The morning sun filtered through the crimson-glass windows of the central lecture hall, bathing the marble floors in hues of burning rose. Bells tolled from the northern tower—three low, resounding chimes that silenced the chatter of Dozens of students gathering in the courtyard below.
It was the signal.
The mid-year exams had begun.
A low ripple of tension swept across the assembly. Whispers stirred like wind through leaves. Some students stood stiff-backed, armored with confidence. Others shifted restlessly, clutching notes or fiddling with talismans. The courtyard had been transformed overnight—black banners hung from every corner, each stitched with the academy's eye-shaped emblem, watching from above.
High Elder Cherron emerged atop the platform, flanked by the other elders and several warrior instructors clad in grey battle-robes. His voice rang out, sharp and cold as a drawn blade.
"This moment marks the halfway mark of your first year. A gate. Beyond it lies your future—or your ruin. Some of you will ascend. Others will fall."
He surveyed the crowd, eyes glinting beneath his golden circlet.
"You are here because you have potential. But potential, untested, is delusion."
A scroll unfurled in his hand, ink glowing faintly with inscription energy.
"The examination will proceed in two phases. The first test begins tomorrow at dawn: a written assessment within the Grand Arcanum Hall. You will be tested on theory—Inscription Laws, energy cycles, spiritual sea cultivation, and historical engravings. Your knowledge will be measured, and your ranking adjusted accordingly."
A low wave of reaction followed—some groans, others calm nods. Theory favored those who had been diligent. Ryn, standing near the rear of the crowd, didn't react outwardly, but a fire flickered behind his eyes.
He had studied every night. Memorized ancient diagrams. Rewritten principles in his own hand until his fingers cramped. This was his moment.
But Elder Cherron's voice had not finished.
"The second test," he continued, "will take place three days hence."
Silence deepened.
"You will be assigned into groups of three. Each group will be accompanied by one of the academy's warriors and sent beyond the city walls to undertake a series of missions."
Shock rippled across the students.
Outside the city?
Ryn's jaw tightened. He wasn't afraid—but he understood. This was no mere classroom exercise. Real danger lay beyond the academy's protections. Monsters. Bandits. Rogue inscription zones. Things that devoured the unprepared.
"The missions will vary by group," Ravon said. "Herb gathering, hunting, ruin exploration, inscription harvesting. Each is tailored to your ranking and recent performance."
He raised his hand. Behind him, the warrior instructors stepped forward. Each one bore a sigil of rank on their shoulder—Marks of Third and Fourth Rank strength.
"These instructors will observe your decisions, performance, and cooperation. Points will be awarded based on your execution, discipline, and results."
He paused.
"There will be no second chances."
The words fell like stone.
Students looked at each other—friends, rivals, strangers. Some had already begun evaluating who they might be paired with. Others glanced toward the edge of the courtyard, where names were being inscribed magically upon a large obsidian slate.
Elias stood among them, apart.
He did not blink. His expression was calm, unreadable. The test meant nothing to him. The mission, the danger—none of it compared to what he had seen beneath the city, nor to what now stirred in the depths of his spiritual sea. But it was a stage. A necessity.
He looked up as Elder Cherron spoke again.
"Your teams will be announced tonight. Dismissed."
The crowd began to disperse in murmurs and movement. Conversations flared to life like sparks.
"Did he say outside the city?"
"What if we're paired with dead weight?"
"I hope I get matched with Elias. He's cold, but he's strong."
"I just don't want to die."
Ryn moved toward the eastern study gardens, where he could think. As he walked, Seraphina caught sight of him and altered her path.
"You heard," she said softly, matching his stride.
"Yes," Ryn replied, his voice quiet. "It's more than a test. It's a weeding."
She nodded. The silver of her hair glimmered faintly in the sunlight, but her violet eyes were unreadable.
"I've seen this before," she said. "When the academy sends you out, it's to see who will survive real fieldwork. We're not students anymore. We're tools in the making."
Ryn glanced at her. "Do you intend to pass?"
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I intend to rise."
They didn't speak further, but the understanding was there.
Each student was now a thread in a loom of blood and merit.
* * *
Later that evening, as the first stars bloomed in the sky, the list was posted.
The courtyard lit up with lanternlight and roaring debate.
Names, groups, supervisors.
Ryn's name appeared under Group Eleven.
Seraphina under Group Nine.
Elias…
He appeared under Group Thirteen. Paired with two unfamiliar names. His assigned supervisor was a warrior named Kareth, rumored to be cruel and precise, with a history in border skirmishes.
Elias stood before the board for a moment longer than the others, reading the names beside his with detached calculation.
Then he turned and walked away into the night, his shadow stretching long and silent behind him.
That night, alone in his room, he sat cross-legged as moonlight filtered faintly through his shutters. The room was silent, save for the faint pulsing of energy as he resumed his slow, steady efforts to purify his spiritual sea.
No shortcuts. No recklessness. Only the cold rhythm of perseverance.
Layer by layer, he pushed against the murk within—grinding forward, as relentless as time itself.