Kyle stood before the Flame Chamber.
The obsidian wood door pulsed with warmth, as if alive, repelling him gently with waves of heat.
As he stepped in, the chamber expanded with a hum of spatial magic.
Rows of scarecrows stretched into the distance, tall metal blocks lined the far walls, and racks of various weapons glittered along the edges.
He walked to a marked zone twenty meters from a scarecrow and took a deep breath.
Focusing mana onto the elemental rune on his palm, he summoned a flicker of flame that hovered just above his hand—alive, waiting for command.
The first spell he aimed to master was Fireburst, the most basic of fire-elemental attacks taught in the academy.
It involved visualizing flame as a projectile, aimed and released with intent.
Kyle hurled the flame toward the scarecrow.
It vanished mid-air.
He frowned. "Too far?"
He stepped forward to ten meters and tried again. The result was the same—flame gone before reaching the target.
Five meters. No success.
Something's missing.
At three meters, he paused. Focused.
He fixed his gaze on the scarecrow's head, visualized impact, and launched the flame.
It hit.
The scarecrow's head smoldered, smoke curling from the cloth.
Kyle's eyes widened. The flame didn't fade this time. Why?
He tested again—same distance, no mental target: the flame disappeared.
But when he aimed for the shoulder and imagined striking it—the flame connected.
Understanding clicked.
"The fire only answers when there's intent."
He needs to focus on the part where he want to target. Distance no longer mattered.
Whether running, leaping, or spinning mid-air—his spell worked as long as his aim was clear.
For hours, Kyle trained relentlessly. He practiced hitting scarecrows from every angle, then moved on to the metal blocks.
Unlike the straw dummies, the blocks didn't char or bend. His spells struck, but they had no effect.
He adjusted the mana output. He used one percent of his mana to target the scarecrow, but for this, maybe five percent?
Still no dent.
Kyle keeps trying, adjusting his mana output to put dent onto the metal blocks.
At fifteen percent, the metal finally groaned under the impact—a faint, smoking dent.
Satisfied, Kyle pushed himself further, experimenting with power control until his mana was exhausted.
Collapsing onto the warm floor, he stared up at the glowing ceiling of the Flame Chamber, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He had mastered Fireburst.
But that was just the beginning.
Over the next several days, Kyle rotated between chambers—the Gravity Room, Ice Chamber, Wind Dome.
The Flame Chamber remained his base, where he perfected basic fire spells: Fireburst, Fire Arrow, Flame Palm, Fire Step.
Surprisingly, he discovered his spells consumed far less mana than they should have.
According to academy theory, novice flame mages fainted on their first casting.
But Kyle never did.
He trained in ten-hour cycles—resting for one, eating, then returning to practice. Even exhaustion couldn't dull his focus.
This sanctuary seemed to align with his magic, perhaps aiding his recovery.
Whatever the case, he pushed on.
The Ice Chamber proved the greatest challenge.
The moment he entered, his flame flickered out. The cold drained his strength in seconds. On day one, he barely lasted three seconds.
But Kyle didn't quit.
He learned to wrap the flame around his body, visualizing warmth not just as fire—but as protection.
Each day, his endurance grew. By the end of week one, he lasted ten minutes before the chamber forcibly expelled him due to dangerously low body temperature.
Eventually, after countless repetitions, Kyle survived in the Ice Chamber for a full hour.
That's when the trial began.
The Trial of Ice.
As brutal as the Trial of Flame, but in reverse—cold, isolating, and relentless. For three days, Kyle survived in a frozen wasteland, sustained only by his fire magic.
Snowstorms lashed against him, ice-covered beasts hunted in the dark, and yet he endured—strengthened by the resistance he built in the chamber.
When the trial ended, he opened his eyes to find a glowing blue rune etched into his palm—a crescent moon of ice.
He had awakened a second element.
Crescent Ice.
Then came the surprise.
At the heart of the chamber, where once only frost had lived, a creature appeared—small, winged, and otherworldly.
A puppy, black-furred with soft pink wings and tiny horns on its head. It blinked up at him, curious and unafraid.
A companion?
This sanctuary, bound to Kyle alone, should have been uninhabited.
So where did this creature come from? Had it always been here?
He extended a hand. The pup hopped into his arms with a warm chirp.
"Koko," he smiled. "Let me call you Koko"
The appearance of the creature did not affect him that much. He continued training both element - Flame and Ice for days.
——-
Two days remained before the academy semester began.
Kyle, now sixteen, would be returning as a fourth-year student—stronger and no longer powerless.
He stepped out of the chamber, light bursting around him. In a blink, he was back at the edge of Livia Town.
The Ghost Tree was gone.
He stared at the empty space. No tree, no stairway, no hint of what once stood there.
He didn't panic. He understood now. The sanctuary had bonded with him. Its entrance was no longer tied to a place—but to him.
He touched the ring on his finger, feeling its subtle warmth.
The sanctuary would always be there—waiting, hidden, his to command.
Kyle stepped forward, cradling the small, winged creature in his arms.
He looked at the winged creature - Koko and smiled.
"Koko, let's go to the academy"
The breeze from Livia Town brushed against his face, carrying the scent of home, of new beginnings.
His heart raced at the thought of the academy, of reunions and rivalries, of everything the future held.
Nestled against his chest, the creature blinked once.
Its eyes flared crimson.
Yet, Kyle didn't notice.
He was already lost in anticipation of what came next.