I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, eyes drifting over the meager furnishings of my room. A chill seeped through the stone walls. The fireplace stood empty, and I hadn’t bothered to light it. In a few days, I’d have to move and share quarters with Arwen and Milena in the shared living space. This small cell would belong to another lost soul. I wanted to relish every moment of privacy left.

  I drew a slow breath, recalling the first lessons Paraius Sectus had given me aboard the transport. Each session had forced me to channel raw magic through my flesh, forging new veins and nodes. He’d said I was building an internal network, a conduit for harnessing my power. The process felt like a fever in my bones.

  Painful.

  Transformative.

  It was working, however, because I could physically feel the changes within myself.

  I pulled off my cloak and robe, folding them neatly at the foot of the bed. My tunic stuck to my chest from the lingering cold sweat of nerves. I ran my palms over my arms, coaxing a faint warmth. Then I closed my eyes, inhaling through parted lips. The next step was mental focus. Paraius had insisted on that.

  Magic required discipline of both mind and body.

  My heart beat in a steady rhythm. I imagined my blood carrying a hidden current of energy. It sparkled, faint and intangible, but I reached for it anyway, as though my will alone could shape it into form. A tingle flickered in my fingertips. My eyebrows twitched. That was good. I tried to hold the sensation, letting it swell inside me. A mild ache rippled in my ribs, a dull reminder that these channels were still raw.

  Pain began to build in my chest. I clenched my teeth. If I tensed too much, the energy flow would break. I forced my shoulders to relax, letting the magic spread. Another wave of warmth pulsed, surging along my arms, weaving past my shoulders, descending into my core. Each new thread of power left behind a low, throbbing sting. I pictured them as glimmering lines: new conduits forming, branching off from older veins. More nodes. More capacity.

  My breath caught as a fierce flare ignited near my collarbone, spiking fast. I bit down on my lower lip. A hiss of pain escaped, but I refused to crumble. The heat spiked, then eased. I exhaled a shuddering breath, eyes still shut. My arms felt heavy, like I’d been lifting weights for hours. I willed myself not to surrender.

  At last, the flare subsided. My heartbeat slowed. A faint tremor lingered in my hands. I inhaled, rolling my shoulders to keep them loose. A rivulet of sweat traced down my spine. The air in my cell felt stifling now, even though the day was cold. I swallowed.

  This was the practice: tear open your body to magic, let it shape you from within. Paraius Sectus had said this was unorthodox. The Academy usually started novices with simpler drills. But my father’s money—and Sectus’s strange sentiment—had earned me a head start. A very painful one.

  I glanced at the small desk by the wall. A wooden stool rested beneath it, and the desktop held a single candle plus the dagger I’d received. Next to it lay my empty grimoire. I looked at the candle’s tiny flame, flickering even though no breeze stirred. If I could control my internal magic, then I could move objects around me. That was the simplest step: telekinesis, “Elementary Magic,” as Sectus had called it.

  I rose from the bed, knees quivering at first, and approached the stool. Resting a hand on its worn seat, I inhaled again. I tugged on that ember inside me, letting the new conduits swell with power. A dull throbbing spread through my arms, but I didn’t recoil. Carefully, I pulled my hand away and lifted my palm an inch over the stool’s surface. My eyes bored into the stool’s wooden top. I pictured an invisible thread linking my heart to the stool. I willed it to move. My chest fluttered.

  The stool scraped the floor. Barely an inch. But I felt my pulse surge. My lips parted in a soft gasp. I steadied my breathing, fighting the urge to grin.

  An inch.

  That was something.

  I exhaled, letting the stool settle. The legs clacked gently.

  I flexed my fingers, the ache intensifying. Blood pounded in my ears. My vision blurred a moment, but I forced my focus back.

  Keep going.

  More practice.

  More mastery. I extended my palm again, this time aiming for the small candle on the desk. It flickered in the corner of my sight, flame dancing, casting a faint glow. I tried to grip the candle with my will, feeling that intangible tether. My heart gave a pounding beat, and then the candle lifted. Only an inch or so above the desk, but it hovered.

  My mouth went dry. The flame wavered, a droplet of wax slipping to the wood. I clenched my jaw, preserving the link. My ribcage ached fiercely, as if someone were pressing hot metal to my sternum. I kept my stance, knees bent, forcing more of that internal energy along my arms and into the candle’s shape. Finally, a wave of dizziness swamped me, and the candle dropped. It toppled sideways on the desk, flame sputtering out.

  I doubled over, pressing a hand to my chest. My breath emerged in ragged bursts. The candle lay still on the desk, a thin spiral of smoke curling upward. I grimaced, both from the pain and from the rush of triumph. I was doing it. My telekinesis improved. My capacity had grown.

  The cost, though… I pressed my palm harder against my chest. The new veins inside me ached. Each node felt raw. But it was worth it.

  Stepping back, I leaned against the wall. I wiped sweat from my brow, noticing how clammy my hands had grown. A glance at the window told me a few hours had passed since I started. Enough time had slipped away. If I kept pushing, I’d be useless for the rest of the evening. Still, a part of me didn’t want to stop. This rush, the sense of forging my magic anew, drew me in. But exhaustion tugged at my thoughts.

  I sank to the floor, cross-legged. My back pressed against the rough stone. Maybe a short break, then another exercise. The Academy was all about competition, or so they’d said. If I wanted to survive, or possibly excel, I couldn’t let myself lag behind.

  I closed my eyes, letting the throbbing in my chest subside. The hush of the room settled around me. The only sound was the faint whistle of wind beyond the glass. My breathing steadied. After a minute of calm, I lifted my palm again, summoning that inner wellspring. The warmth fluttered, a fraction easier to reach than before. Another wave of dizziness poked at me, but I pushed it aside. I reached, gently this time, for one of the books on the desk. Without opening my eyes, I felt for it, letting that tether manifest.

  A soft scrape told me the book moved. My eyelids twitched, resisting the urge to peek. I pictured the book floating, cradled by invisible strings. A small bead of sweat rolled down my temple. I hovered the book for a few seconds, arms trembling at my sides. Then I eased it down with a careful exhale. My legs quivered. My lungs felt tight, as if I’d run a mile. But no crippling pain soared through me. That was an improvement.

  A sudden toll rang out. A low, resonant clang that reverberated through stone. My eyes snapped open. The bell. Its sound reminded me of the temple bells back home, though deeper, more insistent. Likely, this was the Academy’s method of signaling events.

  Evening had arrived. The orientation for duels, or an overview of them. I needed to get moving.

  Slowly, I climbed to my feet. My arms ached, but I forced them to move. I wiped more sweat from my face with a cloth, then retrieved my black robe and cloak from the bed. My breath still quivered from the exertion, but I steeled myself.

  I slid on the robe, tightening its sash. My mind replayed the swirl of telekinesis, the flicker of energy.

  A stray thought crept in; I had many more nodes than average. Paraius Sectus never commented, but I’d felt them forming, each a unique reservoir. Was that dangerous? Or was it an advantage? Either way, I had no immediate answers. I needed to find out, perhaps from the library or from an instructor. Not sure when I can do that, however.

  I grabbed the dagger from the desk, slipping it into its hidden sheath. Then I snatched the candle from where it fell, placing it upright in its holder, though unlit. Time to go.

  Stepping out into the corridor, I noticed the halls had grown livelier, novices streaming from side rooms, all heading in one direction. A hum of conversation filled the space. Cloaks rustled. Lamps glowed brighter. My nerves tightened. This was the second big gathering of the day. The first had assigned Triads. This one would reveal how we fought. Or at least the structure of fighting.

  I followed the crowd, letting them guide me toward a wide set of stairs. I recognized a few faces from the morning’s orientation. Some were stiff with tension, others excited, leaning close to their Triad mates and whispering. I scanned for Arwen’s red hair, or Milena’s timid figure. No luck. The corridor branched, leading to the Common Hall that connected multiple wings. Possibly they’d meet me there.

  Sure enough, I reached the Common Hall, a grand, open chamber lined with columns. Novices congregated in small clusters, scanning the throng for friends. My eyes skimmed the crowd. Then I spotted a familiar flash of red hair near a broad pillar. Arwen stood there with arms folded–a faint grimace on her lips. By her side, Milena hovered, clutching a small book. I threaded my way over, weaving past novices in conversation.

  Arwen raised an eyebrow as I approached. “Took you long enough. Training again?”

  I gave a quick nod, catching my breath from the brisk walk. “Yeah. Working on my telekinesis.”

  She smirked, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “At least you’re not slacking. We were starting to wonder.”

  Milena lifted her chin enough to greet me, though her voice stayed soft. “We only arrived a minute or two ago. So you’re fine.”

  I exhaled, relieved. “Let’s see if we can find seats together. Or do we just stand?”

  Arwen shrugged. “No clue. I heard we’re going to the Great Auditorium.”

  A tall figure in a senior’s robe stepped onto a small dais near the corridor leading to the Great Auditorium. He cleared his throat, waiting for silence. The crowd quieted. He motioned for us to enter. We trickled forward. The auditorium’s doors stood open, revealing the same seats from earlier, though the stage lighting was dimmer now. We filed in, novices filling the front rows, older students scattering among the back seats.

  Arwen nudged me, and I followed her to a row near the left aisle. Milena slid into the seat next to her. My heart thudded with anticipation, or maybe leftover adrenaline from my practice. The hall glowed with faint orb-lights overhead, casting shifting shadows. A hush fell once we settled.

  On stage, a man stood. Not the Headmaster this time. This figure was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in dark plate armor that reflected the orb-lights in dull glints. A thick cloak draped his back, pinned at one shoulder with a metal clasp shaped like the Academy crest. He wore no visible sword or staff, though. My eyes flicked to his face: sharp features, a short beard, and a focused gaze scanning us. He had an aura of quiet power, but not in the same way as Lady Victoria’s raw magical force. He felt… different.

  He stepped forward, boots thumping on the wooden stage. Then he spoke, voice low but resonant. “New Initiates, good evening. I am Dorian Thell, Mage Knight of the Triune Empire. I’ve been assigned to oversee your martial training.”

  Murmurs rippled through the novices. Mage Knight? My pulse sped up. I remembered hearing the phrase, but never with clarity. Milena hugged her book tighter, eyes locked on him. Arwen tilted her head, expression curious.

  Dorian Thell continued. “Many of you wonder what a Mage Knight is. Allow me to explain for those who are not aware. I will keep things simple. We are Mages who, at some point, sacrificed our external magical capacity to bolster our bodies. We trade spells for raw physical might. We can’t fling blasts of power or conjure flames. But we can break wards with our fists, outrun a charging War Beast, or trade blows with a Terran Promethean in full gear and win.”

  He paused for a moment, before continuing. “We channel all our magic inward, forging our bones, sinew, and senses into something far beyond the human norm. Many do this willingly, surrendering the potential for fancy spells in exchange for unstoppable bodies. A few rare others are born that way, with no external magic at all, but raw internal power from birth. They are even stronger. But enough about me. Tonight, I will teach you about duels. The Academy’s method for resolving disputes, testing skill, and forging reputations.”

  He paused, letting the hush sink deeper. My fingers gripped the edge of my seat. This place thrived on conflict, apparently. Arwen leaned forward, her eyebrows knitted in interest. Milena’s face paled, knuckles tight around her book.

  Dorian lifted a hand. “First, remember: direct violence outside a structured duel is forbidden. You cannot brawl with your classmates in the corridors. If you have a grievance or a challenge, it must be settled via a duel in the Bone Arena. That rule stands for novices and seniors alike.”

  A tall Initiate a few rows ahead raised his hand. Dorian gestured for him to speak. The boy asked, “So if someone humiliates me, I can’t just punch them? I have to challenge them to a Triad duel?”

  Dorian nodded curtly. “Precisely. The Academy fosters discipline. We do not want petty fights in the halls. Each Triad stands as one in conflict, so any challenge must be triad versus triad. You do not fight alone. Is that understood?”

  A stir of unease swept the crowd. The novice sat back, chewing his lip. I felt a flicker of relief that we had some protection, but also a pang of concern. Triad duels meant high stakes. If one partner messed up, all three suffered.

  Dorian stepped forward, armor glinting. “Now, about the nature of these duels. We have two categories: Basic Duels and Advanced Duels. Basic Duels forbid magic of any kind. Combatants rely solely on melee weapons or bare-handed strikes. Advanced Duels permit spells and enchantments, letting you test your synergy of categories—Controller, Transmitter, Enchanter. Both forms of duels require discipline. In the Basic form, you might spar with wooden training weapons or, at higher levels, real blades. In the Advanced form, wards are placed to prevent lethal outcomes, but injuries still happen. These very same wards will be used to punish you if you use magic during a Basic Duel.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Dorian exhaled. “Duels can be scheduled for official reasons: a dispute resolution, a test of rank, or even a sanctioned event for spectacle. The Academy believes that strife can fuel growth. However, we impose strict limits. Killing your opponents is never allowed. Fatal magic or lethal force is blocked by wards or leads to immediate punishment—expulsion, or worse. Don’t cross that line.”

  His voice dropped an octave.

  “Make no mistake, though. The risk of serious harm is real. The wards do not protect you from breaking a leg or fracturing bones. If you choose to duel, prepare for pain.” He swept a glance over the crowd. “Now, I will be responsible for your physical and martial arts training this year. I’ll show you the basics of grappling, weapons handling, footwork, and so on. After your first year, your continued physical development is your own burden. The Academy only invests that much in novices. If you desire mastery, you must chase it yourself.”

  He paused, letting the hush deepen. A tall staffer with a glinting ring stepped up from the side, whispering in Dorian’s ear. Dorian nodded, then faced us again. “Tonight, we will proceed to the Bone Arena for a demonstration. Two higher-year Triads will engage in both a Basic and an Advanced Duel, so you may see the difference. All novices are required to watch. Follow me.”

  He stepped off the stage, armor clinking. Instructors and senior aides ushered us to rise. A wave of chatter rippled through the novices as we filed out. I felt my chest tighten. The Bone Arena. The place I’d tried to visit earlier with Arwen and Milena, only to find it locked. Now, I’d see it in action, with older students possibly slamming each other to the floor. My curiosity warred with dread. Arwen and Milena flanked me as we funneled into the corridor.

  Arwen glanced at me, lips curving in a half-grin. “This is good. We’ll see how fights actually go here.”

  I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve actually never seen or been in a real fight.”

  She shrugged. “They’ll probably pull their punches. But it’ll still be real enough.”

  Milena hugged her book to her chest, steps quick to keep up. “I… hope they don’t hurt each other too much.”

  Arwen let out a short laugh, though it lacked cheer. “Sounds boring. I wanna see broken bones.”

  Milene shot her an incredulous look, before shaking her head.

  We moved through the labyrinth of corridors, guided by the staff. Torches flickered along the stone walls. The group’s collective footsteps echoed. Soon, I recognized the spiral staircase leading downward. The same route Arwen, Milena, and I had taken.

  Finally, we reached the heavy wooden doors banded with iron. The sign we’d read earlier came into view: Respect the bones. Respect the rules. Remember your mortality. This time, aides pulled the doors open. Warm lamplight spilled out, along with the murmur of a waiting crowd. I stepped inside, and my breath caught at the sight.

  The Bone Arena was a circular chamber, ringed by stone tiers for spectators. The center floor was packed dirt. Archways dotted the walls, presumably leading to smaller prep rooms. Overhead, crystals glowed in sconces, bathing everything in a steady, somewhat eerie light. The arena’s name became clear: the walls were adorned with decorative bone motifs—sculpted ribs, skull carvings, all seemingly symbolic.

  Novices spilled into the lower tiers, guided by staff to take seats. Arwen, Milena, and I found a spot on a mid-level bench. My eyes darted around, noting a few older students occupying the upper tiers, some leaning on railings, smirking down; I recognized them as older, simply by the adornments on their robes.

  A hush of anticipation hovered over the crowd.

  In the center, two Triads stood. They wore advanced robes, embroidered with intricate designs. The first Triad, three figures with proud stances, faced the second, equally poised. Each trio exuded a calm confidence.

  Dorian Thell walked to a small platform near the arena’s edge. His voice resonated across the space. “Novices, watch closely. We will start with a Basic Duel. No magic. Only melee. The wards are in place to prevent permanent harm, but these fighters can still bruise or break. Each Triad chooses a favored weapon set. Begin when ready.”

  A hush fell. The first Triad stepped forward onto the dirt. One brandished a sword, another a staff, the last a pair of daggers. The second Triad readied themselves, brandishing similar armaments. No spells, no illusions. Just physical skill. My heart hammered with fascination. I’d never seen well-trained mages fight without magic.

  Wasn’t that contradictory?

  Yet the Academy demanded it, to ensure we also honed our bodies.

  Dorian raised a gloved hand, then dropped it. “Commence!”

  They clashed in a flurry of steel. The clang of metal on metal echoed, feet kicking up dust. The robed swordsman from the first Triad launched a swift series of slashes at the dagger-wielder in the second Triad. A dagger thrust countered him, forcing him to pivot aside. Meanwhile, the staff-bearer from the first Triad lunged at a slender woman with a short spear in the second. Their weapons clacked, each blow resonating. The staff spun in precise arcs, glancing off the spear’s haft. I watched, enthralled. They moved with fluid grace, each strike timed for maximum effect. Even though no magic flared, the skill was evident. Possibly, they had subtle enhancements from prior training, but they didn’t conjure illusions or project energy.

  Arwen leaned forward, eyes bright. Milena’s grip on her book loosened, her posture relaxing slightly as she watched. I found my fingers curling around the edge of the bench. Each collision sent my heart racing. The Triads worked in pairs or trios, occasionally switching opponents. If one fighter was pressured by two enemies, his or her teammates stepped in, redirecting strikes or forcing the other Triad to scatter.

  After a minute or so, the Triad with the staff-bearer gained an upper hand. Their dagger-wielder slipped past a guard stance, hooking a foot behind an opponent’s ankle and bringing them crashing down. The staff-bearer immediately pivoted to press the advantage. The second Triad’s spear-wielder tried to intervene, but too late. A quick disarm ended the bout. The collapsed fighter tapped the dirt, acknowledging defeat. Applause rippled through the crowd. The first Triad lowered their weapons, breathing hard, sweat beading on their foreheads. They’d won, but only by a slim margin.

  I exhaled. That had been intense, and it was just the Basic Duel. A wave of chatter spread through the novices. Some whistled in admiration, others muttered critiques. Dorian stepped forward, praising both Triads for their technique. Then he announced the transition to an Advanced Duel. The same Triads would face off again, but now they could use spells relevant to their categories. My stomach knotted. Magic made everything more dangerous, even with wards.

  The second Triad’s staffer clenched her fists, eyes glowing with a faint aura. Possibly a Transmitter. Meanwhile, the first Triad’s sword-bearer tapped a small talisman around his neck, maybe an Enchanter’s tool. I felt the tension mount, as though the very air crackled with unseen power.

  Dorian raised his hand again, then dropped it. “Commence the Advanced Duel!”

  Immediately, the Triads sprang apart, tension crackling like static in the air. My chest tightened as I felt the sudden shift from pure melee to a dazzling exhibition of magic. The staffer from the second Triad snapped her wrists, conjuring flickers of flame that arced across the arena in twisting ribbons. The orange glow illuminated swirling dust motes, filling the air with flickering lights.

  The first Triad’s dagger-wielder dove sideways, the flame grazing a shimmering ward that flared around him. I realized, with a jolt, that the ward had to be an Enchanter’s work—someone from his Triad projecting a protective shield. A heartbeat later, the sword-bearer in that same Triad tapped a talisman around his neck, and a second ward layered itself over the first, catching another jet of flame before it singed his robes.

  The crowd gasped at the speed of it.

  Suddenly, the first Triad’s staff-bearer raised her weapon high. Instead of swinging it physically, she thrust it forward in one swift motion. I sensed the invisible thump of telekinesis ripple across the packed dirt, scattering dust. One member of the second Triad—a short, stocky mage—stumbled back, arms flailing. He barely righted himself with a hasty enchantment that sparked around his feet. His Triad’s spear-wielder capitalized on the distraction, whipping up a translucent barrier just in time to catch the sword-bearer’s retaliatory lunge. The clash of magic and steel erupted in brilliant sparks, the force so intense that I felt it tingle across my skin, even from the stands.

  A swirl of illusions then flared at the arena’s center. One of the second Triad’s fighters, likely a Controller, wove half-formed silhouettes that danced and darted, confusing the first Triad’s dagger-wielder. For a breath, I lost track of which figure was real. The illusions ducked and spun, each flickering with ghostly light. A wide-eyed gasp rippled through the novices around me. The illusions looked so convincing that a few of us flinched, expecting real bodies to collide.

  Then, in a flash, the dagger-wielder struck. His blade swept through one phantom image, which dissolved into ribbons of light—only for another figure to slam into him from behind. He stumbled forward, illusions swirling away. He recovered fast, but the moment of disorientation left him vulnerable. A flame-lunge from the spear-wielder followed, the spear’s tip now wreathed in flickering fire. The dagger-wielder twisted, illusions forming a hazy screen. The flaming spear slid through a phantom shape, missing by inches. I let out a shuddering exhale, heart pounding at their sheer agility.

  Around them, wards flared each time a strike threatened lethal contact. The wards were faintly visible now, like bubbles of refracted light hugging each mage. One glowed bright turquoise as the staff-bearer from the first Triad deflected a telekinetic shove that hurled sand and debris at her face. She staggered, blinking grit from her eyes, but pressed on. Her staff whirled, half weapon, half conduit for invisible force, each sweep accompanied by an eruption of dust or spark of magic.

  My attention snagged on the second Triad’s Enchanter, who stood with hands raised, conjuring a volley of shimmering orbs. They spiraled out like a bouquet of tiny comets, each homing toward the first Triad’s staff. When the orbs latched on, the staffer jerked back with a pained hiss. Her staff erupted in a bright flare, magic swirling chaotically, as if something fundamental had been drained or corrupted by the orbs’ enchantment. She lost her grip, the staff clattering to the ground with a crack.

  Sensing weakness, the second Triad’s sword-bearer lunged. His blade glowed red-orange, thin ribbons of flame dancing along its edge. An enchanted sword, perhaps. He aimed for a decisive blow. But the first Triad’s dagger-wielder, illusions already swirling around him, blurred into motion. For a second, I couldn’t tell who was real and who was phantom. The flaming slash carved through a flickering decoy, leaving the real dagger-wielder behind the blade’s path. He tried to follow up with a close strike, but the second Triad’s Enchanter flung a hasty ward between them. The impact rattled my teeth from across the arena.

  Then came a thunderous clap overhead. I startled, glancing up to see Lady Victoria, arms folded on a high ledge, her aura so potent it felt like static pressing on my skin. She watched with unblinking eyes, instructors at her side. The novices around me shifted, hushed, uncertain if she might intervene. But she stayed still, letting the duel continue.

  Below, the second Triad rallied again. Their staffer circled around, conjuring a swirling updraft of cinders. She hurled them across the dirt in a smoldering wave. The first Triad’s sword-bearer barely avoided it, a shimmering ward sizzling as embers splashed across its surface. The dagger-wielder spun to cover him, illusions draping them both in wavering silhouettes. My heart hammered at the sheer spectacle—so many spells layering at once, each side refusing to yield.

  Finally, the momentum shifted. The second Triad’s telekinetic mage, the short, stocky one, crouched low and slammed a pulse of force across the ground. The wave rippled beneath the illusions, scattering them in a bright flash. The dagger-wielder gasped, illusions flickering out. Before he could recover, a second telekinetic shove hurled him backward. He tumbled into the dust, illusions gone.

  Seizing the moment, the spear-wielder from the second Triad snapped her fingers. A flaming whip coiled into existence at her side. She flicked it toward the first Triad’s staff-bearer, who was still reeling from her drained weapon. It caught her ankle in a crackle of embers. She went down with a sharp cry, wards flaring but not enough to stop the impact. Across the arena, the second Triad’s Enchanter pinned the first Triad’s Enchanter with another telekinetic wave, forcing him to the ground.

  The sword-bearer from the first Triad raced to help, brandishing his flickering blade, but a final conjured barrier stopped him short. He slashed at it, wards clashing in a brilliant burst of sparks. A heartbeat later, he saw his Triad was already down—dagger-wielder prone in the dust, staff-bearer entangled, their Enchanter pinned. He lowered his blade with a resigned slump of shoulders.

  A loud clang signaled the wards across the arena ramping up, a sign the duel had ended. The second Triad stood triumphant amid shimmering after-images of flame and illusions. Applause roared through the stands. Novices whooped, some jumping to their feet in awe. Even older students gave subdued nods of approval. My pulse hammered in my ears, the swirl of magic and steel still fresh in my mind. My triad mates, Arwen and Milena, wore matching expressions of breathless astonishment.

  Dorian strode in, praising both Triads. I stared, heart thrumming, as the victors helped the losers to their feet. A few lingering embers and illusions faded, wards collapsing back into nothingness. The entire display had lasted only minutes, yet it left my thoughts spinning. The synergy, the raw skill, the explosive power… it was everything the Academy promised, and everything we novices still lacked.

  I swallowed, gripping the bench to steady my trembling hands. If this was the standard of advanced students, we had a brutal road ahead. But beneath my nerves, a spark of anticipation burned—an unspoken vow that one day, my Triad might wield such prowess in the Bone Arena, weaving illusions and flame with that same breathtaking grace.

  My heart hammered from the tension. That demonstration had lasted only minutes, but it showcased a swirling tapestry of spells, maneuvers, synergy, and last-second rescues. I gripped the bench’s edge, breath catching. Arwen let out a low whistle, her eyes alight with excitement. Milena tucked her hair behind an ear, posture rigid, an uneasy flicker in her gaze. I swallowed, mind reeling. This was our future: Triad-based duels, possibly lethal if not for wards, pushing our magical and physical limits. I felt a swirl of both fear and anticipation.

  Dorian stepped onto the arena floor. The participants regrouped, some panting, all sweaty. He commended them for an excellent demonstration. The novices were then allowed to disperse or question the Triads about their moves, though staff kept a watchful eye to prevent chaos. The older students left the ring, some exchanging respectful nods with each other. The tension in the air slowly drained away, replaced by a hum of chatter among novices.

  Arwen turned to me, bouncing on her toes. “That was incredible. Did you see that illusion dodge? The flame-lunge?”

  I nodded, voice shaky. “Yes. Quick. They must’ve practiced for years. We have a lot to learn.”

  Milena frowned, hugging her book. “So many spells. They layered illusions, wards, and attacks at once. That synergy… it’ll take forever for us to reach that level.”

  Arwen gave her a small punch to the shoulder, not hard, just playful. “We’ll get there. We have each other, remember?”

  Milena offered a tiny smile. “I guess so.”

  I exhaled, scanning the stands. Many novices looked dazed or awestruck. Some openly boasted, claiming they could pull off certain tricks better. Others trembled, perhaps realizing the danger. My gaze landed on Lady Victoria, still perched above. She caught my eyes for a fleeting instant, then turned away. A chill ran up my spine.

  Dorian’s voice boomed again, echoing around the walls. “That concludes tonight’s demonstration. Return to your quarters. Classes begin tomorrow at dawn. Good night, novices.”

  We rose from the bench, following the exodus back into the corridors. The throng of novices buzzed with new energy. Arwen’s grin lingered as she recounted the final moments of the fight, analyzing every feint. Milena listened quietly, occasionally nodding, her eyebrows pinched in thought.

  We climbed the spiral stairs, the line of novices a steady shuffle. The corridor above felt warmer, maybe because of so many bodies. Once we reached the fork, novices scattered to their respective wings. My Triad drifted toward the corridor leading to our quarters. Fenn spotted me from afar, weaving through the crowd with a half-smile, but the flow separated us before we could speak. I caught his wave. He lifted a hand in greeting, then vanished with the staff retainer group.

  Arwen slowed, letting others pass, then addressed me and Milena. “So. That was day one. We have an entire year to figure out how to be half as good as those seniors.”

  I forced a weak laugh. “We’ll manage. At least no one expects us to duel tomorrow.”

  Milena ran a hand along her braid, eyes flicking between me and Arwen. “We should talk strategies. Or set a schedule for group training.”

  Arwen nodded. “Sure. We can start tomorrow afternoon, after classes. We’ll see how that goes.”

  I gave a tired shrug. “Sounds good. I’m exhausted from earlier, though. Let’s rest tonight. Classes start at dawn.”

  They agreed. We parted at the cross-corridor where our Triad’s quarters branched off. Milena’s sleeping cell was a short walk from mine, while Arwen’s was in the same cluster. The hall lights flickered, casting long shadows. We exchanged subdued goodnights, stepping to our respective doors.

  My cell greeted me with its usual chill. The fireplace in the small common area was unlit, but I considered lighting it for warmth. I decided I was too tired. Instead, I entered my cramped sleeping space, dropping onto the bed. I rubbed my arms, hoping to ward off the cold. Exhaling a shaky breath, I let my eyes drift shut. My limbs felt heavy as lead. Tomorrow, we’d start formal lessons. I didn’t have to try too hard to lull myself to sleep. Not even a moment later, my eyes fluttered shut and dream took me.