"Instructor Geroth sure is nimble for his size," Tyrus said, wrestling his gaze away.

Aeithen did not answer. Instead, he merely stared at Tyrus, roving his eyes around his body as though inspecting him for something.

"You are smaller than the stories suggest," Aeithan said finally. "But I suppose that is to be expected. My people have been known to exaggerate when it comes to the black tigers. Still, you are rather short and skinny for one."

At Tyrus's frowning face, Aeithan quickly cleared his throat. "I did not mean to offend you. It is simply that stories spoke of the black tigers as fierce warriors, their presence alone enough to command respect. Seeing you now, I realize how stories can twist the truth."

"I'm a Demi-human, so I'm only half black tiger," Tyrus corrected. "Also, I'm only eleven years old. I have a lot more growing up to do."

It was now Aeithan's turn to frown. "Demi...human? What does that mean?"

"It means one of my parents was human, and the other was a black tiger. You know, like a mix."

Aeithen's frown deepened, his brows knitting together in confusion. "I see. But where I come from, we do not use such terms. One is either of their blood or not. To say 'half' or 'mix' seems... strange. How can you only be part of your own self?"

"That's just how it is around here. People like me don’t fit neatly into one group or the other, so they made up a word for it. Actually, now that I think about it, I haven't seen another Demi-human yet..."

In all of his years of living, not once had he seen, let alone heard, of another Demi-human. He paused, his expression shifting to something more introspective. "On second thought, I might be the only one. I mean, there is a kingdom of Beastfolk and obviously humans, but someone like me? A mix of both? It’s rare—if it even exists beyond me."

"You mean to say you have never met another like yourself? No others who share your unique ancestry?"

Tyrus shrugged, trying to play it off, but there was a subtle edge to his voice. "Guess not. Maybe I’m just an oddball. Or maybe the Beastfolk didn’t get out much. Who knows?"

Aeithen studied him closely, his copper skin catching the light as he shifted. "It is strange. In my homeland, those with extensive bloodlines are celebrated. Their rarity makes them treasures, not outcasts. You say people like you don’t fit neatly into groups, but perhaps you were not meant to fit at all."

"Not meant to fit? What’s that supposed to mean?"

The Askelian gave a slight, almost solemn smile. "It means you are like a blade forged with a new alloy. It may not match the weapons in the armory, but that does not make it any less sharp—or any less dangerous. In time, you may find that your place is not among groups, but beyond them."

Tyrus didn’t know how to respond. The words hung in the air, heavy yet oddly comforting. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, glancing away. "For someone my age, you speak like an adult. Are you sure you're supposed to be a first-year? You're way taller than I am, and your voice doesn't sound like a kid."

"We Askelians age faster than what is common because of the Scarlet Sands' harsh environment. By the time we are eleven, we are considered young adults in many respects. Our training, our responsibilities—it all begins early. It is our way of ensuring strength and discipline."

Tyrus raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying you're a kid and an adult at the same time? That sounds... confusing."

Aeithen’s solemn demeanor cracked into a faint grin. "Perhaps to you. To me, it is simply life. But I suppose that is why I find this place so peculiar. Your people separate children and adults with clear boundaries. For us, there is no such line. One is expected to rise to the occasion, no matter their age."

"That sounds... exhausting. I mean, I like to train and all, but being treated like an adult all the time? That’s rough."

"It has its merits. Discipline builds character, and hardship forges strength. Though," he added, glancing down at Tyrus, "I imagine it is also why I seem so strange to you."

"Strange isn’t the word I’d use," Tyrus replied, leaning casually against the nearby weapon rack. "More like... intense. But I guess I can’t blame you for that. Sounds like that’s just how things are for you."

Aeithen nodded, but his eyes held a glimmer of curiosity. "And for you? You speak as though your life has been unconventional. If I may ask, what has shaped the blade that stands before me?"

Tyrus hesitated, the question catching him off guard. For a moment, memories of the wilderness, solitude, and survival flickered in his mind. He glanced at Aeithen, whose gaze was steady but not prying.

"Let’s just say I’ve had to figure things out on my own for a while now," Tyrus said finally, keeping his tone light. "No grand traditions or early adulthood for me—just a lot of trial and error."

Aeithen inclined his head, as though acknowledging a kindred struggle. "Perhaps that is why your presence feels distinct. You carry yourself differently. Not like the others here."

"Is that your way of saying I don’t fit in?"

"Not at all. It is my way of saying that you, like the alloyed blade, may be something far greater than what others expect."

Tyrus remained silent, allowing the weight of Aeithen's words to linger in the air. Their meaning was both disturbing and strangely motivating. He reached down and grabbed a training weapon, briefly glancing at the polished floor of the training grounds.

"Greater than what others expect, huh?" he finally muttered, more to himself than to Aeithen. His tone was neutral, but a flicker of something—determination or doubt—crossed his features.

Guess I'll just have to see about that.

Tyrus felt around the smooth wood, testing its balance and giving it a couple of swings before his eyes widened slightly. He adjusted his grip, rolling his shoulders as he got used to the weight. It was definitely much heavier than the ones back in Sorcerer Combat and Selena's manor. Besides being made of wood, it was like double, if not triple, the weight of a regular sword.

"This is no ordinary practice weapon," Tyrus said, glancing at Aeithen, who had also picked up a weapon. The Askelian held his with practiced ease, inspecting the weapon with a calm, analytical gaze.

Tyrus returned the sword back to its position and grabbed another, this time a slightly shorter blade. It felt marginally lighter, though still significantly heavier than anything he’d used before. He swung it experimentally, testing its balance, then returned it as he grabbed a practice spear. He let out a small grunt as he lifted it, his cheeks turning pink as the weapon's weight caused him to overcompensate. After adjusting his stance, he tried again, this time holding the weapon with a firmer grip.

Swinging the spear was like trying to move a tree branch soaked in water—awkward and sluggish. The weight forced him to slow his movements, and each swing felt like a test of endurance rather than skill. Tyrus adjusted his hands along the shaft, trying to find a balance point that made the weapon more manageable. His bones popped and his muscles ached from the exertion, but he pushed on, his face hardening into a determined frown.

"This... isn't what I expected," Tyrus grunted as he set down the spear and wiped his brow. "Instructor Geroth definitely did something to these weapons. There's no way he expects the others to use these without augmentation."

"I believe that is precisely why these weapons are here."

Tyrus blinked as Aeithen hefted the practice spear, his movements swift and light, as though the spear were made of feathers rather than whatever wood the instructor used. He watched the Askelian spin the spear in his hand, the tip flashing as it circled around his body. His movements were so fluid that it almost looked like he was dancing.

In awe, Tyrus watched the practice spear cut through the air, its movement like a blur as it danced through Aeithen's fingers. The blade was suddenly thrust forward, aimed directly at a regular dummy's head. He stopped just a hair's breadth from the dummy, his expression calm as a breeze. Aeithen retracted the spear and got into another position, the tip pointing down at the ground. After about a few seconds of holding the position, he returned the weapon to its original position, resting on his shoulder as he looked toward Tyrus.

"That was amazing! Where'd you learn to move like that?"

"That was the kaurat—a sort of dance employed by spearmen to stretch their bodies before a fight," Aeithen responded, returning the spear to its proper place. "Askelians have long practiced the kaurat in the heat of the Scarlet Sands. It is an introduction to learning many stances, a required foundation for Askelian warriors."

"Could you show me how it's done? It looks fun."

"I cannot. The kaurat is reserved for Askelian warriors. To practice it, you must seek permission from a—how do I say this—an elder from Askalid to be allowed to learn."

Tyrus nodded. He supposed it was a bit early for him to ask such a question. Still, it was too bad. Not only did the kaurat seem like a cool dance to do, but it was also a good way to keep his body warm and limber for the lessons. While there were other ways of achieving the same result, none of them looked quite as impressive as the kaurat. Stretching or running laps didn’t carry the same sense of purpose or artistry.

Too bad. Guess I’ll have to stick with boring stretches for now. Still, it’s cool to see how other people prepare for combat. At least I have river stance and some new forms to look forward to learning.

During their long conversation and Aeithen’s performance, other students trickled into the tower. One by one, they arrived, their expressions shifting from curiosity to wariness as they caught sight of the training equipment and the bizarre obstacles above them. A few whispered among themselves, while others simply stared, hesitant to even approach.

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Every time a new student walked in, Instructor Geroth—still at the top platform—would greet them with the same booming enthusiasm that seemed to shake the very walls of the tower. "Welcome! Don’t just stand there gawking—step in, search around! The tools of greatness won’t inspect themselves!"

His voice carried easily through the training grounds, turning every hesitant shuffle into a reluctant step forward. The students, though clearly intimidated, couldn’t help but obey. Some timidly approached the weighted weapons racks, while others stared up at the complex arrangement of ropes, platforms, and poles.

"Gah! What's wrong with these things? I can't lift them!"

The newcomers watched in disbelief as a boy fought to raise a practice sword above their shoulders, his arms trembling with effort. Suddenly, a surge of mana surged within them as he strained to steady his muscles, his face contorted with strain, until finally, he aligned it with their necks. However, after only a minute of slow swings, the mana dissipated like a flickering candle, and their strength failed them. With an audible thud, they crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.

"Even with augmentation, he struggled," Tyrus murmured, watching the boy climb to his feet, cheeks red with embarrassment.

Besides the boy's struggle, he could only maintain augmentation for about a minute before completely burning out. Tyrus’s sharp eyes noted how unsteady the boy’s movements had been. And alongside mana sense, there was nothing to write home about.

Looking around the room, Tyrus started observing the others. A tall girl in the corner fumbled with a spear, her footing too rigid as she tried to mimic movements she had likely only seen in books. Another boy swung a sword recklessly, relying on bursts of augmentation that made the weapon's movements powerful but unpredictable, leaving him off balance after every swing.

Then there were those who avoided the weighted weapons entirely, instead opting to inspect the obstacle courses with apprehensive glances. They didn’t even attempt to engage the equipment, as if they hoped the challenge would pass them by.

Watching them struggle made Tyrus reminiscence about how he had felt during his own first days as a sorcerer, when his skill with a sword was woefully lacking—and still is. He remembered how awkward and unbalanced he had felt in his fight against Igneal. Then there was a time when he couldn't cast a single spell with his lightning. Only through the help of others did he figure out how to properly swing a sword or expel his magic outward.

After some time, a bell resounded. Knowing what that meant, everyone proceeded to put away the equipment in their hands and scattered themselves around the tower. Everyone looked up to Instructor Geroth, who finally finished his inspections. Without a moment to lose, he hopped off the platform and approached the middle. His grin was wide, and his energy seemed to radiate off him like heat from a forge.

"Alright, gather 'round! Now that you’ve had a taste of the tools we’ll be working with, it’s time to get down to business."

The students shuffled closer, forming a loose semicircle around him. Tyrus stood near the front, arms crossed, his eyes keenly observing the instructor. Aeithen took a spot slightly behind him, his posture calm but attentive.

“Augmentation Mastery I… Who can tell me what that actually means?” Geroth’s eyes scanned the group, his grin widening as the students exchanged uncertain glances.

One brave student hesitantly raised their hand—a girl with short, black hair near the center of the semicircle. “It means… um, learning how to use mana to enhance our physical abilities?”

“Not bad,” he said, though his tone suggested there was more to it. “But not complete, either. Anyone else?”

No one answered.

“Alright, since none of you seem eager to speak further,” Geroth said, chuckling, “let me break it down for you.”

He started pacing back and forth, his hands moving with lively gestures. "Augmentation isn't solely about raw power. It involves understanding your body so deeply that you can push it past its boundaries without causing harm. It's not just about becoming stronger or faster, but finding harmony and effectiveness, similar to the other mastery disciplines."

He stopped suddenly, picking up one of the weighted practice swords with ease. “Take this beauty here. Anyone can channel mana into their muscles to swing it. But if you don’t fortify your wrists, elbows, or even your grip properly, you’re going to injure yourself. And don’t even get me started on footwork and core stability.”

Geroth spun the sword once before planting it in the ground with a sharp thud. “Augmentation Mastery I is about learning the fundamentals. It’s about understanding where to direct your mana, how much to use, and when to pull back. Because trust me, too much mana can be just as dangerous as too little. Overload your body, and you'll pop like a bubble."

“Think of the body as a vessel. Pour too little mana into it, and you’ll barely make a dent in your limitations. Pour too much, and you risk cracking the vessel entirely—injuring yourself or worse. Every one of you has a different vessel. Some of you are like sturdy barrels—capable of holding a lot of mana but slower to fill. Others are more like delicate paper cups—quick to overflow but fragile under too much strain."

The students murmured amongst themselves, some nodding in understanding, others looking puzzled. Tyrus’s gaze sharpened, the analogy resonating with him. He knew his own 'vessel' was somewhere in the middle—not too large but sturdy enough to handle bursts of intense mana when needed.

“Now,” Geroth said, clapping his hands to draw attention back to him, “here’s the fun part. We’re not just talking about muscles here. Augmentation applies to everything—your reflexes, your senses, even your internal organs. You’ll learn how to sharpen your vision to see in the dark, steady your heart under pressure, and even withstand extreme temperatures. But none of that happens overnight. First thing first—come forward one by one and show me how long you can hold augmentation for."

The students exchanged nervous glances, some shifting uncomfortably where they stood. A few looked eager, stepping forward almost immediately, while others hesitated, clearly unsure of their abilities.

A girl with a thin frame was the first to step up, her expression confident. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, closing her eyes to focus. A faint glow surrounded her body as she activated her augmentation, the air around her shimmering slightly with the flow of mana. She maintained her hold for a minute before the glow began to flicker and extinguished. She exhaled sharply, beads of sweat forming on her brow.

"Not bad," Geroth said with an approving nod. "Decent control for a beginner. Next!"

One by one, students stepped forward, each displaying their abilities—or lack thereof. Some struggled to even ignite their mana, while others held augmentation for fifty seconds before faltering. A stocky boy with a determined look gritted his teeth as he managed a solid minute and thirty seconds, earning a wide grin from Geroth.

"You all are doing a splendid job so far. Aeithan, why don't you come up?"

Aeithen did a curt bow, stepping forward as the students exchanged glances. He didn't say a word, merely standing with the confidence of a veteran warrior, his copper skin catching the light as the room fell silent. The usual white glow enveloped him, shielding his body. Yet as quick as it appeared, it disappeared, and Aeithen straightened.

"Why'd you stop?" Geroth asked, stroking his beard. "Four seconds had yet to pass."

The Askelian turned his gaze to Geroth. “I did not stop. This is the extent of my augmentation endurance. My body excels in short bursts, but prolonged mana flow strains it."

"Three seconds is your limit, I suppose. No matter! This class is meant to push you beyond your limits. After all, what good is augmentation if you can't use it for long periods of time? I and your peers will get you right, young man. You can head back to your spot. Last but not least, Tyrus."

Tyrus stepped forward, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. He caught Aeithen’s glance as he passed, the Askelian giving him a subtle nod—whether in encouragement or acknowledgment, Tyrus couldn’t tell. Stopping in front of Geroth, Tyrus squared his shoulders and took a steadying breath.

"Alright, Tyrus," Geroth said, his grin widening. "Show us what you've got. Don’t hold back."

Tyrus closed his eyes, centering himself. He could feel the pull of his mana reservoir, vast and unyielding like a surging tide. Slowly, he let it rise, channeling it into his muscles, his bones, his skin. A soft white glow enveloped him, brighter and steadier than most of the others before him.

Instructor Geroth’s brow lifted slightly. “Good control. Let’s see how long you can keep that up.”

The room was silent as seconds turned into a minute. Tyrus’s glow remained unwavering, his breathing calm and measured. Two minutes passed, and still, Tyrus stood strong. Instructor Geroth crossed his arms, his grin shifting into a more thoughtful expression. By the three-minute mark, Tyrus could feel the strain creeping in. His muscles burned, and a faint sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in.

Push past it, he thought. You’ve been through worse.

The glow around him flickered slightly at the four-minute mark, his mana heart beginning to protest against the continuous flow of mana. The instructor tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look that Tyrus understood immediately. He exhaled sharply; the light dissipating as he released the augmentation. His legs felt heavy, and his arms ached, but he stood tall as he looked up.

“Well done,” Instructor Geroth praised. “Four minutes is no small feat for your age. You’ve got the stamina, but we’ll need to work on that strain. It’s not just about holding it—it's about making it feel like second nature. Nonetheless, you went over and beyond with the effort, and I appreciate that."

Tyrus thanked the man and shuffled back to his spot, ignoring the sharp stares from his peers. He could've reached the five-minute mark if he pushed it a little longer, but he knew the instructor would've stopped him. Besides, four minutes was plenty of time, and he didn't want to overdo it and hurt himself.

Between elemental and augmentation, the latter didn't require large mana hearts, so holding it for long periods of time was less about the size of one's reservoir and more about the strength of one's vessel. And since the former was all about casting all types of spells in quick bursts—whether it was a measly Lightning Bolt or a cost-heavy Lightning Spear—casting complex spells or sustaining elemental effects for a long time demanded a wellspring of energy.

Tyrus understood this difference well. As someone who specialized in both, he often found himself walking a delicate balance. Augmentation demanded endurance, while elemental sorcery tested control. It was like being pulled in two directions at once, and yet, in some ways, the disciplines complemented each other. His body’s strength from augmentation gave him the stamina to hold out during drawn-out battles, while his elemental magic provided a powerful offensive edge in multiple situations.

"That is everyone, correct?" Instructor Geroth said, swiveling around to face the group. "Good! Then, now that everyone's gotten to know their limits, we can get started. I've already planned an activity that we'll be doing for the next two weeks: The Trials of Persistence. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?”

He approached the raised platform, ascending the steps, and proceeded to delve into one of the chests. After rummaging around, he retrieved two metallic bands shaped like rings. The instructor then descended the stairs and casually tossed the objects to a mesmerized student.

The student fumbled to catch the metallic bands, the weight surprising them. They clinked loudly in their hands, their polished surface gleaming under the tower's light. “What... what are these for?” they asked hesitantly.

“Good question! Those are restriction rings. They’re enchanted to suppress your augmentation—just enough to make things a little more… interesting.”

A ripple of apprehension spread through the group as the students exchanged nervous glances.

“Don’t look so scared!" Instructor Geroth said. "These beauties will help you grow. If you can perform well with restrictions, imagine how much stronger you’ll be when they’re removed.” He gestured to the student. “Go ahead, put them on.”

The student hesitated before sliding the rings onto their wrists. A faint, shimmering glow emitted from the bands as they adjusted to the wearer. The student’s expression tightened, their muscles visibly straining as they attempted to channel mana.

“My body feels heavier!"

“Exactly,” Instructor Geroth replied, his tone almost gleeful. “The rings make it harder for your body to channel mana efficiently. It’ll take more effort to maintain augmentation, which means you’ll burn through your reserves faster. But don’t worry—they won’t drain you completely or leave you with mana deficiency. Just enough to push you past your limits.”

“Training the body in its normal state is useful, sure,” he continued, pacing before the group. “But training it under resistance? That’s where the real growth happens. You can only become strong by challenging yourself. Strength without struggle is just an illusion. You might end up hurt. You might fail. But most importantly, you will learn. The great thing about augmentation sorcerers is that their bodies are naturally more resilient than the other specializations."

For as little as Tyrus knew Grant's father, it was the first time a wolfish edge appeared in his voice, his tone rising to a dangerous pitch. It was now he was just realizing just how devoted and strict the man could be.

"Enough of the long chatter. We've blown up enough time. Everyone, grab two restriction rings. It's about time I whip you all into shape! Be prepared to use two-hundred percent effort in my course."