The Academy was not built for ease. Not for rest. Not for balance.
It was built for pressure.
Marek Sulen felt it the moment he woke each morning — a hum under his skin, like static. The halls buzzed with tension, competition, ambition. Everyone here had fought their way in, and everyone here had something to prove.
He adjusted quickly. He always did. But still, this place was different.
Each day began with the chime of the first bell — a low magical resonance that vibrated through dorm floors and bones alike. Marek's routine was already set: up before sunrise, training in one of the unregulated courtyards, then breakfast, then sorting through peer-led lectures or sparring groups, choosing which was worth his time. A full schedule, but self-directed — no one would stop you from failing here.
Which meant if you wanted to rise, you had to move.
On the first day of the second week, he noticed Kael again.
Noticed wasn't quite right. Everyone noticed Kael.
The shifting figure who always seemed slightly different from one day to the next. Some students whispered about it — quietly, carefully, never cruelly. Not yet. No one knew what the truth was, but everyone sensed it. Kael didn't just walk through the halls — they rippled through them.
To Marek, Kael appeared as a sharp-featured, silver-eyed woman — lean and quiet, but with a presence that unnerved him more than any of the seniors.
He'd watched Kael at the tournament. Remembered how they'd navigated the obstacle sprint with calm calculation, and then all but dominated the Arcane Relay. Marek had finished 8th. Kael, 3rd.
He hadn't forgotten that.
And yet now, Kael spent most of their time drifting between lessons with Rys — the boy who'd placed dead last. Loyal. Nervous. A little too eager. Marek couldn't figure it out. Couldn't decide whether Kael was wasting their potential or just keeping it hidden.
He wasn't sure which would be more dangerous.
---
Training this early in the year was scattered. No curriculum. No tiers. Just groups of students trying to build something useful. The Academy's system encouraged freedom — but the smart ones understood that freedom wasn't a gift. It was a threat. If you weren't strong enough to shape your own path, the system would eat you alive.
By mid-month, the whispers had started again. About the voting system.
"I heard it opens next week," a fourth-year said at lunch one day, voice low. "For submitting events."
"Already?" someone asked.
"Three-month window. If you're one of the first five to submit, you don't have to vote until the end."
"Yeah, if your submission doesn't get tossed for being garbage."
Marek listened. Quietly. He had no intention of submitting anything, but he would vote. You had to vote if you wanted to understand where the real power was going. The clever students weren't just training for next year's tournament. They were shaping it.
He caught sight of Kael again that evening — in the southern courtyard, helping Rys with defensive rune casting. Marek stood on a second-floor walkway, watching them from above.
To him, Kael was sharp and composed. Cool confidence. No wasted motion. But there was something else now. Something heavier. They weren't relaxed, but they weren't tense either. Their presence had shifted from uncertainty to control — quiet, focused control.
Marek had seen enough to know the difference between someone trying to look strong and someone who simply was.
"Why do you keep watching them?"
The voice came from behind. Marek turned — it was Thera Quinlan, another prelim qualifier. She'd finished 10th. Fast, clever, always half-smirking.
Marek shrugged. "Because they're hiding something."
She leaned on the railing beside him. "Aren't we all?"
---
Kael's month was quieter from the inside than it looked from the outside.
The academy made space for movement, but Kael had little interest in running. Instead, they focused on grounding — routines, reflection, discipline. The curse didn't make that easy. They knew how others saw them changed by the hour, by the face. Sometimes even Rys blinked a little when looking too long, caught between ideal and real.
But Rys never treated them differently. Never flinched, never doubted. He had a stubborn streak buried under all the nervous energy. He wasn't the strongest student here — that much was clear. But he was trying. Harder than anyone else Kael had seen.
And Kael stayed by his side. Not to hold him back. But because he didn't need to be left behind.
Still, Kael noticed the looks. Heard the whispers.
One morning, outside the rune gym, a second-year walked past and muttered, "Pick a gender already."
Kael said nothing.
They didn't flinch. Didn't even look up.
But Rys's jaw locked, and Kael had to gently place a hand on his wrist to stop him from turning around.
Not yet. Not worth it.
Kael's identity wasn't a debate — not to them. They existed as they were. If others couldn't understand that, it wasn't Kael's job to teach them.
---
At the end of the first month, an official announcement went out:
> Voting for Tournament Event Submissions is now open. Students may submit new event concepts. First five submissions per student are exempt from voting until end-of-cycle. All others must vote to submit. Submissions close in 90 days.
The portal links arrived via enchanted tablets.
Kael didn't submit anything. Not yet.
But they would vote.
They wanted to understand what the Academy valued — not the Council, not the rulebook, but the students. The ones they'd be facing next year. The ones who would decide whether magic mattered, or was thrown out again. Whether strength meant raw power or something quieter.
They didn't want control.
They wanted clarity.
But clarity was dangerous, too.
---
By the second month, the Academy had shifted from cautious orientation to quiet war.
No one declared it aloud, but it was clear in how students moved. The halls felt tighter. Courtyards more contested. There was no set curriculum, but there was a rhythm now: self-organized training blocs, magic circles dissecting combat theories, instructors offering one-hour windows where they'd answer anything — once.
The structure was still loose, but the hierarchy? That was crystallizing fast.
Marek found himself in two unofficial guilds and one secret sparring ring. All of them valuable. None of them loyal.
He wasn't there for friends. He was there for angles.
---
Kael, though?
Kael was the mystery no one could pin down.
To Marek, they still looked like the same silver-eyed girl he'd seen at the preliminaries — calm, efficient, unreadable. But Marek had learned not to trust his eyes. He'd heard the rumors now.
They change depending on who's looking.
They don't have a real form.
They're cursed.
Some people thought it was a magical glamour. Others thought it was vanity. A few whispered darker things — that Kael was something unnatural.
Marek didn't care.
What interested him was that Kael didn't use it.
If you could charm anyone just by being what they wanted… why not exploit it?
But Kael moved through the Academy like they were trying to go unnoticed — and failing.
Every group wanted to recruit them. Every invitation Kael refused only sharpened the curiosity around them.
---
Kael's second month was split between patience and pressure.
They trained every day. Magic drills in the early morning, hand-to-hand sparring just before noon, healing rotations in the evening — some scheduled, some improvised. And they almost always had Rys at their side.
Rys had improved. A little.
He was still prone to overthinking, still stiff with a blade, still behind most of their peers — but Kael watched him grit through the failures. Never once did he quit. And more than that, he never asked for Kael to slow down.
He'd stopped flinching when people stared, too.
It was subtle, but Kael saw it. Less fidgeting when they walked together. Less anxiety when Kael's appearance shifted mid-conversation. Sometimes Kael could tell — someone would glance at them and blink, recalibrating what they saw. Rys never even looked.
That mattered more than Kael knew how to say.
---
On the twelfth day of the second month, Kael attended their first tournament theory workshop — not led by staff, but by a student.
Fiora Thorne.
Rank 1. Perfect score. Untouchable.
She wasn't loud. Wasn't flashy. She barely spoke for the first twenty minutes, letting other students debate the merits of physical vs. magical scoring categories. But when she did speak, the room went still.
Her voice was low, even. Measured.
> "This place rewards more than strength. It rewards narrative. You're not just competing — you're convincing everyone else you deserve to exist in the top ten."
Kael watched her.
To them, she looked tall, angular, and serene — not beautiful, exactly, but impossible to ignore.
They wondered how she saw them.
But they didn't ask.
---
Later that week, Kael and Rys returned to their shared study bench in the southern courtyard — a quiet corner they'd claimed after finding most common areas too loud, too crowded, too much.
Rys had a stack of rune fragments in front of him and a scowl deep enough to carve stone.
"This isn't translating," he muttered. "This symbol's supposed to carry a defensive field through layered enchantments, but it's acting like a funnel."
Kael leaned over, studying the glyphs. "It's angled wrong. Tilted too far east."
Rys looked at them. "You got that from just looking?"
Kael nodded. "The rune alignment is mathematical. Off by even two degrees and it reroutes energy like water down a slope."
Rys blinked, then grinned. "You sound like a lecturer."
Kael shrugged. "I pay attention."
A pause. Then, quieter:
"You really do."
---
That evening, Kael returned to the special needs wing of the dorms alone. Room 001-SN sat at the far end of the hall — the only private room in the building. Not luxurious. Just… separate.
The Academy had justified it as necessary — their "unique magical condition" required privacy. But Kael knew the truth.
They didn't fit into either wing. Male or female. So they were given the space between.
It suited them, honestly.
But some nights — like this one — it echoed.
They set their orientation tablet down, flicking through the list of current tournament submissions. Most were predictable: obstacle runs, duels, arena battles. But a few were different.
One caught Kael's eye:
> "The Waking Gate" – An endurance-based mental trial that adapts to each participant's core fear. Scored on recovery, clarity, and insight."
No name listed. Anonymous, for now.
Kael tapped the star icon beside it.
Maybe they'd vote for it later.
---
The next morning, someone had scratched a symbol into Kael's door.
A line through a circle.
A denial. A rejection. A threat.
Kael stared at it, then reached into their bag and pulled out a damp cloth.
They wiped it clean.
Didn't speak of it.
Didn't even tell Rys.
It wasn't fear that kept them quiet.
It was focus.
---
Snow came early to the Nexus.
Not a heavy, blinding snowfall — just a soft powder dusting the stone pathways and frozen trees between buildings. The kind that reminded you winter was coming whether you were ready or not.
Marek didn't mind it. Cold kept people honest. Kept them sharp.
He walked alone that morning, heading toward the northern library annex — one of the few places still quiet this time of year. The commons had become too full of noise: last-minute sparring sessions, theory discussions, arguments about which events were going to make it into the tournament.
The voting deadline was only days away.
---
Everyone was watching the board.
Not officially, of course — no one said they were checking it three times a day. But Marek knew. He'd seen the flicker of blue light on people's tablets. Watched students glance at the projected leaderboard that hovered in the dining hall when no instructors were around.
Kael had probably checked it too.
He caught sight of them two days earlier, standing in one of the side alcoves near the west atrium. The glow of their orientation slate lit up their face — or at least, the face he saw. Marek still didn't know what Kael really looked like. He wasn't sure anyone did.
He almost spoke to them. Almost.
But something in Kael's posture — quiet, composed, untouchable — made Marek stop himself.
Instead, he'd watched from a distance as Kael read the entries.
---
One of the current front-runners was a combat gauntlet titled "Break the Wall" — submitted by one of Fiora Thorne's close allies. It was brutal: staggered physical challenges with no magical support and minimal rest. Straightforward. Unforgiving.
The other top vote-getters included:
"Veil Maze" – A shifting labyrinth filled with illusions and mental traps. No physical force allowed.
"Iron Ledger" – A strategic challenge modeled on wartime logistics and resource management.
Marek hadn't voted yet.
He was still deciding.
There was a fourth event rising fast — one Kael had quietly favored, based on what Marek had heard.
> "The Waking Gate" – The one that responded to your fear.
Nobody knew who submitted it. The name listed was just a blank glyph — anonymous. But the concept had caught fire in the lower halls. Students liked the drama. The challenge. The idea that it would reveal something real.
Marek wasn't sure he liked that part.
---
Kael hadn't spoken much about the vote. Not to Rys, not to anyone.
But they thought about it.
More than they wanted to admit.
Because the vote wasn't just about choosing events. It was about defining value.
What mattered here? Brute strength? Tactical finesse? Inner clarity?
The Academy let students decide that. Which meant the ones who screamed the loudest shaped the game.
Kael didn't want to scream. But they wanted representation. Something that made space for truth, not just spectacle.
They hadn't submitted anything themselves. Didn't feel like they'd earned that yet.
But they had starred two events.
And they'd vote before the clock ran out.
They owed that much to the system. And to the self they were still trying to protect.
---
Elsewhere, in the male wing of South Dorm, Rys paced.
He did this sometimes now — not out of panic, but out of pressure. He was getting better. Not good, not strong, not elite — but better. Rune work was becoming second nature. His reflexes in mock duels had improved. He'd even placed top 20 in an impromptu sparring tournament run by some second-years.
But every time he saw Kael fight, it humbled him all over again.
They weren't showy. But there was something about the way Kael moved. Like they knew something no one else did.
Rys had learned to stop asking what Kael saw when they looked in the mirror. Not because he wasn't curious — he was — but because he knew Kael wouldn't lie, and he wasn't sure he wanted the truth just yet.
They were still together. Still… together. But he felt it, sometimes. The weight of difference. The idea that Kael could walk into any room and catch eyes just by existing — even unintentionally.
He didn't resent it. But he feared what it might mean someday.
Still, when Kael came to him that night — quiet, tired, a bit off-balance — and just leaned their head against his shoulder, Rys didn't say a word.
He just put his hand over theirs.
---
In the early hours of the final voting day, Marek sat in one of the sparring rings alone.
The light from his slate flickered — the voting page still open.
One vote. One chance.
He tapped into the Veil Maze submission. Read it. Then closed it.
He skimmed the Iron Ledger again. Too dry.
Finally, he tapped on The Waking Gate.
It expanded, revealing a full breakdown: magical scaling based on fear imprint, layered recovery scoring, optional interview-style post-round debriefs. Complex. Risky. Personal.
He didn't want to vote for it.
But he did.
Not because he believed in it — but because he wanted to see what it would do to people.
Including Kael.
---
By the start of the fourth month, the Academy had grown quieter — not because students were less active, but because everything now had rhythm.
The chaos of early-year scrambling had calcified into factions, circles, routines. The ambitious had begun laying groundwork for next year's rankings. The uncertain had begun falling behind — some quietly. Some not.
Kael noticed the absences.
One of the students who'd scored just above Rys — gone. Another who had dominated early sparring groups — burned out. The Academy didn't coddle anyone. No warnings. No announcements. People simply disappeared.
Kael didn't ask where they went.
They didn't want to know.
---
The results of the first vote were released on the first day of the month — via encrypted rune-message sent to each student's tablet.
> Next Tournament Challenges – Finalized
1. Break the Wall – Physical Gauntlet
2. The Veil Maze – Illusion & Mental Trial
3. The Waking Gate – Adaptive Fear Endurance
Kael read the list in silence.
They weren't surprised.
Break the Wall had the backing of Fiora Thorne's camp. The Veil Maze was popular among mental-focused students. And The Waking Gate… somehow, it had stuck.
Kael still didn't know who had submitted it. But it was in now.
The next vote — the criteria vote — opened the next day. Students could now submit ideas for how each of the three events would be scored.
Kael wasn't sure whether to contribute or just vote. But they understood the stakes now. Each criterion would define not just the competition, but the message the Academy would send.
What did it reward? Bravery? Adaptability? Power? Precision?
Kael didn't believe in spectacle for spectacle's sake. But they knew that clarity had a price.
---
Elsewhere in the student tower, Marek sat with Thera and two others in a third-floor study ring.
He'd seen the finalized event list, of course. He didn't react.
But he noticed something when he tapped open the Veil Maze challenge details.
> Submitted by: S. Myrin
Tessa Myrin. One of the top 5 from preliminaries. A mentalist. Smart. Quiet.
Marek bookmarked her name.
He checked The Waking Gate submission too — still blank. The user glyph remained anonymous. Not even a codename.
He wasn't sure if that meant the submitter was someone powerful enough to hide… or someone too uncertain to be seen.
Either way, it made him curious.
He began drafting his first criteria submission that same evening.
---
For Kael, the fourth month brought quiet progress.
Rys had improved further — enough to win a best-of-three duel against a second-year. His control was getting sharper. His strategies more creative. Kael watched it happen day by day, and it settled something warm in their chest.
They hadn't said "I'm proud of you."
Not directly.
But they had started showing it more. Standing closer. Sharing more meals. Letting the quiet stretch longer between words — not because there was nothing to say, but because Rys no longer needed reassurance to stay.
Still, Kael didn't talk about the vote.
Didn't mention the scratch on their door that had returned once, then never again.
Didn't talk about the nightmares, the ones that had started after The Waking Gate was announced.
The curse made hiding easy. But hiding didn't make the weight any lighter.
---
One night near the end of the month, Kael wandered alone to the upper towers.
From that height, the Nexus didn't look like a city.
It looked like an engine.
Moving parts, glowing veins, spires humming with purpose. The Academy didn't rest. Didn't exhale.
Kael sat at the edge of the walkway, arms resting on their knees, watching it all from above.
They weren't sure what they wanted out of this place anymore. Power? Understanding? To survive long enough for the curse to matter less?
They knew only this: the mask could not last forever.
And some part of them — some small, flickering shard of who they'd been before this life — knew that masks, when worn too long, had a way of becoming skin.
They closed their eyes.
Just for a moment.
And breathed.