The Lesson Learned in Time:

Aethyr and Master Asphyr stood facing each other, the air thick with anticipation. "Same rules: three hits and you lose," the master reminded Aethyr, his voice calm but filled with authority.

They raised their magical weapons—Asphyr wielded a radiant red rod etched with ancient carvings, crowned by a glowing sphere. Aethyr, in contrast, held the standard novice staff given to all students upon entry. A murmur spread through the crowd. "Is he serious? He's using the novice staff to challenge a master? He’s out of his mind!"

Yet, unnoticed by the crowd, Aethyr’s stance was different from his peers. It wasn’t the rigid, defensive posture typical of wizards. Instead, he took on a martial stance, reminiscent of a warrior from the Phalanx.

In a flash, the battle began. Master Asphyr cast a Force Push spell, sending a surge of invisible energy toward Aethyr. But Aethyr’s agility showed its worth—he side-stepped and spun gracefully, the spell missing him by inches. Without pausing, the master conjured a Fireball, the burning sphere roaring toward Aethyr. With a swift gesture, Aethyr cast Ward, the translucent shield absorbing the blast and dissolving the fire into smoke.

Seizing the moment, Aethyr dashed toward his master. His peers watched, wide-eyed, as he moved with speed, unlike any mage they had seen before. Asphyr, sensing the rush, quickly cast Quicksand—the ground beneath Aethyr’s feet softened, pulling him down. Aethyr reacted fast, using his staff to vault out of the trap before it could claim him. But as he leaped, a Fireball struck him mid-air, forcing him to absorb his first hit.

He recovered quickly and switched tactics. Instead of shielding himself, Aethyr cast Shield directly in front of Asphyr’s line of sight, creating a wall of crystalline energy. The master was momentarily baffled—his view obstructed. In that split second, Aethyr summoned his own Firebolt and fired. The attack struck the master, leaving a burn mark on his robes, and the audience gasped in amazement. He had drawn blood, metaphorically speaking, against one of the greatest mages.

The students were in awe. No one had ever seen a wizard fight like this. Aethyr’s combat style, blending magic with martial arts, was entirely foreign to them. He didn’t just stand his ground like the others; he moved, evaded, and used his surroundings to his advantage. His movements were swift and graceful, almost like a dance—a deadly, efficient dance. His training with the Phalanx had given him skills no mage here possessed.

But Asphyr wasn’t finished. He cast Wind Cutter, sending sharp blades of air slicing toward Aethyr. The young mage raised a Ward, though he knew it wasn’t strong enough to fully protect him. Instead of wasting his energy on full defense, he used the low-level spell to deflect just enough of the attack and preserve his mana. He dodged and spun with the elegance of a dancer, avoiding the brunt of the assault, but his stamina was wearing thin.

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Asphyr, seeing an opening, cast Bind, a spell that wrapped invisible magical chains around Aethyr, pulling him to the ground. Aethyr struggled, losing his second life. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Rolling to his feet, he decided to gamble it all.

"Explosion!" Aethyr shouted, calling forth a spell he had read about but never dared to cast. All his remaining mana surged through his body and into his staff, causing the crystal sphere at its tip to crack under the strain. The spell unleashed a massive fiery explosion, sending flames roaring toward Asphyr.

But the master was prepared. With a wave of his rod, he summoned Fortress, an impenetrable barrier of magical energy. The flames washed over it, leaving the master completely unharmed. Aethyr fell to his knees, exhausted, his staff shattered, his mana depleted. He had lost.

But in Asphyr’s eyes, the boy hadn’t truly been defeated. If this had been a real battle, Aethyr’s unconventional tactics, his use of martial skills in combination with magic, would have made him a deadly adversary. Some might say his style was unorthodox, even dishonorable for a mage, but in real combat, it was survival that mattered most.

“Enough!” Asphyr declared, his voice echoing through the room. The battle was over. The master left without another word, but his expression was one of quiet respect.

Aethyr, battered but unbroken, was carried to the infirmary. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he knew he had learned more in this fight than in any lesson thus far. He had glimpsed what it would take to become a truly great mage—one who could blend body, mind, and magic into a single, unstoppable force.

Meanwhile, in the master’s quarters, Asphyr met with his colleague, Master Tolfdir.

“He gave you quite a challenge, didn’t he?” Tolfdir remarked. “I heard you had to use your Fortress spell. That’s not something you break out lightly.”

Asphyr nodded, thoughtful. “He’s dangerous. Not yet, but one day. His fighting style is unlike anything we’ve trained here. If he learns to harness his mana, to fully master his magic, he could be more dangerous than Merodach himself.”

Tolfdir’s eyes widened at the comparison. “You think he could surpass even the greatest mage?”

Asphyr’s gaze was distant, but certain. “If he keeps going like this... yes.”

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Aethyr awoke to the gentle touch of Penelo, a natural-born healer. She had been healing people since childhood. “You fought Master Asphyr?” she asked, surprised. “He’s the third most powerful mage in the entire college! His protective magic is legendary. No one can scratch him.”

“I got lucky,” Aethyr muttered, though he knew it was more than luck. He had much to learn, but for the first time, he realized his path to greatness wasn’t just about spells or mana—it was about how he could combine everything he knew.

Penelo smiled, her healing light still working on his wounds. "You'll be back on your feet soon enough, Aethyr. The real journey is just beginning."

And Aethyr knew it was true. He had only scratched the surface of what he could become.