Erik sat on the edge of his dorm bed, staring out the window, his mind racing. The memory of Cedric’s taunts and the fight replayed in his head, but it wasn’t the insults that occupied him. No, it was the strange, fleeting moment when he had felt... something.

When Cedric’s strikes rained down on him, the humiliation should have been unbearable. Yet, there had been a point during the spar where his perception had shifted. Time had slowed, just for an instant, and he had felt a faint echo of the same power he’d witnessed in his vision the night before—the devastating force of the warrior with the glowing staff.

What was that? Erik clenched his fists, trying to recapture the sensation. He couldn’t. It had been like trying to hold onto water, slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried. But he wasn’t going to let it go. He needed to understand it.

Determined, Erik decided he couldn’t just sit around thinking. If he couldn’t unlock the power in himself yet, maybe he could learn something by watching others. He remembered that Class B had combat training scheduled that day. It wasn’t his place to attend, but no one could stop him from observing.

The training grounds were bustling with energy when Erik arrived. Class B students were already paired off, wooden swords, spears, and staves clashing in fierce sparring matches. Standing at the front was Claire, his sister, her commanding presence evident as she barked orders and critiques to her students, her sharp gaze missing nothing.

Erik hung back, settling into a shadowed corner where he could watch without drawing attention. His gray eyes scanned the field, taking in the different pairs sparring against one another. At first, he focused on one match: a tall boy—a brutish ogre—wielding a heavy staff against a lithe elven girl with dual daggers.

The strikes came fast and relentless, but Erik found himself noticing something unusual. Every movement—every step, slash, block, and dodge—seemed to etch itself into his mind. He didn’t just see the way the ogre swung his staff; he understood it. He could tell, instinctively, how much force was behind each swing, the balance of his stance, and where the openings in his defense lay.

The elven girl darted in with her daggers, aiming for the ogre’s midsection, but Erik already knew she would miss. Her stance was too wide, leaving her vulnerable to a counterstrike. Sure enough, the ogre stepped back and swept his staff low, knocking her off her feet.

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Erik’s breath caught. He wasn’t just watching the fight. He was learning it.

He turned his attention to another pair, a heavyset orc and a nimble human exchanging blows with wooden swords. The orc’s strikes were powerful but slow, while the human relied on speed to dodge and counter. As Erik watched, he could almost feel their movements in his own body—the way the orc’s weight shifted with each swing, the timing of the human’s sidesteps. It was as if their techniques were becoming his own.

How is this happening? Erik thought, his heart pounding.

He shifted his gaze to yet another match, this time between two elves grappling hand-to-hand. One tried to sweep the other’s legs, but Erik immediately recognized the flaw in his attempt. His balance was off, leaving him open to a counter-grapple. Sure enough, the other elf capitalized on the mistake, twisting free and pinning him to the ground.

Erik’s eyes widened. He hadn’t just seen the mistake—he had felt it, almost as if he were the one fighting.

As the sparring continued, Erik grew more and more astonished. The students’ movements weren’t just actions to him anymore; they were a language. Every strike, block, and dodge spoke to him, revealing their intent and weakness. He could predict what each fighter would do before they did it.

At one point, an elven girl swung her sword in a high arc, aiming for her opponent’s shoulder. Erik’s body tensed, and he reflexively tilted his head as if to dodge the blow himself.

I could have avoided that.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to make sense of it all. It was as if his mind had been sharpened overnight, honed into a tool that could dissect every movement he saw.

From her position, Claire watched Erik closely, her expression complicated. She had seen him arrive, and her gaze lingered on him as he observed the class. There was a flicker of concern mixed with something else—curiosity? Pride?

“Focus, everyone!” she called out, turning her attention back to her students, but her eyes would occasionally dart back to Erik, her brother, standing in the shadows, a mixture of determination and uncertainty etched on his face.

By the time the training session ended and the students began to disperse, Erik felt invigorated. He stood, his heart racing with excitement.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, he thought, but I’m not going to waste it.

For the first time, Erik didn’t feel like he was chasing the expectations of others. He had his own path now, and he was determined to follow it, wherever it might lead.

As he turned to leave, he caught Claire’s eye one last time. She smiled at him, but it was tinged with an intensity that made him hesitate. He nodded in acknowledgment but quickly turned away, unwilling to let her see how much her approval meant to him.