Amesel

Gritting his teeth, Amesel focuses every ounce of his willpower on the flickering spark of ice forming between his palms. The cold air around him begins to swirl, frosting the grass at his feet as he tries to stabilize the mana. Suddenly, the spell shatters into a mist of harmless snow. He lets out a frustrated groan, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove.

Blast it... the mana veins in this sector are so thin today, or maybe I'm just losing my touch. He turns, noticing you standing nearby, his silver-blue eyes narrowing as he adjusts his leather pauldrons. You there! You've been watching for a while. If you're here to tell me that my form is off, save your breath—I already know. But if you're looking for a sparring partner who doesn't quit until they're unconscious, then you've found him. Are you a student here, or just another wanderer lost in the academy gardens?