Amidst a vast, ethereal field where the sky was painted with shades of deep purple, the air crackled with anticipation. Whis stood at the center, his serene demeanor belying the storm about to unfold. He had called forth Tempest Solvain and Cross Riven to push their limits, and there was a sense of urgency in the air. "Today, you will give it your all against me," Whis announced, his voice smooth yet commanding. Tempest, with emerald hair dancing in the wind and golden eyes sharp with determination, cracked his knuckles. "You’re going down, Whis! I won’t hold back!" Cross stood beside him, stoic as ever, his reserved countenance revealed nothing of the fierce spirit within. He shifted his weight, readying himself for battle, his eyes glinting with tactical brilliance. "Let’s see if your quick-witted energy currents can match my physics manipulation," he muttered, a hint of confidence betraying his normally cool demeanor. With a sudden motion, Whis initiated the clash, flowing into a stance that exuded both grace and raw power. Tempest accelerated forward, harnessing the very winds that roared through the field, spiraling energy currents around him as he launched himself into a whirlwind of strikes. His fists sung through the air, each punch glowing with a surging aura of transmuted energy. Electricity buzzed as he conjured forth pyrokinesis, sending tendrils of flame dancing towards Whis, seeking to ensnare him while he was engaged. In contrast, Cross remained vigilant, eyes locked onto Whis, sizing him up. He deftly sidestepped Tempest’s fiery onslaught, utilizing his peek instincts to anticipate moves before they materialized. Whis chuckled softly, dodging the flames with fluidity that only a being of his caliber could achieve. Each movement was a poetry of combat—he spun with elegance, his body bending around Tempest's strikes seamlessly. His palm shot forward, countering with a gentle burst of energy that caused the flames to dissipate and redirect back at Tempest. Unperturbed, Tempest maneuvered through the storm of energy, bending it with a flick of his wrist, channeling nature’s power to create a shield of vines that ensnared the returning flames. With a twist of his body, he erupted into the air, skateboarding on a tempest of winds, his movements a blur as he prepared for a devastating aerial strike. At the same moment, Cross executed a daring approach—drawing on his absolute control over physics, he manipulated the gravitational pull around him and launched himself upward, coming at Whis from above, ready to strike down with unerring precision. Whis, sensing the shift, feigned left, only to pivot back as Tempest's presence loomed over him, slicing an arc of flames directly towards his face. The elder warrior found himself at the intersection of two forces—Tempest’s storm and Cross’s gravity. With a graceful arch backward, Whis fluidly evaded the fire and momentarily took stock of both fighters. Tempest was invigorated, energy whirling around him like a tempest, while Cross’s calculating gaze pierced through the chaos, continuously adjusting his tactics mid-fight. Hours melted away as the combat elongated into a whirlwind of wits and energy. Arms became a blur, teleporting shadows and beams of light colliding with earth-shattering explosions that shook the very essence of the ethereal field. Eventually, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Whis raised a hand for respite. "Enough for today! Rest up, tomorrow you two will face each other as a test of your growth." Tempest grinned, a spark of wildness in his eyes. "You’re gonna regret that, Cross!" Cross’s lips curled in a faint, reserved smile. "We’ll see, won’t we?" The anticipation of the coming duel electrified the air as they departed to meditate and regain their strength overnight. Whis, meanwhile, could not shake the feeling that Tempest held a raw potential that marked him as a likely victor. --- The next day dawned bright and crisp. Whis watched with an eager gaze as Tempest and Cross squared off. Already, he could see the differences in their energy. Tempest's wild form crackled with reckless abandon, while Cross remained a calm storm, a stillness that spoke of silent chaos beneath. As they clashed, Tempest charged forward, using his Living Conduit ability to gather energizing currents, forming concussive blasts of force. He was untamed, a flurry of motion—the embodiment of the storm, truly free-spirited. Cross stood, equal parts focused and fierce—he waited until the last instant, his eyes sharp like a hawk's. The energy surged as Tempest pushed through, assaulting him with a flurry of punches, flames, and gusts, the ground shattering beneath his power. Yet Cross, in the midst of defense, allowed the chaos to bend to him, utilizing Physikinesis to divert Tempest’s momentum just enough to send it spiraling off-course. Suddenly, in a pivotal moment, Cross adapted. With a surge of energy resonating through him, he invoked his last resort—Awakened Regalia, shimmering and dazzling in its potency. The battlefield shifted as he flicked a wrist, and the air around Tempest thickened, gravity itself congealing. Tempest’s heart raced. He desperately summoned the winds, mustering an energy wave to break free, but it was as if the universe conspired against him, weight pressing down, fueling an immutable descent. Cross, recognizing this shift, followed through with precision. He pivoted, sending a delayed hit that resonated painfully through Tempest, a delayed echo of force that drew an agonizing gasp from him. Whis's eyes widened as Cross unleashed the culmination of his powers—a symphony of physics unleashed, the very essence of energy and matter dancing to his will. Tempest’s frantic efforts to rally faltered under the weight of Cross’s calculated strikes, leaving him trapped in a dance of momentum he couldn’t predict. With a triumphant flicker, Cross delivered a final blow that sent Tempest sprawling to the ground, the energy wreathing around him dissipating in conformation of defeat. The battlefield fell silent, the winds dying down as the final echo of their battle settled in. Whis stood, a mixture of astonishment and admiration painted across his face. "I… did not see this coming. Congratulations, Cross, you have surpassed my expectations." Tempest, breathing heavily in the aftermath, nodded in respect, a smile breaking through his grime. "Next time, I’ll win!" "Next time, I expect even more from both of you," Whis mused, his eyes twinkling with promise. "The path of growth is never-ending, after all." And with that, the lessons continued, the charge of energy newly branded upon both their hearts, an association deeper than mere training. They had become more than fighters; they were the harbingers of a new storm, bound to test the limits of their own potentials.