it—a pulse of heat deep in his chest, faint but undeniable.

Images flashed across his mind—fires raging, molten scales, wings darkening the sky. A monstrous eye, slit-pupiled and burning, stared into him, through him.

Julius gasped, stumbling back. His heart pounded, his chest tight. “What… what was that?”

The heat faded, leaving a lingering hum beneath his skin, like an ember waiting for air.

He gripped his sword, his breaths uneven. “I don’t know what you are,” he muttered, “but I’m not afraid of you.”

The voice didn’t answer, but the silence felt different now. Julius stood alone in the empty yard, but for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

And in the distance, hidden among the shadows of the academy, something watched. A whisper on the wind carried with it a sense of foreboding, a presence that was almost imperceptible.

The Celestials had their agents, and they were beginning to take notice.