The bell rang after lunch, sending students scattering across the courtyard—toward clubs and training yards.

  Luna adjusted the strap of her spear, heading toward the Spear Club field—

  —and Trey simply plucked the spear straight out of her hands as he walked past.

  She blinked. "Trey."

  He swung the spear over his shoulder like it belonged to him.

  "You're training with me today. Doctor's orders."

  "You're not a doctor."

  "Close enough. I'm your personal motivation hazard."

  "No, you're my personal noise machine."

  "Accurate. Now move."

  She sighed but followed him across the courtyard to the training yard.

  Ermin stood at the front like an exasperated general surveying his troops, correcting stances with curt gestures.

  On the side of the yard, Francis sat at a small table stacked with papers—observations, safety notes, and what was probably the early draft of his own funeral. Abby sat beside him, her sprained ankle propped on a spare stool, quietly sorting the herbs Francis had given her so she could still participate.

  Students were scattered in pairs. Some sparred. Some tripped. Some performed maneuvers so incorrect it physically pained Ermin, who muttered curses under his breath as he corrected them.

  Trey dropped Luna's spear into her hands.

  "Okay. Show me what the Spear Club has taught you."

  Ermin looked over. "Lancaster, don't start."

  "Didn't say anything," Trey said cheerfully. "Yet."

  Ermin turned to Luna instead.

  "You'll work with him today. I want to see your basic forms."

  Trey beamed like a proud dog.

  Luna exhaled and stepped into starting stance.

  "Three maneuvers," Trey said. "Thrust, defend, swing. Impress me."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I'll cry," he said gravely.

  She snorted and thrust the spear forward. Clean. Controlled.

  Ermin raised a brow.

  "Defend," Trey called.

  She pivoted, sliding the shaft across her body. Her footing was steady, her angles sharp.

  "Swing!"

  She turned her hips and cut a clean arc through the air—the whoosh sharp and satisfying even from a distance.

  Trey puffed his chest. "See? Told you she's the most promising threat I've ever trained."

  Ermin didn't miss a beat.

  "You've never trained a soul in your life."

  "Exactly," Trey said proudly.

  Francis pinched the bridge of his nose. "That somehow makes sense in his mind."

  Luna shook her head, but her lips twitched.

  Ermin stepped closer, studying her stance with unexpected gentleness.

  "You're improving quickly. Maybe I should teach you how to properly project Quanta next. If you're going to stick with Lancaster, I'd rather you didn't die following his lead."

  Trey gasped. "Rude but fair."

  Luna hid a smile behind her hand.

  Ermin continued, "Your form is tightening. Your awareness is sharpening. With the right weapon projection practice, you'll be more than capable."

  Trey grinned like he had gotten the compliment.

  "I accept all praise on her behalf."

  "No one praised you," Ermin said.

  "Not yet."

  Ermin sighed, big one.

  Luna rolled her eyes, but warmth bloomed under her ribs.

  Training under Trey was chaos—but she was getting better.

  And someone was actually proud of her progress.

  Ermin clapped once. "Alright. Luna, we're moving to weapon projection now."

  Luna blinked. "But aren't we moving too fast? Master?"

  Ermin nodded. "Consider it preparation. So I don't get a heart attack every time you go on a mission with Lancaster."

  Trey placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "My influence grows daily."

  "More like my headaches," Ermin muttered.

  Luna tightened her grip on the spear.

  "Alright. I'm ready."

  Ermin exhaled through his nose.

  "I sincerely hope so. I only have one heart."

  Trey raised a hand. "Mine's available—"

  "Absolutely not."

  Ermin snapped. Then he refocused on Luna with more seriousness.

  "Listen carefully. There aren't 'types' or 'disciplines' of Quanta. No official categories. People shape their Quanta in whatever form comes naturally to them."

  She nodded, taking notes in her mind.

  Ermin continued, gesturing toward the field where students trained.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "For example—Blake enhances blunt force, helps with the impact. Very violent. Francis amplifies potency. Medicines, salves, infusions — anything he works on becomes stronger and more effective. And Gretel—girl from Oak Crest—can adjust temperature, melt or freeze objects at will."

  Ermin flicked his eyes to Reid who was furiously throwing small fireballs into the pond– Her regular training session.

  "Reid shapes fire. Projects it, sculpts it, weaponizes it. Efficient. Very dangerous."

  Then, with visible reluctance, he pointed a thumb at Trey.

  "And Lancaster here projects—"

  Trey cut in instantly. "If you say sound, I'll—"

  "—sound," Ermin finished, unbothered. "Usually loud. Always irritating."

  "I do not project sound!"

  "Then why do I hear it every time you open your mouth?"

  "That's my natural charisma!"

  "Debatable," Ermin said.

  Francis didn't look up. "Very debatable."

  Trey glared at both of them. "You people don't deserve me."

  Ermin ignored him and turned back to Luna.

  "The point is, it's personal. What your body does best. What your mind leans toward. What your instincts do under pressure."

  Luna hesitated. "What about you, Professor? What do you project?"

  "Parenting skills," Ermin replied without even blinking. "For you barnacles. Constantly."

  Trey brightened. "You mean shaping the Quanta of disappointment?"

  "Correct," Ermin said. "And you're my strongest medium."

  Trey rolled his eyes at him. "So what are you gonna make Luna project today, sir?"

  Ermin crossed his arms. "Do you have anything in mind?"

  Trey's eyes lit up like a child handed fireworks. "Oh! Oh! What about explosions? The one she did before!"

  Luna groaned. "That was an accident."

  "Beautiful accidents count," Trey said proudly.

  Ermin covered his face with both hands. "If she does that again, you're paying for the repairs."

  "So no explosions today, Luna. I'm a bit broke lately." Trey's face flipped into a stern look as if he wasn't so excited two seconds ago.

  "You said you were so rich the other day." Luna barked.

  "I said a lot of things." Trey replied, waved it off.

  "He does." Ermin paused for a heartbeat. "I think you should try projecting blunt force first. It's the simplest and doesn't need so much shaping."

  Then he called for Blake who was walking toward Francis' table, but his eyes fell on somebody else completely.

  "Come show her how to project blunt force."

  Blake hesitated then stepped forward with his sword, posture calm and confident. He nodded to Luna once. Friendly. Assuring.

  Luna glanced at him. "I thought you were excellent at fighting. Why are you using the easiest form?"

  Blake shrugged. "Easy doesn't matter. What matters is the user."

  Luna squinted. "I can't tell if you're bragging or not."

  He snorted. "It did sound like that. Here. Watch."

  He lifted his sword. Luna felt the faintest shift in the air, as if something moved even though nothing did.

  Then he swung.

  CRACK—

  A thick slash tore across the dummy's chest, wood splintering like it had been cut by a saw.

  Luna's eyes widened. "That's blunt force?"

  "No," Blake said calmly. "That was my blade projection– not my cup of tea though."

  He raised his sword again. "Blade projection requires more shaping—you have to make it fine, narrow, focused."

  He exhaled.

  "And blunt force—"

  Then flicked his wrist.

  BOOM.

  The dummy's head launched into the sky like a cannonball, spinning end over end before disappearing into the treeline.

  "—is a lot easier," Blake finished, dusting off his hands. "But in my hands... also a lot deadlier."

  Luna stared at the now headless dummy.

  "I see your point." she whispered, hands clapping unconsciously. "The simplest form can still be the most dangerous... if the user is good enough."

  Blake gave her a small approving smile.

  "Exactly."

  Luna squinted at him. "So you were actually bragging?"

  "I sure was," Blake said without shame.

  Trey pointed at her triumphantly. "See? That's what I meant. Promising threat. She learns fast."

  Ermin stepped back, giving Luna room.

  "Alright, Luna. Time to try it for real. Just a blunt pulse. Nothing sharp."

  Luna inhaled, grounding her stance.

  She thrust the spear forward.

  THUD.

  The dummy rocked back a little.

  Trey blinked. "Was that...?"

  Francis squinted. "Hard to tell. Could be pure physical force."

  Ermin crossed his arms. "Again."

  She swung—clean, solid, controlled.

  THUMP.

  The dummy wobbled. But nothing obvious happened. No dent, no splintering—nothing that indicated Quanta.

  Ermin exhaled softly. "Blunt force projection is subtle. On a dummy, it can look identical to a strong strike."

  Blake—still brushing bits of splinters off his shirt from his earlier demonstration—stepped forward, sword sheathed.

  "I'll take the hit," he said simply.

  Luna's eyes widened. "What? No. I—I might hurt you."

  "You won't. Your spear isn't sharpened," Blake replied. "And if you do, Francis is sitting right there."

  Francis, who absolutely did not approve of this, muttered something about idiocy under his breath.

  Blake moved into position, planting his feet firmly. "Aim for my arm. Don't think—just push your Quanta outward. I'll know if it's there."

  Luna still hesitated.

  "I'll be fine. It's just blunt force." Blake assured, tapping his chest. "And I'm tougher than I look."

  Trey muttered, "You look plenty tough. Annoyingly so."

  Luna swallowed hard. Her palms grew damp. She lifted her spear.

  Okay. Just a push. A pulse. Nothing dangerous.

  She thrust forward—

  —not hitting Blake, just stopping short.

  A faint thump hit Blake's side.

  He blinked.

  "...That's all?" he asked.

  Trey threw his hands up. "She held back! Obviously! Hit him like you mean it!"

  Luna glared at him but tried again—harder this time.

  THUD.

  Blake's heel slid half an inch in the dirt.

  His eyebrows rose. "Better. Again."

  Luna nodding, breathed, and struck the air a third time—

  WHUMP.

  Blake grunted, but steadied himself.

  Then the fourth strike—

  —that's when everything changed.

  Luna stepped, spear slicing the air—

  But this time the air sliced back.

  A sharp whisper cut across the space between them—like a knife dragged through wind.

  Blake hissed and jerked back, hand flying to his arm.

  A thin red line appeared—

  a cut

  even though the spear hadn't touched him.

  Everyone froze.

  Francis shot to his feet. "Shit! Blake—"

  "I'm fine," Blake said quickly, shock flickering across his features. He stared at Luna. "Do it again."

  Luna flinched. "No! I—I cut you—"

  "Exactly," Blake interrupted, eyes bright. "That wasn't blunt force. That was something sharper."

  He rolled up his sleeve, revealing three more small, shallow cuts. "You're shaping it without trying."

  Ermin stepped closer, expression sharp. "Again. Controlled."

  Luna hesitated—but Blake nodded, steady and calm.

  She thrust.

  The spearhead stopped a full arm's length before Blake.

  For one heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then—

  shhhk—

  A thin, clean slice opened across the front of Blake's shirt, fabric parting like someone had drawn a razor through it.

  Not deep. Not dangerous. But very, very deliberate.

  Blake looked down slowly.

  "...Did you just cut my shirt without touching me?"

  Luna blinked, horrified. "I—I didn't!"

  Trey pointed, delighted. "SHE HAS RANGE. SHE'S DEADLY. I TRAINED AN ASSASSIN."

  "You didn't train anything," Francis hissed.

  Blake exhaled, a slow grin spreading across his face.

  "You just found your projection, Luna."

  "I... I wasn't trying to do that."

  "Exactly," Blake said warmly. "Instinct. That's your real form trying to surface."

  Ermin folded his arms, studying her intensely.

  "Your projection is... blade-like. Precise. Fast."

  He tapped his chin. "Stick with blade projection for now. It suits you."

  Luna lowered her spear slowly, heart thudding with a mix of fear and awe.

  She hadn't meant to cut anything.

  But she did.

  And it felt... natural.

  For the first time since she entered Elkington—

  she felt capable.

  She felt powerful.

  Ermin clapped his hands once. "That's enough for today. Good work, Luna."

  Blake squeezed her shoulder. "Good job, rookie."

  Francis stepped forward, medical kit already open.

  Then he stopped. Closed it. Took a deep breath through his nose like a man gathering his patience.

  "Abby," he said, voice tight, "please tend to him."

  Abby blinked. "Me?"

  Francis pointed at Blake without looking at him.

  "If I do it, I will say things I'll regret."

  Trey snorted. "Regret? You?"

  Francis didn't look away from Abby. "I am dangerously close."

  Blake, unbothered, grinned. "Come on, Creek, I'm fine—"

  "Please stop talking," Francis snapped. "Every word makes my blood pressure rise."

  Abby hurried over— as fast as her ankle allowed— hands gentle as she inspected Blake's cuts.

  Trey whispered to Luna, "He's not mad Blake got hurt. He's mad Blake volunteered to get hurt."

  Francis muttered loud enough for everyone to hear,

  "He always volunteers to get hurt." He handed Abby a small tin. "And keep an eye on him for the rest of the afternoon."

  Blake blinked. "Wait—what? Why her?"

  Francis looked at him, deadly.

  "You insist you're fine, and you won't listen to me. She, however"—he shot Abby a knowing look—"is responsible enough to make sure you don't overuse that arm before I check it again."

  Abby went pink to the ears. "I—I can do that."

  Blake stared at her, startled. "You don't have to—"

  Francis cut him off. "No arguing. Abby's in charge."

  Blake's mouth opened, then closed again as Abby gave him a very tiny, very shy nod.

  "...Okay," he muttered.

  Francis stepped back toward the table, muttering under his breath, "Finally, someone he'll listen to."

  Abby gathered her courage as she put the salve on him, voice barely audible.

  "I... um... just tell me if it hurts."

  Blake glanced at her, then away, his ears turning pink.

  "It won't," he said—soft for once.

  But it did.

  And he still didn't complain.