Forged By Falcrest

The class wrapped up as the bell rang, signaling the start of lunchtime. Students gathered their things, chattering among themselves as they filed out of the room. Atlas stayed in his seat, unsure if he should leave until Instructor Torrin's voice cut through the noise.

"Atlas, stay behind," Torrin said, his tone calm but firm.

Atlas hesitated but nodded, watching the other students file out. Once the last of them left and the heavy door clicked shut, Torrin leaned against his desk, crossing his arms as his sharp gaze locked onto Atlas.

"You've had quite the morning," Torrin began, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of warning. "First day here, and you're already causing problems."

Atlas stiffened, guilt prickling at his chest. "He started it," he muttered, though he knew it wasn't much of an excuse.

Torrin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Maybe he did. But you threw punches, too. That makes you just as responsible."

Atlas looked down at the desk, his fists clenching. He didn't have a defense for that.

Torrin sighed, his tone softening slightly. "I'm not here to punish you, Atlas. I kept you back because there are things you need to understand. Things that might help you keep out of trouble."

Atlas looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

Torrin studied him for a moment before asking bluntly, "Do you know where you're from?"

The question caught Atlas off guard. "What? I… I grew up in Midtown. At the orphanage."

"And before that?" Torrin pressed, his eyes narrowing. "Do you remember anything before the orphanage?"

Atlas shook his head slowly. "No. Not really. It's all… blank."

Torrin nodded, as though he'd expected that answer. "There are no records of you being sent to the orphanage," he said. "No papers, no family name. Nothing."

Atlas frowned, unease creeping into his chest. "What are you saying?"

Torrin straightened slightly, his gaze steady. "I'm saying that people here assume you're Ramelion."

Atlas blinked, stunned. "Ramelion? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a nation," Torrin explained. "One we were at war with until very recently. People like Aaron will see your auburn hair, golden eyes, and pale skin—traits common to Ramelions—and make assumptions. To them, you're an outsider."

Atlas's stomach churned. He'd heard of the Ramelions, but the idea that he might be one of them felt… wrong. "I've never even been to Ramelia," he said, his voice quiet.

"That doesn't matter," Torrin said bluntly. "People will judge you for what they think you are, not what you know yourself to be."

Atlas clenched his fists, frustration and confusion boiling inside him. "So what am I supposed to do? Just let them treat me like dirt because of something I can't even remember?"

"No," Torrin said sharply, his voice firm. "You grow stronger. You prove yourself. You show them that you're more than whatever assumptions they've made. Strength doesn't come from power alone, Atlas. It comes from control. That's what you need to focus on."

Atlas swallowed hard, the knot in his chest tightening. He wanted to argue, to push back against the unfairness of it all, but deep down, he knew Torrin was right.

"And there's something else you need to understand," Torrin added, his tone shifting slightly. "When a core is newly awakened, it's normal to feel heightened emotions. Your body is still adapting to the flow of mana, and that can make you more prone to anger, frustration, or even fear."

Atlas tilted his head, frowning. "You mean I'll keep losing my temper?"

"Only if you let it," Torrin replied, his gray eyes narrowing. "Your core is like a flame right now—small, flickering, and easily affected by outside forces. It's your job to steady it, to integrate it into yourself fully. Until you do, you'll be more reactive. You need to recognize that and overcome it."

Atlas let the words sink in, his frustration fading slightly as understanding began to take its place. "So… it's not just me?"

"No," Torrin said, his tone firm but not unkind. "It's all of you. Every first-year here has to deal with the same thing. The difference is in how you handle it. Let it control you, and you'll fail. Control it, and you'll grow."

Atlas nodded slowly, the weight of Torrin's words settling over him. He could feel the truth in them, the way his core had hummed with energy during the fight, feeding off his anger. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Torrin stepped away from the desk, his posture straightening. "One more thing. If there's another fight outside of sparring, there will be consequences."

Atlas frowned. "What kind of consequences? Would I get kicked out?"

Torrin chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. "No one gets kicked out of the academy, Atlas. If you have a core, you're valuable to the nation. You'll stay here, and you'll learn. But if you keep causing problems, there are… other ways to deal with it."

Atlas's stomach tightened. "Like what?"

Torrin's gaze darkened, his voice dropping slightly. "Let's just say there's only one way to get kicked out of the academy and it's not by getting expelled."

The implication was clear, and it sent a shiver down Atlas's spine. He nodded quickly, his determination solidifying. "I understand."

"Good." Torrin's tone softened slightly. "Now go. Get some lunch and clear your head."

Atlas stood, his legs feeling slightly shaky beneath him. As he made his way to the door, Torrin called after him one last time.

"Remember, Atlas. Strength isn't just about power, it's about control. Don't forget that."

Atlas nodded without turning back, the words echoing in his mind as he stepped into the hallway.

***

Atlas made his way back to the dining hall, the scent of food filling the air as soon as he stepped inside. His stomach growled in response, a sharp reminder of how little he'd eaten that morning. He grabbed a tray, filled it with whatever was left from the day's options, and scanned the room.

Most of the tables were already full, students packed together, chatting loudly over their meals. He didn't bother trying to find a spot among them. Instead, he chose a table near the far wall, away from the chaos. It was empty, quiet, exactly what he needed.

Sitting down, he began to eat, letting the warm food ease some of the tension that had built up since the morning. His thoughts wandered back to the lesson. They'd learned a lot, more than he'd expected for a first class. The stages of core development, the responsibilities of Nightblades and Lightblades, what the rest of the year would look like—it was overwhelming, but also exhilarating.

This was what he'd dreamed of, wasn't it? A chance to prove himself, to be more than just another forgotten kid from Midtown. But the reality of it all was starting to sink in, and with it, a knot of nervous anticipation twisted in his stomach.

He glanced around the hall, noticing the way some of the other students were looking at him. Their stares weren't overt, but they lingered long enough to be noticeable. Atlas couldn't tell if it was because of the fight earlier or something else entirely, but he did his best to ignore it. At least Aaron and his crew were nowhere in sight. That, at least, was a small victory.

As he finished his meal, he spotted a familiar figure weaving through the tables toward him. Rea. She looked hesitant, her usual confidence tempered by something quieter. Atlas tensed, unsure if he was ready to deal with her yet.

She stopped beside his table, her hands clasped in front of her. "Hey," she said, her tone softer than usual. "I figured I'd find you here."

Atlas didn't respond right away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. "What do you want?"

Rea shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting to the side before returning to him. "We've got combat training for the rest of the day," she said. "I thought I'd take you to the yard."

Atlas leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Why?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean, why? You're new. You don't know where it is and I was told to show you around today."

"I'm sure I could find it," he replied flatly.

Rea sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Look, I get that you're mad at me. I messed up this morning, okay? But I'm trying to help you now. Can you let me do that?"

Atlas stared at her for a moment longer before finally standing up. He didn't say anything, just grabbed his tray and made his way to the return station. When he came back, Rea was still standing there, waiting.

"Fine," he said, his tone neutral. "Let's go."

She nodded, and together they left the dining hall. The walk to the training yard was quiet, the awkwardness between them lingering like a shadow. Rea glanced at him a few times, as if wanting to say something, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

When they finally stepped outside, the crisp air hit Atlas's face, and he took a deep breath. Ahead, the training yard stretched out before them, a wide space filled with students already hard at work. The clang of wooden weapons and the shouts of instructors echoed through the air, blending into a chaotic symphony of activity.

Rea stopped at the edge of the yard, turning to face him. "This is it," she said simply. "Your first day of combat training. Good luck."

Atlas nodded, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

The training yard was massive, far larger than Atlas had imagined. It stretched out like an open field, enclosed by tall stone walls that separated it from the rest of the academy grounds. The ground itself was a mixture of packed dirt and stone, worn smooth in some places from years of use.

Scattered throughout the yard were various sections, each clearly designated for different forms of training. To the left, a series of wooden dummies stood in neat rows, their surfaces marred with scars from countless practice strikes. Beyond that, there were sparring rings outlined with white chalk, where pairs of students were already locked in mock combat. Their wooden weapons clashed loudly, their instructors barking corrections from the sidelines.

To the right, a long obstacle course stretched the length of the yard. Ropes hung from wooden beams, walls to climb loomed ahead, and a series of hurdles and trenches promised to test endurance and agility. A few older students were running the course, their movements fluid and practiced as they navigated each challenge.

In the center of the yard stood a raised platform, a large, circular arena made of smooth stone. It was clearly the focal point of the space, with students and instructors alike occasionally gathering around it. Atlas guessed it was reserved for duels or demonstrations, a place where skill could be showcased for all to see.

Weapons racks lined the walls, filled with an array of practice tools—wooden swords, spears, axes, and even some blunted metal weapons for more advanced trainees. Beside them were barrels of padded armor for sparring. Everything was neatly organized, a stark contrast to the chaos of the students moving about.

The sounds of the yard were almost overwhelming. The clatter of wooden weapons, the grunts and shouts of effort, the occasional whistle from an instructor—it all blended into a relentless symphony of activity. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and dirt, a constant reminder of the hard work taking place.

Atlas stood at the edge of the yard, taking it all in. This wasn't just a place for training; it was a battlefield in its own right, a crucible where students were forged into Blades. For a moment, his nerves threatened to get the better of him, but he quickly pushed them aside. This was what he had come here for. This was his chance to prove himself.

Atlas walked across the training yard toward the rest of his class, who were gathered in a loose group near one of the sparring rings. Torren stood at the front, arms crossed and his sharp gaze sweeping over the students as they murmured among themselves.

When Atlas joined the group, the chatter quieted almost immediately. Torren's presence had that effect. The man radiated authority, and no one wanted to be the one to test his patience.

"Listen up," Torren barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "This is your first day of combat training, and let me make one thing clear: none of you are blades yet. Before anyone so much as picks up a weapon, you will build the foundation you need to wield it."

Atlas felt a mix of relief and dread. He wasn't in a rush to spar after the mess earlier, but the thought of what "building the foundation" entailed made his muscles tense.

Torren began pacing in front of them, his sharp eyes locking onto each student in turn. "You've awakened your cores, but that doesn't mean your bodies are ready for what's to come. A weak body cannot support a strong core. Combat is as much about endurance and discipline as it is about power."

He stopped and turned to face the class fully, his expression stern. "Today, we focus on fitness. Strength. Stamina. Balance. Until you can prove your body is capable of handling the strain, there will be no weapons, no sparring. Do not complain. Do not make excuses. This is your first test."

A few students exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared speak. Atlas noticed Rea shifting uncomfortably beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"And at the end of the day," Torren continued, his tone dropping slightly but losing none of its weight, "I will fight each of you. Individually."

The murmurs began immediately, a ripple of unease spreading through the group. Atlas's stomach twisted at the thought. Fighting Torren? After hours of training? It sounded impossible.

Torren raised a hand, silencing the noise. "This is not a sparring match. It is not about winning. I need to see what each of you is capable of, where your strengths and weaknesses lie. Consider it your introduction to the real world. And don't expect me to go easy on you."

Atlas clenched his fists, feeling a faint hum from his core. He could already feel the weight of Torren's words pressing down on him. This was going to be brutal.

"Now," Torren snapped, "line up by the obstacle course. Let's see if you can even make it through the basics without collapsing."

The group moved quickly, no one daring to lag behind. Atlas found himself at the back, his nerves still buzzing as he followed the others. He glanced at Rea, who looked pale but determined.

Torren's voice cut through the tension one last time as they reached the course. "Remember, you're here to learn, to grow stronger. By the end of today, I'll know exactly what each of you is worth. Don't disappoint me."

Atlas took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the obstacle course ahead. This was the start of everything. The moment we would look back on for the rest of his life and know. This is where it all begun.