Around them, the whispers of other students grew louder, despite Rheon’s earlier command for silence.
“I thought he was dead!” one student hissed.
“Why would someone like him be teaching us?” another murmured, disbelief and awe mingling in their tone.
Alira, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke, her voice tinged with excitement. “This is insane. Do you realize how lucky we are? To be taught by Rheon?!”
“Lucky,” Towan muttered, still unable to tear his eyes away from the man. “Or unlucky. Depends on how this plays out.”
Rheon’s golden eyes swept the room again, silencing the murmurs as if he had spoken. His presence alone demanded respect, his very existence a reminder of what true power and discipline looked like.
“You’ve all heard the stories,” Rheon said, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of authority. “But stories are just that—stories. They cannot capture the blood, the loss, the sacrifices made on the frontlines.”
He stepped forward, the silver flames around him flickering faintly but never dimming. “You are here because you wish to grow stronger. To wield your Essentia with precision, wisdom, and purpose. I am here to see if you have what it takes. If you can walk the path of warriors who came before you.”
The hall was silent, save for the faint crackling of the silver flames. Rheon let the silence stretch, his piercing gaze daring anyone to challenge him.
“This class is not about comfort,” he continued. “It is not about safe techniques or half-hearted sparring matches. If you cannot give me everything you have, you will fail. If you are afraid to fall, to bleed, to lose—then you have already lost.”
Towan clenched his fists. The weight of Rheon’s words wasn’t just for the class—it felt personal, as though the legendary fighter’s gaze had lingered on him just a little too long.
“Now,” Rheon said, the flames around him flaring briefly, “let us see if any of you have the spirit of a true warrior.”
Towan couldn’t shake the intensity of Rheon’s presence. The Silver Sentinel wasn’t just a story from old tomes or a name etched into history—he was real, standing there in full, unrelenting authority.
“Rheon,” Towan whispered, almost to himself. “I can’t believe it’s him.”
Elliot leaned closer, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. “You think he’s as strong as the stories say?”
Towan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He could still feel the weight of Rheon’s gaze earlier, the unspoken challenge in those golden eyes. “I think he might be stronger.”
Elliot nodded slowly, his usual confidence tempered by awe. “It’s insane. This guy fought alongside Eryndar. Our master must’ve known him.”
Towan glanced at his brother, then back at Rheon, who was now pacing in front of the students like a predator sizing up its prey. “If Master knows he’s here,” Towan muttered, “then he probably sent us to this academy for a reason.”
Alira, sitting to Towan’s left, was unusually quiet. She seemed to be processing the weight of the moment just as much as they were. Finally, she broke the silence with a hushed, excited tone. “Do you even understand how big this is? This guy could wipe the floor with half the instructors here.” She turned to Towan and Elliot. “No offense, but if you two manage to keep up, I’ll be impressed.”
Elliot smirked, his competitive edge flaring. “Guess we’ll have to prove you wrong, then.”
Before anyone could respond, Rheon’s voice cut through the air. “Enough whispers. Stand up.”
The students scrambled to obey, chairs scraping against the floor as the entire hall rose to attention. Rheon stepped into the center of the room, his silver flames extinguishing as he folded his arms behind his back.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“This will not be a lecture,” he declared. “This will be a trial. A test of your instincts, your discipline, and your willingness to adapt. There will be no written instructions, no explanations spoon-fed to you. If you wish to learn, you must earn it.”
He scanned the room, his piercing eyes lingering on Towan and Elliot for a fraction of a second before moving on.
“For today,” Rheon continued, “we begin with essence synchronization. Most of you are wasting energy every time you use your Essentia. Sloppy control, inefficient flow—it’s no wonder so many of you burn out after a single fight.”
Rheon extended his hand, palm upward. A small orb of silver Essentia appeared, spinning slowly. “Essence synchronization is the foundation of mastery. It is the bridge between your body and your Essentia. Without it, you are little more than a child swinging a wooden sword.”
The orb floated higher, splitting into smaller spheres, each one spinning in perfect harmony. “This is what mastery looks like. Controlled. Purposeful. Efficient. Let me see how far you are from this ideal.”
He clapped his hands sharply, and the sound reverberated through the hall like a thunderclap. “Pair up. Show me how you channel your Essentia. I will be observing, and if I find your efforts lacking, you will know it.”
Towan and Elliot exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of determination and nerves.
“We’ve trained for this,” Elliot said, his voice firm but low.
“Not with someone like him watching,” Towan replied, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. “But we’ll manage.”
The room buzzed with movement as students paired off, energy already crackling in the air. Rheon moved through the crowd like a storm, his presence commanding attention without a word.
“Let’s go,” Towan said, stepping forward with Elliot. They found a clear space, ready to show what they were capable of—but also knowing that under Rheon’s watchful eye, they would be pushed to their limits.
Towan and Elliot stood opposite each other, their Essentia slowly starting to manifest. Towan’s energy glowed faintly with a muted silver hue, while Elliot’s crackled with erratic sparks of green. They began channeling, their movements precise but restrained, honed by years of training at the dojo.
Rheon’s presence loomed closer. His steps were measured, deliberate, the weight of his scrutiny palpable. He stopped a few feet away, his golden eyes fixed on their forms.
“Stop,” Rheon commanded, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of Essentia in the room. Towan and Elliot froze mid-movement, their energies dissipating. Rheon stepped closer, his gaze narrowing.
“You.” He pointed at Elliot. “Your flow is inconsistent. There’s hesitation in your movements, a lack of conviction. Are you afraid of your own power?”
Elliot blinked, caught off guard. “No, sir. I—”
“Then why do you hold back?” Rheon interrupted, his tone sharp. “Essentia responds to intent. If your will falters, so does your energy. Confidence isn’t enough—you need clarity. Without it, you’re wasting potential.”
Towan swallowed hard but nodded, his jaw tightening in determination.
Rheon turned to Towan next, his gaze even harsher. “And you,” he said, “you’re reckless. Your Essentia surges unpredictably, like a wild animal. There’s strength, yes, but no discipline. Do you think brute force will carry you through every fight?”
Elliot frowned, clearly wanting to retort but thinking better of it. “No, sir,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Good,” Rheon said, his tone softening slightly, though his expression remained stern. “Then prove it. Both of you—reset and channel again. This time, align your breath with your movements. Feel the rhythm of your Essentia. I don’t want to see raw power. I want precision.”
The brothers exchanged a quick glance, then resumed their stances, their focus sharper this time. Rheon remained nearby, arms folded, observing every nuance of their performance.
Around the hall, other students had started to take notice. Whispers rippled through the crowd as Rheon’s sharp critiques echoed across the room.
“Did he just call them out?” a student murmured.
“That’s brutal,” another whispered, wincing as they watched Rheon dissect someone else’s form.
Alira, standing nearby with her own partner, leaned toward a friend. “Those two are handling it pretty well, considering it’s Rheon. I’d be a wreck.”
Jyn, still sulking from his earlier loss to Sylra, crossed his arms and smirked. “They’ll crack. He’s tearing them apart.”
Sylra, standing further away, watched the brothers closely. Her sharp eyes caught the subtle adjustments in their technique as they followed Rheon’s instructions. “They’re adapting,” she said softly, almost to herself.
Meanwhile, Rheon’s critique didn’t end with Towan and Elliot. He moved through the hall like a storm, pinpointing flaws and inefficiencies with unrelenting precision. A student near the back tried to impress him with an elaborate display of flames, only for Rheon to snuff it out with a single wave of his hand.
“Flashiness will not save you in a fight,” he said coldly. “Control your energy, or it will control you.”
Despite the harshness of his words, some students began to understand the wisdom in them. Others, however, felt the weight of his criticism pressing down like a mountain.
“This is insane,” one student muttered, his hands trembling as he tried to channel his Essentia again.