The academy's public training field was still waking up.
Mana lanterns flickered softly under the early sky, and the ground was slick with morning frost—some natural, most not. A few first-years were running drills at the far end, but the main platform remained quiet.
Two figures moved across it with deliberate rhythm.
Noel, hair damp with sweat, exhaled sharply as another spike of ice burst from his palm—thin, controlled, and embedded itself into a wooden dummy twenty feet away. His left arm ached faintly from repetition, but he liked the burn. It meant he was improving.
"Glacialis."
Another shard. More sharper and straighter.
Still… not quite right.
'The timing's still not right. Good focus, but it's not translating into real efficiency yet.'
He took a step back and rotated his shoulder, rolling out the tension.
