Alexander wasn't particularly bad with a blade, he was able to get a decent understanding of the craft in just a few weeks. However, watching Taber last so long against Master Azerael made him doubt his abilities. And in turn, the same words spoken to him days prior invaded their way back into his thoughts. "Some 'Chosen One' you are..."

Alexander took a swig from his cup, hoping the water would wash away the thought. After a few days had passed, he had begun to think that he'd gotten over those insults. However, realizing that the fate of Earth and Adrin rested on his abilities made the words hit way harder than anything Kyle could ever say. They were not only a proverbial poison, but they also harbored a punishing truth. A truth that seemed to loom over Alexander's head, as if there were a hurricane just over the horizon. Yearning to take a victim.

Taber parried another strike before lunging with his blade. Unfortunately, he overstepped with his strike, leaving him wide open for Azerael to slam into his chest with his shoulder. Taber's sword fell from his hand and he winced as he hit the ground, looking up to see the tip of Azerael's blade an inch from his throat. Azerael sheathed his sword and helped Taber onto his feet. "You did well. Your training is proving to be effective. Though you've only been at it for a couple weeks, your technique rivals that of most soldiers."

"Thank you, Master." Taber placed a fist over his heart and bowed.

"Keep training for a few hours. Focus on your footwork, not the power of your strikes. Remember, technique comes first. Any fool can swing a sword with all of their strength. All of that means nothing if you leave yourself vulnerable to the enemy's counter." Taber nodded, then walked out of the colosseum. Following Taber's departure, Azerael shifted his gaze up to Alexander.

Taber's preferred weapon was a longsword. However, Alexander fancied himself a shortsword. It wasn't much lighter, sure, and he sacrificed the reach one would think would benefit his smaller stature, however it allowed Alex to do what he felt he did best - get up close and personal.

Of course, this bold fighting style, Alexander realized, would be much more complicated against a man such as Azerael, who had been using his shortsword for a few millennia by now. His technique, clearly, was far more adapted than Alexander's ever could be. However, Alex had something to prove. If he could come even remotely close to besting Azerael with this style, then perhaps the comments that had been weighing on him would dissipate.

Azerael unsheathed his sword, which resembled a xyphos, save for its wider crossguard, and assumed his stance. Alexander followed suit. "Are you prepared?" Azerael asked. Alexander nodded. Without so much as a 'begin,' Azerael had bursted forward. Alex brought up his sword, sparks flying from the blades as they grinded against each other, playing a metallic note like an iron bow on a violin. Alexander gained a small distance from Azerael, who charged in almost immediately as the two twirled, lunged and dashed around the arena.

Alexander tried to figure out why Azerael was fighting differently than with Taber. With him, Azerael had been relatively reserved. He took nothing but calculated steps, and each movement was filled with a grace befitting that of a master. But now, his movements were sporadic. It was difficult to follow what he'd do next, and it was all Alex could muster just to block or parry a strike in time. Alexander stumbled as his feet reconnected with the ground.

He thought back for a split second, before Azerael could make his next move. And in that split second, it dawned on him. The way that Azerael had started this spar was the same way Alexander always had. Collecting energy in his legs and bursting forward, before delivering an unrelenting onslaught of strikes.

Alex narrowed his eyes, regaining his focus and stifling that feeling of panic. At that point, it was no longer a question of who used that style of swordplay, but a question of who used it better. And Alexander didn't feel like losing to the style that he created.

He swung his sword, redirecting Azerael's blade before spinning around, Azerael catching his pommel before it could strike his face. He whipped his arm down as Alexander was forced into a flip, who brought his blade up just in time to block Azerael's slash at his neck. The force sent him into the wall behind him as the breath left his lungs. The blunt tip of Azerael's blade dinged off of the stone wall as Alexander just barely pushed off the wall in time, landing behind him.

The two continued going back and forth. That is, until Azerael knocked Alexander's blade out of the way with enough force to make him loosen his grip. As he spun around, his pommel connected with Alexander's cheek. He cried out in pain, hitting the ground with a thud, as Azerael sheathed his sword.

Alexander remained on the ground, squirming only slightly, as Azerael knelt down. A warm emerald light radiated from his palm as Alexander's physical pain subsided. However, that was the only pain that had subsided. Alexander cursed out loud, "DAMN IT!" The boy began repeating it as he kept beating at the ground, infuriated and defeated as his thoughts, and Kieran's past comments, flooded his mind. 

Weak! Loser! Hopeless!

...FRAUD!!

No tears formed, though Azerael could tell that Alexander wanted them to.

Azerael grabbed his chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Congratulations, Young Alexander. You pass." A single tear slid down Alexander's cheek as he stared at him, confused.

Pass? How? I lost. It wasn't even close. So how?

"Ninety-six seconds," Azerael continued. "You lasted ninety-six seconds. If you remember, I told you a month ago that you all pass if you survive ninety seconds against me. Because if you can last ninety-six seconds against me, you can last ninety-six minutes against anybody you face out there."

He placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Those words that torment you only hinder your potential. Since that fight with Kieran, despite it being only days ago, you have grown exponentially. Perhaps, it was because of the desperation to prove those words wrong. However, I believe it's because of that flame, hidden deep within." He smiled at Alex, before standing up and placing his fist against his heart and bowing. "You have proven yourself today, young Alexander."

A storm of emotions grew, welling up inside of Alexander's chest. Joy, triumph, even the lingering feelings of desperation and despair, creating a whirlpool of emotions until they all came out in one singular tear: a tear of relief.

Alexander grinned at his master, placing his fist over his own heart, then bowed back. Taber smiled in the archway of the arena, his sword across his back. He observed the two bowing, signifying the conclusion of their spar. Though, to Taber, this was the conclusion to more than just that. In Taber's eyes, it was the end to several nights of torment.

A couple of months passed by, and the four were gathered outside of the cabin. In the brisk air of the early morning, Kieran sat at the picnic table, halfway through reading a thick book, while Emily, Taber and Alex all reminisced on the past almost six months. They turned their attention to the creak of the wooden cabin's front door, as Azerael appeared to float gracefully down the steps. He approached them, as they stood in anticipation.

"First of all, I'd like to congratulate the three of you; Alexander, Taber and Emily. You have come far in the past few months. From where you started to where you currently stand, you all deserve to be proud of how much you've grown. As for you, Kieran," he continued, turning his head to his pupil, "I am proud to say that you, too, have grown remarkably in the past few months as well, even more than in the past six years."

Azerael then turned around, sitting down where it all started: the firepit. "That is why, I am eager to put you all through my Graduation Trials."

"'Graduation Trials?'" Emily asked.

"Correct. I had once given these tests to many of my apprentices in the past, to teach the importance of teamwork. Realistically, I would have given this to Kieran forever ago, though he's been my only student for so long now, and really, my first one in centuries. However, now that you're all here, it only seems fitting that I give you these tests." He stood up, making his way back to the others. As he stopped, his hand began to glow and as he touched the ground, three 'holograms' appeared. One was a pen, the other was a monster and the last, a flag.

"The First Trial is a test of knowledge, where you must answer a series of questions asked by me. A basic Trial, of course, but an important one. Then, the Second Trial. A test of courage, where you will each face off against an Arcanic Monster in Kora Forest. And then, the Final Trial. A test of teamwork. One where you will work together to gather three flags: one red, one blue, and one green."

The three marvelled at the three visions, except for Kieran who wore the same expression as always, until they dissipated, becoming dew on the grass.

"Your trials begin today. So follow me inside."

The First Trial wasn't particularly difficult. In fact, it was much easier than Alexander had thought it would be. Tests weren't really his forte, though he figured that it was due to the practical application of the knowledge that allowed him to know what it all meant. Taber also scored pretty high. Of the four, Kieran scored perfectly, followed by Taber, then Alex, and then finally Emily. Though, despite her coming in last, she still got 17 of the 20 questions correct.

Azerael stepped out of the door into the dining room, where the four were gathered. "Congratulations. It may not seem like it, but those questions have even stumped Mages years into their studies. I'm proud of you all. Which is why..."

He turned and raised his arm. Before him emerged a swirl of dark-purple and gray mist. Or was it smoke? Whatever it was, it was akin to what Kieran had used to get them to Adrin in the first place. The four beheld the portal before them, as Azerael turned around to face them, his arms obscured by his black cloak.

"...The Second Trial begins now."