When she finally entered her room, she noticed a message on the desk, sealed with the authority’s insignia. Hesitant but curious, she unfolded it and began to read.

  > “The next match winners will proceed to the semi-final round.”

  Her heart sank. The semi-finals? That was just one step away from the finals. How could she even think about qualifying when she hadn’t won a single fight?

  Then she recalled something from the first day of training:

  “The early rounds are for experience. You’re here to learn, to grow, and to prove you belong. Your losses now don’t define your future—your determination does.”

  It was a comforting thought back then, but now? It felt like a cruel joke. Every loss had only widened the gap between her and her competitors. While others had learned to wield elemental power around their swords, she was still struggling to channel anything at all.

  She sank onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

  I have nothing to show for all these rounds. How am I supposed to fight in the next one?

  Her eyes fell on the sword leaning against the wall. Heavy and unyielding, it seemed to mock her.

  I couldn’t even make it look like I belong here...

  Sarn sat alone on the edge of the training field, her sword resting beside her. The st fight still echoed in her mind—each strike, each failed attempt to form the element around her bde. She could still feel the frustration building inside her, a sharp pressure that refused to leave. The others made it seem so effortless, their weapons swirling with fire, water, or wind as if the elements themselves had chosen them. It wasn’t just a skill—it was the foundation of combat. Every warrior’s weapon was a conduit for their elemental energy, designed to amplify their power. Without it, a sword was just a piece of metal, and a fighter was just a body swinging weight.

  But Sarn... she didn’t have that kind of connection.

  Why am I even here?

  The question echoed in her mind like a taunt. She had thought coming here would change something—make her better. But nothing felt different. She wasn’t stronger. She wasn’t better. She was just... ordinary. She had been ordinary before, and she was still ordinary now.

  Her eyes drifted to the other participants, each of them effortlessly blending their weapons with their elements. What was I even thinking? she wondered. What’s the point of trying if it’s always going to be like this?

  Sarn’s thoughts were interrupted as the weight of the sword in her hand caught her attention. It wasn’t light, but it was familiar. She gripped it tightly, fingers tingling as if the sword was urging her to continue. She’d spent countless hours with it, even before coming to the school. It had always been just her and the sword. She never needed any fshy power to make her feel like she was worth something.

  Maybe that’s all she needed now. To just keep going.

  Sarn stood up slowly, gripping her sword with more confidence. She wouldn’t rely on the elements that others had so easily mastered. She wouldn’t wait for the magic to happen.

  She swung her sword through the air, focusing on the weight and bance of it, moving her body with the fluidity she had built over countless hours of practice. It wasn’t elemental power fueling her strikes, no wind or fire swirling around her bde. It was just her—her focus, her effort, and her will to keep moving forward.

  She swung again and again, pushing herself until her body ached. Sweat dripped down her face, and her muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. If I can’t make the element work, then fine. I’ll work with what I have.

  Every strike felt like a small victory, each one a reminder that she didn’t need to be like everyone else. She didn’t need the elements. Not yet, anyway. She had her own strength to rely on.

  The sun began to set, casting long shadows over the training grounds. Sarn didn’t stop. She continued to strike, swing, and practice, driven by something deeper than the need to impress anyone or to be the best. She didn’t know if she could ever win with just her sword alone, but she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t stop trying.

  The next day, Sarn stood in the arena once again, the weight of the previous day’s practice still fresh in her mind. She had spent hours swinging her sword, focusing on the feel of it, but today was different. Today, she was facing another opponent.

  The announcement echoed through the arena:

  > "Next up, Saryntha from Group 149 versus Lyra from Group 2."

  Sarn stepped into the arena, the weight of her sword feeling like a burden. She gnced at her opponent, a girl from Group 2, calm and poised. She looks so sure of herself, Sarn thought bitterly.

  The bell rang, and the fight began.At first, Sarn’s movements were instinctual—defensive, cautious. Her sword met her opponent's in quick cshes, but there was no surge of power, no element swirling around her bde like she’d seen with others. The absence of it made her feel even smaller. Each strike felt less decisive, while the electricity crackling around Lyra’s sword glowed with an overwhelming presence. The air smelled sharp, charged with energy, as if the arena itself could feel the power radiating from her bde.

  Lyra stepped forward, her attacks precise and unrelenting. Sparks danced in the air with every csh, and the force of her strikes sent painful vibrations through Sarn’s arms.

  Focus, Sarn. Focus, she reminded herself. You can do this. You’ve trained for this.

  But as the fight continued, the pressure mounted. Every failed attempt to summon an element left her feeling emptier. Why couldn’t she do it? What was she missing? Why were the others so natural at it?

  Another strike came, a powerful downward ssh crackling with lightning. Sarn barely had time to block. The impact forced her back, her feet scraping against the ground.

  Then, something changed.

  Lyra’s strikes, once sharp and confident, started to falter. The electricity around her sword flickered, no longer stable. She hesitated.

  Sarn’s eyes widened. She’s burning out.

  Lyra’s breathing grew heavy. The intensity of the fight, the constant output of electricity—it was wearing her down. She had given everything from the start, expecting a quick victory. But Sarn was still standing. She had no elemental power, no bursts of energy, yet she endured.

  Lyra’s sword trembled as she lifted it for another attack, but the lightning was weaker now. It wasn’t just fading—it was consuming her stamina.

  Sarn realized something in that moment.

  The elements weren’t invincible. Power came at a cost. And if she couldn’t wield it, she could outst it.

  With renewed determination, she stepped forward, gripping her sword tightly. The match wasn’t over yet.