"Begin when ready. Activate the Dragonheart in your hands."
Frost Winister’s voice cut across the courtyard like a sword stroke—calm, firm, and absolute.
The students hesitated only a moment before moving as one.
Essence Vials were uncorked with trembling hands, the golden liquid shimmering as though liquid sunlight had been trapped within glass. Each student poured a few drops over their Dragonhearts.
The crystals flared faintly, responding to the infusion, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Draco felt the pulse in his palm intensify.
The Amber Ignis Dragonheart grew hotter, resonating with the Essence. It was as though the crystal remembered being alive, its slumbering Breath stirring to answer the call of a new master.
The first sparks ignited.
A boy in the second row gasped as fire blossomed across his forearms. Another shrieked when his boots erupted into flames. One after another, hands and legs across the field flared alight, until the training grounds shimmered with a hundred tongues of fire.
But the triumph lasted only a heartbeat.
"Agh!" one student cried, clutching his burning arm. The flames sputtered violently before extinguishing, leaving him gasping on the ground.
"My chest—!" a girl groaned as the fire on her legs abruptly snuffed out, her body collapsing under the strain.
One by one, students faltered, their Breaths failing.
The backlash swept through them like a wave.
Some staggered with dizziness, others collapsed, and many clutched their throbbing temples as headaches set in.
Draco, however, remained steady.
The flames dancing across his limbs burned bright but controlled, wrapping his forearms and shins in a sheath of fire. He could feel the raw might coursing through his veins, his muscles humming with explosive strength.
It was crude power, simple and unrefined, but intoxicating nonetheless.
Jet Ashborne stood a few rows away, his posture immaculate even as his arms and legs glowed with fire.
His flames burned brighter than most, steady and unwavering. He looked neither pleased nor impressed—merely calm, as though this was the bare minimum expected of him.
Lizbeth Carris let out a sharp laugh, twirling her flaming fists in the air.
"Now this... this is what I came here for!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with excitement. Unlike
the struggling masses, she reveled in the raw destructive power.
Jonathan Dreel kept his stance strong, his breathing measured, the fire coating his limbs like a second skin. He didn’t waste movements, didn’t revel, only focused on maintaining his control with quiet discipline.
Even Lenard Highfall, arrogant grin intact, held his fire with relative ease.
He raised one flaming leg and stomped into the earth, leaving a smoldering footprint in the dirt. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
"Heh. Too easy."
Frost Winister watched all of this with arms folded behind his back, his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. His gaze flickered first to Draco, then to Jet, Lizbeth, Jonathan, and Lenard.
A faint smile touched his lips.
When the groans and coughing of the failing students quieted, Frost finally spoke.
"As you can see," he began, "many of you experienced Breath Failure. This is the inevitable backlash when one’s control falters."
The students straightened weakly, listening despite their pain.
"But do not despair," Frost continued, his tone neither condemning nor soft. "Breath Failure is almost nonexistent at Rank 1—when you know what you are channeling. And therein lies the problem."
A few students exchanged puzzled looks.
"Think back," Frost said, pacing slowly across the front of the field, his boots crunching against the dirt. "Recall when you returned from the Cave of Trials. You faced a Dragon Wave. The Head Proctor provided you with a Dragonheart then. Tell me—why was it easier to wield than what you just attempted?"
The murmurs began again. One boy hesitated before raising his voice.
"Because... we were told what it did."
Frost’s eyes glimmered with approval. "Precisely."
He turned sharply, chalking a word into the air with his finger. Thin runes of Essence flared briefly, spelling out:
’THE UNKNOWN’
"The unknown," Frost declared, his tone grave, "is the greatest enemy of a Dragon Hunter. The Dragonheart you used during the Dragon Wave was chosen for its simplicity. Its Breath was explained to you. You knew what to expect, what to do. And so, though your bodies were unprepared, you managed to succeed. But today..."
His eyes swept the class. "...you were given no such guidance. You stepped into the unknown, and many of you faltered."
Silence hung over the field, heavy with realization.
"That is why," Frost continued, "a Rank 2 Dragonheart—whose Breath is fully known—may sometimes be safer than an unknown Rank 1. Knowledge is survival. Do not forget it."
He reached into the case, retrieving another Amber Ignis Dragonheart.
The crystal flared warmly in his hand.
"Now, listen carefully. The Amber Ignis Dragonheart carries a simple yet effective ability. When activated, it ignites the four limbs of its wielder in fire, enhancing physical strikes with burning force. Each punch, each kick, carries the bite of flame, allowing you to scorch your targets while amplifying your attack power."
He held the heart aloft, flames briefly flickering over his own hand before he snuffed them out with a thought.
"This is the true effect of the Rank 1 Amber Ignis. Nothing more. Nothing less."
The students nodded, their earlier failures making sense now. Relief and clarity washed across their faces.
"Now," Frost said, his voice firm. "Try again."
The students straightened, gripping their Dragonhearts with renewed determination. They poured more Essence over the crystals, and once again the field lit up with embers and flame.
This time, however, their control held.
Fire roared across arms and legs, steady and controlled.
Students laughed in excitement, some testing their strength by striking the reinforced pillars, leaving charred scorch marks in their wake.
Even the weaker ones who had collapsed moments before now managed to stand tall, their limbs wrapped in fire.
Their confidence bloomed like sparks feeding into flame.
"Excellent," Frost said, a rare note of warmth threading his voice. "Now, maintain it. Hold your Breaths as long as you can. Endurance is as vital as control."
The field became a storm of activity. Students shadow-boxed with flaming fists, sprinted in blazing strides, and tested their strength against dummies and steel. The air thickened with heat, smoke, and the raw energy of dozens of freshly awakened Dragonhearts.
’Look at them... they’re very lively, aren’t they?’
Frost clasped his hands behind his back, watching intently. His eyes, cold as glaciers, flickered with something softer—satisfaction.
’They are better than I expected,’ he thought. ’For their first attempt, most should have failed outright. Yet here they stand, adapting swiftly. Exceptional talent... far more than a typical batch.’
His gaze lingered on the promising ones—Jet, Lizbeth, Jonathan, Lenard... and Draco most of all.
Draco’s flames burned steadily, neither too bright nor too dim, controlled with precision. His expression was calm, focused, as though he’d been doing this all his life.
’That one,’ Frost mused, eyes narrowing slightly. ’He holds his fire as though it were an extension of himself. No hesitation. No fear. Just certainty. Interesting... very interesting.’
He let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.
"Yes," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "This will be... worth remembering."