The moment Aston crossed the threshold of the Field Ops Pavilion, he understood two things.

First—this was no ordinary classroom.

Second—Instructor Oscar Valen was already watching them.

The instructor stood at the far end of the open-air pavilion, arms crossed behind his back. Even in the stillness, the man radiated a kind of latent motion—like a bowstring pulled taut. Dressed in fitted gray-and-olive scout fatigues, his sharp eyes swept across the crowd of incoming first-years with the focus of a hawk surveying prey.

Most students filled in slowly, some clustered in nervous huddles, others whispering about the unfamiliar location. But the moment Instructor Oscar stepped forward, the air snapped tight.

"No formation. No timing. No discipline." His voice cut through the morning haze. "If I was the enemy, half of you would already be dead."

Several students stiffened. Aston stood straighter, his posture reflexive, but he didn't speak.

Instructor Oscar's boots tapped lightly as he paced before them.

"I see robes. Dress shoes. Fragile satchels and unsecured belts. Did none of you read the orientation packets?"

A few heads ducked. One student meekly raised a hand.

"We weren't… told about a uniform requirement for this class."

Instructor Oscar halted mid-step. He turned, gaze steady.

"No, you weren't. That's part of the lesson."

A pause. Then, he gestured to the far end of the pavilion where several crates and lockers stood lined against the wall.

"By the end of today, you will report and retrieve your operational attire. That includes your terrain boots, reinforced leggings, grapnel carabiners, and standard-issue field cloak. These will be your uniforms every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. You will wear it every time. No exceptions, unless you don't report."

He let the words hang.

"Those who fail to arrive properly equipped next time will run the south trail loop. Twice. With full packs."

Groans rippled through the crowd, but the instructor ignored them.

"You are no longer in lecture halls. You are scouts in training. Recon units. Eyes of the field. That means speed, silence, and survival. Get used to the dirt. If you can't handle it, transfer to enchantment or engineering and make knicknacks."

That silenced the crowd.

Instructor Oscar gave a sharp whistle, and from behind the pavilion, a sleek green-gray bird swept down and landed neatly on his arm, its long wings spread across the sky, and its deep-socketed amber eyes looked like honey, and its talons that could crack a steel bolt.

—

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[Spirit Beast: Strix Talonhawk]

[Type: Avian]

[Attribute: Wind]

[Genus: Accipiter]

[Rank: Obsidian Core]

[Potential: Amethyst Core]

[Description: A high-altitude aerial predator known for its silent flight, surgical precision, and uncanny intelligence. Cloaked in steely ash-gray feathers with streaks of jade along its primary wings, the Strix Talonhawk is revered for reconnaissance and swift elimination. Its eyes can pierce through dense foliage and detect spirit flow fluctuations at great distances. Unlike many avians, it does not cry or screech—it kills in silence, striking before prey is even aware of its presence.]

[Skills:]

[Silent Severance: Dives at high speed with its wings folded, generating minimal sound as it strikes a target with bladed talons.]

[Wing Shear: Flaps its wings in a controlled burst to release blades of compressed winds.]

[Echo Blur: Flutters its wings in a destabilizing motion that distorts its afterimage, making it difficult to pinpoint visually or spiritually.]

[Razor Soar: Accelerates into a gliding state with sharpened wing edges, allowing it to slice through enemy ranks or cut through narrow terrain choke points with devastating momentum.]

[Piercing Rush: Targets a vulnerable opening and strikes it with talons extended, executing a focused strike that suppresses spiritual regeneration in the impacted area for a brief duration.]

[Passive Skills:]

[Gale-Threaded Wings: Allows for rapid mid-air redirection without losing lift. Enhanced evasion and maneuverability in tight airspace or crowded aerial combat.]

[Predator's Stillness: While stationary or circling, the Talonhawk becomes nearly undetectable to spiritual senses. Used to observe, ambush, or relay without alerting enemies.]

[Innate Skills:]

[Hawk's Eye Lattice: The Talonhawk can project a lattice of spiritual sightlines from elevated positions, relaying enemy movements, terrain changes, and spiritual anomalies to its linked allies.]

[Pulse Vector Screech: Emits a concentrated burst of sonic energy in a conical arc. Though inaudible for most spirit beasts, it disrupts enemy positioning, interrupts chant-based techniques, and destabilizes illusions.]

[Cyclone Mantle Dive: Envelops itself in a swirling sheath of cutting winds before descending at full speed. Upon impact, the wind explodes outward in a circular blast, repelling nearby enemies.]

[Core Skills]

[Aether Rend Talonstrike: The Talonhawk channels spirit energy into its claws, which glow with a pale green sheen. Upon striking, it bypasses conventional defense and tears into the target's spiritual flow, temporarily severing command links between enemy beasts and their tamers.]

—

"This is Kess. She doesn't like loud students. Don't give her a reason."

The hawk made a low, rattling hiss. Gray's ears twitched from Aston's side. Mirage, overhead, gave no response—just continued to circle silently, ever watchful.

Instructor Oscar turned, walking toward the grove trail just beyond the pavilion.

"Today's lesson will be on terrain profiling and movement discipline. You will follow me silently. Watch. Learn. Don't trip over your boots."

He didn't wait for them to catch up.

Aston exchanged glances with a few nearby students, tightened the strap on his satchel and moved.

The air grew cooler beneath the forest canopy as they entered the trail—dense with sun-dappled moss, gnarled roots, and the occasional flicker of motion in the underbrush. The instructor moved like a ghost, never once breaking pace, never disturbing a branch. It was almost unsettling how easily he melted into the foliage.

Aston tried to mimic the footfalls—soft, deliberate steps, using the balls of his feet. Gray padded effortlessly behind him. Mirage vanished into the trees above, only glimpsed when light caught her wings.

Behind them, someone tripped with a grunt. Instructor Oscar didn't turn.

"Your enemy will not wait for you to learn the land," he said flatly. "Adapt. Or be erased."

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