The Great Hall carried the scent of old stone and some sort of sweet fragrance. Eighty-six students sat in orderly rows. Posture stiff. Eyes forward. Morning sunlight spilled through towering windows. Older students lingered in the alcoves, half-shadowed and watching.
Ethan masked his nerves well. Tension knotted in his gut. He had lived this before. That didn't make it easier. Only heavier.
Mistress Denna stood at the front with an ease that commanded silence. "The Academy runs on a single principle," she said. "Excellence rises. Mediocrity sinks. Failure..."
She let the silence stretch.
"Failure leaves."
Behind her, the ranking board lowered with a quiet click. Not magic. Just well-made mechanics hidden in the walls. Eighty-six wooden plaques dropped into view. Each etched with a name that could be raised or lowered at will. Ninety-eight had qualified in his old life.
Ethan scanned until he found himself. Thirtieth. Higher than his old life. High enough to matter. Low enough to avoid drawing eyes.
Further down - far too far - Kaleb Dal. Eightieth. Only six names from the bottom.
"Your rank defines your experience," Mistress Denna continued. "Which instructors invest their time in you. The dormitories reflect status, but the rankings reflect merit."
She strode across the front. Heels tapping against stone. "The top twenty earn the best training. The middle forty receive standard instruction. The bottom twenty-six..."
She paused.
"Double the effort for half the gain."
Ethan's fists tightened under the table. He'd forgotten how brutal the structure was. How it disguised cruelty as discipline.
"Every year, the bottom ten undergo review," she added. "Some continue. Others are released. We train only those capable of rising."
A girl near the front lifted her hand. "How often do ranks change?"
"Minor adjustments occur weekly but the major shifts follow examinations. Your first examination is six weeks away."
Ethan found Maya on the board. Fifty-fifth. Too close to the bottom.
The system didn't just reward competition. It thrived on pressure. Enough to make even good people desperate. Desperate enough to take help from dark corners.
"Your current positions reflect entrance performance," Mistress Denna went on. "Written scores. Physical trials. Behavioral observation. You may feel these placements are unfair."
Her gaze swept the students.
"You'd be correct. Life is unfair. The Academy mirrors it. Status, wealth, talent -none of it is equal. What matters is what you do with it."
Nice words but empty ones.
Ethan had believed them once. Back when he thought effort outweighed lineage. He knew better now.
"The dining hall has three divisions," Denna continued. "Gold, Silver, Bronze."
Gold for the top twenty. Fresh meals. Spices. Meats. Practically meant the nobles.
Silver was adequate. Simple.
Bronze? She didn't bother explaining. Everyone understood.
Weapons and instruction followed the same breakdown. Gold students trained with enchanted arms. Silver used standard gear. Bronze?
"Use what's left," someone muttered.
Ethan looked at Kaleb. His expression had soured. Eightieth meant poor meals. Battered gear. Back-row seats in every lesson.
Maya's posture was rigid. Fifty-fifth put her in Silver but closer to Bronze. She'd placed fortieth in his old life. The shadow magic display during her duel had changed everything.
He couldn't judge if this favored him. But one thing was sure—he had to work it toward that.
"Instructors are assigned by rank and availability," Mistress Denna said. "Master Donovan teaches all levels in tactics. His advanced sessions, however, are exclusive."
Of course they were.
"Master Thorne handles Advanced Magical Theory for the top forty. Professor Blackwood trains elite combatants. Remedial help is provided to others."
Remedial. Like failure was a flaw in the mind.
The orientation dragged on. Every new rule pressed the hierarchy deeper. Even field training times favored the top. Mornings and evenings for the elite. Evenings for the rest.
By the time they were dismissed, Ethan felt hollow. Not because it shocked him. But because it worked.
Someone like Kaleb - honest and good, would be buried under this. It wasn't just harsh. It was designed to break people. When they cracked...
That's when the demons whispered.
Outside the hall, students clustered again. Ranks had already started reshaping their behavior. The change was instant.
The top twenty moved with newfound confidence. Chins up. Shoulders back. They'd tasted privilege and liked it.
The middle group huddled together. Safety in numbers. Still hoping to climb.
The bottom students scattered. Some looked angry. Others defeated. A few - like Kaleb, just looked lost.
Ethan found his roommate alone by the eastern wall. Kaleb's hands trembled as he stared at nothing.
"Eighty," Kaleb said. "That's almost the bottom."
"It's only the beginning," Ethan replied.
"Doesn't feel like it."
Ethan didn't argue. He saw what Kaleb saw. How the system culled the weak on purpose. How it turned students against each other before they even learned to fight real enemies.
In his old life, Kaleb had climbed. Slowly. Painfully. By the time graduation came, he'd reached the middle ranks. Good enough to survive. Not good enough to thrive.
This time could be different.
"We need a plan," Ethan said.
Kaleb blinked. "A plan?"
"Yes. Weekly shifts mean chances. Small ones. But they're there."
"For what?"
Ethan turned toward the now-empty hall. Somewhere inside, Donovan was likely analyzing the outlier who moved like a soldier. Raymond Blackthorn was gathering pawns. Prince Alexander was battling darkness unseen.
The system bred division. But maybe it could be used to forge something else.
"We're going to climb," Ethan said.
Kaleb's laugh came out bitter. "Easy to say when you're thirtieth."
"I wasn't always."
The lie came smooth. Natural. But it felt wrong on his tongue.
"My father taught me something," Ethan continued. "The executioner's block doesn't care about your rank. Death treats everyone the same. But life? Life rewards those who refuse to quit."
Kaleb looked at him. Really looked. "You sound older than sixteen."
Because I am.
"I grew up fast," Ethan said.
They walked toward the dormitories in silence. Around them, the Academy's daily rhythm continued. Older students moved between buildings. Servants carried supplies. Everything looked normal.
But Ethan could feel the rot starting. Deep in the foundation. In the people. In the very air they breathed.
The demons were already here. Already working. Already winning.
And he was one sixteen-year-old boy with too many secrets and not enough time.
Near the East Wing entrance, they passed a cluster of Bronze-ranked students. Their voices carried a familiar desperation.
"Six weeks," one was saying. "Six weeks to prove we belong here."
"Some of us don't," another replied. "Maybe it's better to leave before they throw us out."
"And go where? Back to the farms? Back to the shops? This is our only chance."
The conversation died as Ethan and Kaleb approached. Eyes tracked them with the wary calculation of the desperate.
"Cole," one called out. A girl with short black hair and calloused hands. "You're thirtieth, right?"
"Yes."
"Any advice for the rest of us?"
Ethan paused. In his old life, he would have muttered something polite and kept walking. The middle ranks stayed away from the bottom. It was safer that way.
But safety was a luxury he couldn't afford anymore.
"Study together," he said. "Share resources. Cover each other's weaknesses."
"Easy for you to say," the girl shot back. "You're not fighting for scraps."
"Neither are you. Not yet."
He met her gaze. Held it. "The Academy wants you to think you're alone. That everyone else is the enemy. Don't let them."
The girl's expression softened slightly. "What's your name?"
"Sera," she said. "Sera Brightwater."
The name meant nothing to him. In his old life, she'd probably been one of the ones who disappeared. Quietly removed. Forgotten.
Not this time.
"Good to meet you, Sera," Ethan said. "We'll talk more later."
As they walked away, Kaleb shot him a curious look. "What was that about?"
"Insurance," Ethan replied.
"Against what?"
Ethan thought about the ranking board. About the systematic cruelty disguised as education. About the demons who fed on desperation and broken dreams.
"Against becoming the kind of place that breaks good people," he said.
Back in their room, Kaleb unpacked his few belongings with careful precision. Each item placed exactly where it belonged. The wooden horse his sister carved. The mended clothes. The worn books.
"I keep thinking about home," Kaleb said suddenly.
"That's normal."
"Is it? Because I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself already. Like this place is changing me into someone I don't recognize."
Ethan knew the feeling. He'd lost himself completely once. Became someone who could watch friends die and call it necessity.
"Don't let it," he said.
"How?"
"Remember why you're here. What you're fighting for. Hold onto that when everything else feels wrong."
Kaleb nodded slowly. "What are you fighting for?"
The question hit harder than expected. In his old life, he'd fought for duty. For honor. For the abstract idea of service.
"Second chances," Ethan said.
Later that night, after Kaleb fell asleep, Ethan sat by their small window. The Academy grounds stretched out below. Peaceful. Quiet.
Tomorrow would bring their first real classes. The competition would begin in earnest. Students would start the long process of becoming who the Academy wanted them to be or who the demons needed them to become.
Ethan closed his eyes and felt the weight of time pressing down. Six weeks until the first examination. Months until the corruption fully took hold. Years until the kingdom fell.
Not enough time.
But maybe - just maybe - enough to make a difference.
The ranking board would shift. Students would rise and fall. The system would grind on.
But this time, Ethan wouldn't just survive it.
He'd break it. From the inside out.