The morning air felt tense. Heavy, but not in a bad way—more like the world itself was waiting. I walked beside my mother down the wide stone road leading toward the Cadet Arena, my feet light but my chest tight. Each step echoed between towering archways that reached high above the streets, throwing long shadows over the growing crowd.
Parents. Guardians. Hopeful cadets—dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Some were wide-eyed. Others looked like they'd been preparing for this since they could crawl.
I kept my eyes ahead, but something pulled at me.
Dad's absence.
I knew why he wasn't here. He was stationed at the border, helping protect some far-off town from threats no one talked about in the capital. If he could be here, he would. I repeated that over and over, like a prayer meant to patch the empty space beside me.
But deep down, I still wanted to see his face. Just once. Just a look—his usual silent nod. The one that meant he was proud.
Still… I wasn't alone.
My mother walked beside me, tall and composed, as if nothing could shake her. Her eyes missed nothing. Her back didn't bend for anyone. And even now, with hundreds of families swirling around us, she was steady. Like always.
At the checkpoint, a soldier in a deep crimson jacket glanced through our documents. He barely spared me a look, just gave a sharp nod and waved us through.
And then we were inside.
The cadet lobby was enormous—vaulted ceilings, polished stone, and massive blue banners fluttering from the upper balconies. Pillars stood like giants, carved with old empire crests. Around me, cadets gathered in clusters, most dressed in combat tunics or light armor. Some already had training scars on their arms or faces.
They looked like they belonged here.
I took a breath. So did I.
We stopped just before the guardian line—where parents had to turn back. I knew the moment was coming, but it still hit harder than I expected.
Mom turned to me, resting both hands on my shoulders. Her grip was firm. Grounding.
"Be careful out there," she said, low but clear. "Trust your instincts. Remember what you were taught—in order, Kael. You only have seconds to decide. If your body hesitates, your opponent won't."
I nodded.
Her words wrapped around my spine like armor.
Then she pulled me into a hug—quick and strong—and was gone, moving into the sea of guardians climbing the stairs to the stands.
And just like that, I was alone.
Two hundred kids. Maybe more. Everyone under fifteen. Some stretching. Some meditating. Others just standing there, scanning the room with narrowed eyes and clenched fists.
I didn't want to waste energy posturing, so I moved to the side, scanning the space.
Then I saw him.
Ryn.
He stood alone, stiff against the far wall. As soon as our eyes met, his gaze dropped. Just like that.
Huh.
A strange mix of emotions twisted in my gut. Nostalgia. Confusion. A little resentment.
We hadn't spoken in months—not since the alley. Not since he turned his back on me when it mattered.
But he made it here too. That said something.
I didn't approach him.
Not today.
Not here.
Whatever we had to say to each other… it could wait until after the trials.
That's when the soldier entered.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in full Kyrios military garb. The silver insignia gleamed on his chest—Second-Rank Commander.
The room quieted instantly.
"Attention," he barked. "Your first exam begins shortly. Listen carefully—I'll only say this once."
I straightened up. Every nerve in me lit up.
"There are 267 of you today. The Kyrios Academy accepts a maximum of 70 cadets per cycle. You'll be evaluated in several phases. If you fail to meet the standard—you're out."
A ripple of whispers. Nervous glances. Shifting feet.
Me? I just breathed. Steady. Ready.
"The first phase will test your physical strength and speed under Acarna strain," he continued.
Behind him, a floating glyph screen pulsed to life. Two diagrams lit up.
"Trial one: a 500-meter sprint across a field saturated with wild energy. The further you run, the heavier you'll feel. Some collapse halfway. Many don't even make it that far."
I couldn't stop the small grin tugging at my lips.
That sounded… familiar.
"Trial two: you'll lift and hold one of several blocks—each imbued with gravity magic. You only get one chance. Choose your weight carefully. Fail to lift it—or drop it too soon—and you're disqualified from this phase."
The tension hit like a cold gust. Even the confident kids started shifting uneasily.
But me?
Speed and strength.
I'd trained for this.
Every morning run through uphill streets. Every brutal sword drill with weights. Every night I collapsed into bed, shaking but alive. Every moment was a step toward this.
I closed my eyes.
Felt the faint hum of the Arcana Core within my chest. Still quiet. Still watchful. Not flaring. Not resisting.
It was waiting too.
Outside, I heard the distant roar of the crowd. The arena was alive with cheers and chants. The gates creaked open with ancient weight. Sunlight poured into the lobby like a blade.
From somewhere high above, I knew my mother was watching.
I stepped forward.
No fear.
Not today.
Let them come. Let the trials begin.
I stood in line with the first group—twenty of us—shoulder to shoulder under the early sun. The wind brushed against my tunic, and I felt the familiar weight of the bands strapped beneath my sleeves and pants. Wrist. Ankles. They dragged slightly when I shifted, but I didn't mind. They were part of me now. Like a second skin.
A horn sounded—low and steady.
The gates opened.
A breath later, we moved.
The arena unfolded before us with a creaking groan—stone grinding against ancient hinges. The stands above were packed with faces. Layers upon layers of them, all leaning forward, waiting to judge. I kept my eyes ahead, boots tapping against the warm stone beneath my feet.
This was it.
The trial that separated the ones who wanted it… from the ones who earned it.
The course stretched forward like a blade of light and shadow. Five hundred meters of straight crystal-enclosed path, its walls glowing faintly with unstable Acarna. I recognized the type of tuning immediately. Not refined like in mother's chamber—this was broader, wilder. Less violent, but more unpredictable.
Didn't matter.
The pressure hit the moment I stepped inside—soft at first. Like walking through water. Just enough to make my legs aware they had work to do.
I grinned.
This was familiar ground.
I tilted my head slightly toward the stands—too many people to pick out my mother's face, but I knew she was there. Watching. Measuring.
I wasn't going to disappoint her.
The instructor stood in front of us—thin frame, cold stare. He looked like he hadn't smiled in ten years. His hand glowed with a pale blue light.
"You run when the spark fires," he said, voice like steel. "No cheating. No hesitation. If you fall—stay down. Medics will retrieve you. There is no shame in knowing your limits. But there is death in ignoring them."
His words settled in the pit of my stomach, solid and sharp. I stepped up to the starting line.
"On your mark..."
I bent my knees slightly. Loosened my shoulders. Focused.
"Set..."
The glow in his palm intensified.
Pop!
A flare burst into the air like lightning — white and blue against the bright sky.
We launched forward.
The noise of the crowd fell away the moment my boots hit the crystal path. Just me. Just the road. The pressure built with every step, unrefined Acarna wrapping around my limbs like chains growing tighter. I welcomed it.
This is nothing compared to the chamber, I thought. But damn these weights...
Even so, I was fast ,all my training carved their way into my muscles. My movements were smooth, practiced. But I wasn't first.
Six cadets pulled ahead — gliding like ghosts.
I clenched my jaw.
They've trained too. Maybe some of them are like me.
At the 200-meter mark, the course shifted. The pressure suddenly increased, heavy and dragging like a hand pressing down from above. I adjusted my stride, kept my breathing steady. A boy on my left stumbled. Another to my right tripped and slammed into the floor. His legs twitched. Then went still.
I didn't look back.
At 300 meters, the air felt like lead. My bones ached. My chest burned. My calves screamed beneath the added weight. But I kept going. Faster.
450 meters. Another cadet ahead of me dropped to one knee.
I passed him.
Then, finally—blessedly—I burst through the shimmering arch at the finish.
Fourth.
Not first. But close.
I staggered a step before catching myself. My hands were shaking slightly. Sweat rolled into my eyes. Three cadets collapsed near me, gasping. Others leaned against the wall, bent over with heaving lungs.
Some never made it.
A massive glyph screen lit up overhead:
HEAT 1 RESULTS
Participants: 20
Completed: 17
Eliminated: 3
I exhaled long and deep. My arms trembled slightly as I stretched them out. No cheers. No fist pumps. No victory celebrations.
Everyone knew this was only the beginning.
A navy-cloaked attendant stepped up beside me and pressed a warm glyph stone into my hand. It pulsed briefly, marking my time and placement. I gave a short nod and stepped aside, finding a spot by the cool stone wall.
I watched silently as the next group entered the arena.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
The same instructions. The same starting spark.
Each time, I watched how they ran. Who sprinted too early. Who saved their strength for the end. Who panicked. Who endured.
The field kept taking its toll.
Some cadets collapsed from exhaustion. Some froze when the pressure crept into their lungs. Some just… broke. Not physically. Mentally.
I saw it in their eyes.
A few crossed the finish line on pure instinct — barely conscious, bodies twitching, faces pale. They had heart. But heart wasn't always enough.
I leaned my head back against the wall, letting the sweat dry slowly across my brow.
This isn't just about strength or speed, I thought. Not anymore.
There's discipline here. Control. Timing. The kind that can't be taught in books. The kind you either learn in pain… or never learn at all.
Anyone can run fast once.
But not everyone can endure.
And the ones who couldn't—this arena didn't care.