Cheers erupted all around me as we stood in the wide courtyard of the Empire Academy's southern grounds. What had once been a crowd of stiff, nervous applicants was now a celebration of 65 weary, half-delirious cadets. Laughter bounced off the marble walls, echoing under a sky slowly giving in to twilight. For many of us, the entrance exam had been the worst thing we'd ever endured.
But it was over. We'd made it.
I stood in the middle of it all, voices rising around me, cadets slapping each other on the back, a few even pulling each other into tight, stunned hugs. Someone clapped my shoulder, another shoved a cup of fruit cider into my hand. I didn't even know who. I was too busy taking it in.
I passed.
A small fire crackled in the center of the courtyard, lit by one of the instructors to symbolize our "first victory." I didn't know if it was that dramatic, but the warmth was nice. So was the food—simple bread, thick stew, grilled meat that smelled like heaven, and the cider, which somehow tasted sweeter than anything I'd had in my life. After what we went through this week, it might as well have been a royal banquet.
I sat with Flynn, Nora, Jett, and Mirae—some of the few I actually trusted to talk to without feeling like I was being watched or measured. Flynn was mid-story, dramatically recounting how close he'd come to collapsing during the endurance run. Everyone laughed. I smiled. He wasn't exaggerating that much.
Nora sipped her drink, looking calm but radiant. I'd seen her Acarna during the trials—blazing fire that turned heads, even the evaluators'. Mirae just rolled her eyes at Flynn's tale, while Jett tossed bits of bread at him when the storytelling got too theatrical.
But even with all the laughter, there was a strange weight hanging in the air. Something unsaid. I felt it more than I heard it.
Then Flynn elbowed me. "Have you decided?" he asked.
I blinked and looked over. "Decided?"
He grinned. "The 1v1 battles. Tomorrow."
I glanced down at my plate, then back at him. "Yeah," I said. "I'm in."
"Thought so," he replied, smirking like he'd known all along.
The optional duels. A long-standing tradition. After the entrance exam, cadets could volunteer for a tournament-style match—one-on-one duels to showcase skill, earn recognition, maybe even catch the eye of a Commander. You didn't have to fight. Just being here was enough. But for those who wanted more...
Glory. Resources. Special training. Maybe a faster path to the top.
Ryn didn't bother. He'd walked away from the sign-up sheet earlier today like it was beneath him.
"No need to fight for show," he said, not even slowing his stride.
I could respect that.
But eighteen of us had chosen otherwise.
Me.
Flynn.
Nora.
Jett.
Mirae.
Lisa.
Kellan.
Vale.
Zaya.
Griff.
Set.
Bryn.
Flora.
Vanessa.
Jake.
Steve.
Malek.
Reiner.
Names signed without hesitation.
As the sky darkened and stars began to prick through the velvet blue, the noise around us softened. Instructors walked through the courtyard again, collecting final names and murmuring about brackets being posted by dawn. The duels would begin at first light.
I leaned back and stared at the sky.
"Tomorrow's going to be brutal," Nora said, stretching beside me.
Jett chuckled. "Let's hope we don't get matched up first."
The real fight hadn't started yet.
---
The sun rose with tension humming in the air.
The training arena looked completely different. Overnight, the Academy had transformed it into something worthy of a royal match—banners fluttered with the Empire's crest, stands were erected for spectators, and in the center was a single glowing combat ring. Containment glyphs were carved into the stone, faint but thrumming with power. They would keep the fights from turning lethal.
But they wouldn't dull the pain.
Or the pride.
Only eighteen of us were here.
The rest? They were content to have made it in—and they'd earned that peace. But for the eighteen of us still standing on the sand, still ready to draw blades—we weren't here just to be accepted.
We were here to prove something.
To others, maybe. But mostly… to ourselves.
I looked around. Flynn was adjusting his gloves, cool as ever. Lisa stood alone a few paces away, stretching, focused, like she could already see her opponent falling. Everyone had their own reason for being here.
And soon, we'd find out whose reason was strong enough to win.
This was real now.
And I was ready.
The fight was between me and Jake
The bell rang.
Jake charged.
I didn't hesitate. No backing up. No waiting. I stepped into him, ducked under his wide swing, and drove the hilt of my sword into his exposed ribs. A sharp breath, a twist of my body—then I swept his legs from under him and brought the blade to his neck before he could even register what had happened.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. I barely noticed.
Jake stared up at me. No fear. Just a quiet nod.
It wasn't personal.
It was war.
<-Flynn>
I stepped into the ring, rolling my shoulders once as the announcer called our names. Vanessa stood across from me—Group Four's golden girl, known for her precision with fire bursts and her quick wit. She smirked, twirling her fingers as tiny sparks danced across her palm.
"Ready to get scorched, Flynn?" she called out, fire coiling up her arm like a serpent.
I gave a small shrug. "Only if you can catch me."
The bell rang.
She wasted no time.
A spiraling wave of flame surged toward me—hot, fast, and loud. I ducked low and rolled to the side, boots skidding against the stone. Heat grazed my cheek, but I was already moving. Fast steps. Light feet. Always circling.
She threw two more bursts, trying to box me in.
I didn't let her.
Every move I made had purpose—something my brother used to say during sparring sessions. Don't waste steps. Don't waste time. Make them come to you.
"Stand still!" Vanessa shouted, launching a horizontal arc of flame that tore across the ring.
I leapt over it, twisting midair and landing behind her flank.
She spun fast, sending a searing whip of flame directly at my chest. I dropped flat, breath tight in my throat, then swept her legs from under her before she could stabilize.
She hit the ground but rolled away, panting. "Damn. You're faster than I thought."
"You're not bad," I replied, circling again. "But you telegraph. Every time you switch stance, I can see your intent."
"Cocky, huh?" She wiped her mouth and stood. "Fine. Let's see if you can keep dodging."
She roared forward—this time with a flurry of smaller bursts, more chaotic and unpredictable. The heat scorched the ground, but I weaved through the fire like wind through broken leaves. Every motion was trained, polished. My heart was steady. My breath calm.
She overextended—just slightly—when she tried to land a burning palm strike.
I stepped inside her guard, grabbed her wrist, twisted, and brought my blade to her shoulder in a smooth, practiced arc.
"Don't," I said softly. "It's over."
She froze, breathing hard. Sparks still flickered around her fingers.
Then she sighed, and the fire vanished.
"I yield," she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Damn. I thought you were just your brother's shadow."
I lowered the blade and stepped back. "I am."
She raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."
I helped her up. The crowd was cheering—I barely heard it.
Because for the first time… I felt like this fight wasn't about proving something to anyone else.
It was mine.
All of it.
And she knew it now, too.
<-Kael>
The instructor announced the next battle between Lisa and Malek
<-Lisa>
Without saving the word I got on the stage
Malek, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking.
"You sure you're in the right place, little mouse?" he sneered as we stood across from each other in the ring. "I've broken training dummies taller than you."
I just stared at him. No expression. No reaction. Just silence.
He chuckled and hoisted that oversized cleaver of his onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "Tell you what," he said, loud enough for the audience to hear. "You land one hit, and I'll let you forfeit without shame."
The bell rang.
He swung first—predictable, heavy, and wide.
I stepped aside, barely moving more than I needed. The blade smashed into the ground behind me with a loud clang. Dust rose. He turned, surprised I wasn't there anymore.
I was already inside his guard.
One cut. Shallow. Clean. Across his collarbone.
His eyes widened as blood bloomed beneath his uniform, a thin line marking exactly where my blade had touched.
"What—" he stammered, stepping back, swinging wildly. "You little—!"
I ducked under the next strike, slashed behind his knee, pivoted, and drove the flat of my blade into his ribs. He staggered. The air left his lungs in a single, ugly wheeze.
No wasted movement. No hesitation.
This wasn't about proving I was better.
It was about ending it.
He charged again—angry now, sloppy. He telegraphed every step, every swing, every word before it even left his mouth.
"COME ON THEN—!"
I spun, slid past his shoulder, and tapped my blade gently against the back of his neck.
"Stop," I said.
Just one word.
He froze.
The entire arena was silent.
Then he dropped to one knee. Breathing hard. Bruised. Bleeding. Beaten.
I didn't wait for applause. I didn't wait for the instructor's signal.
I lowered my sword and walked off the field.
Eyes forward.
No gloating. No backward glance.
My sword speaks for me.
It always has.
<-Kael>
By the time the sun began to dip behind the Academy walls, the first round was over.
Nine of us remained.
Nora fought like a mind-reader. Zaya danced like frost on the wind.
And then there was me.
Nine victors.
Eight spots in the bracket.
Someone had to earn their place the hard way.
That someone… was me.
And my new opponent.
Zaya.
We hadn't spoken much before. She was quiet, with dusk-colored eyes that always seemed to look through people, not at them. Her weapon—a ribbon blade—was unlike anything I'd seen. A long strand of steel, reinforced with wind-based Acarna, gliding through the air like a living thing.
When the battle started, the sky was thick with clouds. The kind of gray that made you feel like something important was about to happen.
Her opening strike was so fast I barely got my sword up in time. The ribbon snapped at me like a whip. If I hadn't moved—or if the Arcana Core inside me hadn't pulsed a half-second before—I'd have a deep gash across my shoulder instead of just torn fabric.
Zaya didn't speak.
She just attacked.
Every time I tried to close the distance, that blade danced between us, elegant and merciless. She didn't waste movement. Her fighting felt… clean. Beautiful, even. Like she was painting something in the air and I was just a mistake on her canvas.
I was losing.
Not in points.
But in rhythm.
She was setting the tempo—and if I followed her beat, I'd fall behind.
So I stopped.
Just for a second.
I closed my eyes and listened. Not with my ears. With my breath. With the faint hum in my chest. With the way the energy around us shifted when she moved.
Then I moved with her—not against her.
I let her ribbon strike my left gauntlet and used that impact, that moment of contact, to drive forward. My blade cut across her side. Not deep—but enough to change everything.
She stumbled.
Her breath hitched.
That was my chance. But I didn't swing again.
I stood there. Sword low. Watching.
She met my eyes.
Then nodded.
"I yield," she said quietly. "You read me better than most."
I let out a slow breath, my shirt clinging to my back from sweat. "You nearly had me."
She smiled faintly. We shook hands, no words exchanged after.
The bracket was now complete.
I was in the quarterfinals.
And the real fights… were still ahead.