Within a flash, the gemstone shined a brilliant red. The face of her left-side platoonmate winced from the light as his face too turned red. This was the ignition the professor had promised, the activation of a gemin stone. Temora squinted as a young man three positions down had his chest enveloped by a bolt of incandescent plasma. He was slow to react and rolled along the ground with one arm tangled into his loose overcoat.

In rapidity, another, then another. Two students down, then three more. Before the attacks started she found herself counting her heartbeats. The professor was sending off bolts of fire at a rate faster than that. Enough to target each student just after they stood back up. She hadn’t been targeted yet, a small benefit of being at the very edge of the lineup.

“That’s a good plan.” She whispered to herself. Being on the extreme right side of the line put her in a good position to sprint. Maybe she could cash in on all of those after-school track days. Temora sprinted toward the professor in a tackling stance, aiming for the cane. She advanced maybe half the distance toward him before the professor responded.

Rosin was facing the bulk of the students in front of him. In his side view caught the young woman’s advance, and shifted his front-facing cane to his left. A burst of three bolts buzzed from the gemstone. One bolt impacted Temora’s tackling shoulder, eliminating nearly all of her momentum. How did hot air and flame-wicking bludgeon her with that much force? The power of gemin casting was a foreign concept to her.

Temora had just enough time to open her arms wide and catch the second impact. The air wrapped her body in dry heat. While the impact was significant, it was the dryness of the air which left her breathless. The breath she took to recover didn’t seem fulfilling nor valuable. She was still standing, at least until the third bolt arrived.

When it did, any hope she had to continue standing was pulled out from under her. If she had not instinctively blocked the bolt with her raised arms, it would have hit her squarely in the forehead. From standing, she levered toward the ground, flat back against the grass. Gasping for air and rolling away were the only actions she would be taking for the next few moments.

Although she was completely negated from advancing further this charge taught her a few things. Firstly, that despite the professor rapidly firing upon the students, the bolts were not as dangerous as they first appeared. Secondly, she learned that the professor was holding back; he could fire at the rate he fired upon her anytime he wanted. Professor Holiday causally chose the firing rate he was currently using, and she had forced him to react with more commitment.

Temora managed to stand back up and had learned from the others to brace when doing this. The professor, in his own wicked sense of humor, decided to attack those just standing up. She braced for an impact, and unexpectedly one did not come. It seemed as if her charge kept his cane away long enough to lag him behind on attacks from the group. So he increased his rate of fire to keep the assault.

She now had a good look at the field. Fifteen or so students were on the ground, a handful of them where still standing, and two were soon about to not be standing. Around the field were numerous small grass fires which made it more dangerous to navigate. The fire patches would get more frequent as she got closer to the professor. Years worth of these small fires made the ground patchy on this side of the courtyard.

“Oh.” She had too much attention on the state of the platoon and not on herself. She was still on the extreme right side of what was once a line of students. A bolt of fire clipped her lower left leg, kicking it back, and causing her to fall forward. She took this opportunity to roll her shoulder into the ground. Even if she didn’t stand up from it immediately, it gave her a bit of forward progress.

Based on the small amount of combat she saw in her “running duck” stance, Temora grew a little more confident. It seemed to her that she was able to take these impacts just a bit better than even some of the larger men in the platoon. Maybe it was physical fitness, or that she was more flexible. Whatever it was she was going to use it to her benefit.

She continued this ducking crouch across the line in front of the other students. A bolt impacted her right side threatening to topple her over. Temora spread her left leg out wide to catch the force, stumbling. However, she did not fall. The men behind her were now shielded by Temora’s body. She was taller than other girls sure, but still small compared to some of the men here.

The meat shield she provided gave just enough room for those behind her to advance up to her. As she blocked now more frequent directed impacts with her cloak, the men and women who managed to make it up to her blocked them with theirs. As the pile of students grew, it was clear that staying in this mass gave them significant resistance to the bolts.

It was only a matter of time before the larger male students got in front of Temora to tank the incoming fire with their makeshift shield; a jacket collage. The students braced those behind them, with the shorter students at the back. Everyone pushed the advance forward and kept structure for the platoonmates at the front. They couldn’t be knocked backward up against a wall. The formation was an unplanned and unspoken homogeneity. Every person understood their place as they stepped forward against the barrage of bolts.

Stepping over and around fires on the ground. Collectively stamping some of the more energetic flames out, they managed to get within arms reach of the professor. A student at the front of the line pushed his cane up toward the sky, and the formation broke into separating the professor from his cane. As he was being disarmed of his cane, Professor Holiday was laughing the entire time he was being pinned.

“I yield, I yield, aah... haha ohhh--- heh oh, you all were fantastic. Haha-- that, oh-heha That was an excellent, ha, wahooo performance there. For you all!” The students parted from pinning the professor and helped him up from his prone position on the ground. The student that ultimately disarmed him respectfully returned the cane, and was the final arm Rosin used to right himself.

The professor brushed away some of the sandy soil from his uniform. Everyone’s uniforms needed to be washed, or replaced. The military would supply them with fatigues shortly regardless.

“I haven’t had that much fun all season. This was a fantastic experience truly. Most of you did very well.” The middle-aged man’s smirk was infectious. Many of the students began to talk among the group now that the intensity was relieved. Some of them that did not do well were those who ran from the field the second he began to fire, the cowardly. “Those of you who did not will be reassigned to another program.” Agentian speak for “We will find you an easier task.”

Professor Rosin called another instructor out to him, a Master of the 2nd year. He handed the cane off to the younger Master. “Return this cane to our platoon’s compartment. I need to put out these fires.” Rosin revealed a blue gemin from his inner waistcoat front pocket; a gemstone of spherical cut, a marble of brilliance. This object showed off a sky-blue light onto the field. It was a more pure and translucent gem than the red stone in the cane. Higher quality, and likely more powerful.

The professor took about thirty steps out into their wing of the courtyard field, centered on the fires. He knelled toward the ground pinching the gemin stone with three fingers, facing it toward the ground. It was unclear why, but Temora thought she saw his lips moving. Gemin casting requires no words of any kind. Yet, the field erupted into a soft blue flash, followed by a thick coating of frost on the grass, and a developing morning dew. The fires were extinguished, and the professor stood.