The ash and smoke didn’t just obscure the battlefield — they moved with it, curling around broken stone and scorched earth like living currents. Umbrawraiths surged onward, faster than before, their red eyes glowing with something almost like anticipation.

  Kyrex’s shadow coiled tightly around him, responding instinctively to threats before he even registered them. His spark, no longer a flicker but a living pulse of energy, bent and arced through the air, tracing currents that only he could see.

  Vaelix stayed close, silent and precise, intervening only when an attack bypassed Kyrex’s awareness. Every strike from him was a message, every block a demonstration of pattern and rhythm.

  “You’ve felt the currents,” Vaelix said quietly. “Now learn to manipulate them. Don’t just react — redirect. Make the storm part of you.”

  Kyrex’s gaze swept the battlefield. Civilians were ducking under debris, soldiers regrouping, Korosena casting stabilizing wards. The Umbrawraiths weren’t mindless — they moved in coordinated strikes, testing openings, probing defenses. Each one was a lesson.

  He lunged forward, shadow and spark weaving together. An attack he had thought unavoidable bent around him as if the currents themselves had shifted. Kyrex struck, energy slicing through an Umbrawraith that had been closing in on a young soldier, redirecting its force harmlessly into the courtyard wall.

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  A group of Umbrawraiths converged on a cluster of civilians near the academy’s main gate. Kyrex’s shadow lashed forward, forming barriers and channels of energy to guide the wave past them. Sparks shot outward, deflecting strikes and opening space.

  Vaelix’s voice, calm but firm, cut through the chaos:

  “Notice the patterns. Every strike carries intent. Bend it to your advantage.”

  Kyrex’s movements became sharper, more deliberate. He began reading openings in real-time — anticipating where attacks would intersect, where Umbrawraiths would converge, even predicting how Noctus might adjust his forces. Currents of energy flowed around him, guiding his strikes, forming temporary shields, shaping the battlefield itself.

  From a distance, Korosena and her companions provided cover. Wards flickered in rhythmic pulses, perfectly synchronized with Kyrex’s flow. The national heroes and nobles responded to his movements, filling gaps, diverting threats, all without him needing to direct them.

  Noctus observed from above, wings unfurled like the shadow of an eclipsed sun. His voice echoed in Kyrex’s mind:

  “So… the little piece bends with the currents. Impressive. But can he endure when every current turns against him?”

  Kyrex flinched at the thought, but he didn’t falter. He adjusted instinctively, bending his spark into arcs that intercepted multiple attacks at once. Shadow coiled around him, shielding, striking, redirecting.

  Predict. Adapt. Flow, he reminded himself.

  A massive Umbrawraith lunged from behind, too fast for Kyrex to react — but Vaelix intervened with perfect timing, deflecting it without destroying it. Kyrex nodded, absorbing the lesson: survival alone wasn’t enough. Understanding the flow, guiding it, was the true mastery.

  Kyrex struck again, energy streaming around him like ribbons of light. The Umbrawraiths faltered in small ways, currents bending, attacks redirecting, openings forming — but Noctus remained unshaken, orchestrating every move with terrifying precision.

  Kyrex’s chest heaved. Sweat burned his eyes, shadow pulsed violently around him, wings shimmering faintly behind his back. He had grown, but he knew:

  This storm is far from over.

  And yet, for the first time, Kyrex smiled faintly through the exhaustion. He wasn’t powerless. He was learning. He was adapting. He was moving with the currents — not against them.

  And that alone was enough to make the storm hesitate.