The fifth month at the academy began quietly, the rhythm of lectures, sparring drills, and study hours falling into a pattern that most students could navigate with practiced ease. For Kael, though, the routine never truly felt routine. They carried their curse everywhere — not just in the shifting illusions that cloaked their body, but in the way people looked at them, measuring, comparing, trying to decide what it was they actually saw.
Rys was one of the few constants in that shifting world. Whether they were bickering over breakfast or trading jabs in the sparring yard, Rys treated Kael as though the illusions didn't matter. His presence grounded Kael, anchoring them in a place where so much felt uncertain.
The academy itself was a crucible of ambition, a thousand students sharpened by pressure and rivalry. The preliminaries, auctions, and even whispers of the last tournament still echoed through the halls. The looming weight of the next tournament never fully left anyone's mind. Though it was still months away, every class, every spar, and every late-night strategy discussion bent toward it.
Even now, whispers followed Kael and Rys when they trained together. Not because Kael was unusual — though they were — but because Rys had risen so quickly in reputation. His tactical instincts drew admiration, his dueling style caught attention, and his easy smile made him difficult to dislike. That combination meant people noticed the company he kept.
One evening, after drills had wrapped, Kael found themself sitting in one of the communal lounges, a place where the walls were lined with notices — tournaments, dueling clubs, tutoring sessions. Rys sprawled in the chair opposite, long legs stretched out, his head tilted back like he owned the place.
"You ever think about what's coming?" Rys asked suddenly, eyes half-closed.
Kael raised a brow. "You mean the next tournament?"
Rys gave a lopsided grin. "That's what everyone thinks about. I mean… beyond it. Graduation. What it means to actually leave this place."
Kael leaned back, silent for a moment. The thought of graduation always carried a strange weight. For Kael, the academy was more than just survival. It was a rare place where their curse wasn't immediately grounds for exile or pity. Here, strength mattered. Skill mattered. The illusions might complicate things, but the academy forced people to look beyond appearances.
"I think about it," Kael admitted, folding their arms. "But one step at a time. Tournament comes first."
Rys chuckled. "That's you. Always practical." His gaze drifted toward the window, where snow clung stubbornly to the edges of the glass. "Still… I can't shake the feeling we're walking toward something bigger than just another tournament."
There was no heaviness in his tone, no sign of illness or dread — just that instinct of his, the one that often put him a step ahead of others. Kael didn't answer right away. They watched the quiet of the common room, the other students drifting in and out, conversations humming like background noise.
"Bigger, maybe," Kael said finally. "But isn't that why we're here? To find out what's waiting?"
Rys grinned at that, leaning forward. "Yeah. Guess so."
That night ended like so many others: the two of them returning to their separate dorms, the routine resuming the next day. But beneath the rhythm of classes and drills, a subtle undercurrent had begun. Not fear, not yet — but a sense of shifting momentum, of something just out of sight preparing to tip the balance.
Kael didn't dwell on it. They couldn't afford to. But the thought lingered in quiet moments: Rys was rarely wrong when his instincts whispered of change.
---
By the sixth month, the academy thrummed with a sharper kind of energy. The competitions had already been set — the three pillars of the coming tournament — but now came the debate that could shape everything: the judging criteria.
Each student was allowed to submit their ideas, but once submitted, they couldn't escape the obligation to vote. Whispers and speculation filled the halls: Would creativity be rewarded? Precision? Brutality? Fairness? The discussions were as fierce as any sparring match, because everyone knew that a clever criteria could turn the tide of a competition just as much as strength or skill.
Kael kept their distance from the political noise, more focused on training than chatter. But Rys… he listened. He had a way of drawing out information, of coaxing rumors into patterns.
"It's not the criteria themselves that worry me," Rys said one evening as they left the sparring yards, their boots crunching against snow that never quite melted this time of year. "It's what people mean by them. Subtle favoritism, hidden edges. That's where the real fight is happening right now."
Kael tilted their head. "And what do you think they're trying to tip?"
Rys smirked. "Depends who you ask. Some want to make the competitions favor raw power. Others want clever tricks to shine. Me? I think they're all overthinking it. Doesn't matter what the rules are if you prepare for every possibility."
Kael gave him a dry look. "That's a tall order, even for you."
"Maybe," Rys said, his grin widening, "but that's the fun of it."
Despite his easy tone, Kael could see the focus in his eyes. Rys wasn't careless. He was preparing, even if he hid it behind humor. And though Kael didn't always admit it, they found comfort in that — in Rys's ability to read the academy's currents better than almost anyone.
As the month dragged toward its end, the pressure grew. Students crowded into lounges and corridors, debating criteria, flipping through submissions projected in shimmering light across communal boards. Each idea was anonymous, but the weight behind them was not. Some whispered about who might have written what, trying to match style or ambition to the names of their rivals.
The final day of voting loomed. By regulation, the tallies would close at midnight, and the results would be sealed until the start of the seventh month, when they'd be announced to students and staff alike. Kael, never one for politics, made their choice quickly and stepped back, content to let the system grind forward.
Rys lingered. He studied the board like a battlefield, eyes narrowing at the shifting numbers as votes came in and out.
"You think it'll stick?" Kael asked quietly, glancing at the top three criteria that currently held the lead.
Rys folded his arms. "Maybe. But people like to play last-minute games. You'd be surprised how much can change in an hour."
They stood together in the glow of the board, watching as votes flickered and shifted, the academy's collective ambition laid bare in numbers. The air felt heavier somehow, as though the outcome carried more weight than just how a tournament would be judged.
Kael glanced at Rys, catching that distant look in his eyes again. Instincts whispering.
"You're doing it again," Kael said.
"Doing what?"
"Looking like you already know what's coming."
Rys laughed softly, shaking his head. "Maybe I do. Or maybe I just know that when people are desperate to win, they'll turn even the smallest detail into a weapon."
Kael frowned, but didn't press further. The board shimmered once more, the numbers locking into place as the final hour began. Soon the results would be sealed, hidden away until their revelation at the start of the next month.
But Rys's words lingered, leaving Kael uneasy. The vote was supposed to be a matter of fairness, of structure. Yet in this place, even fairness could become another battlefield.
---
The dawn of the seventh month broke crisp and cold, carrying with it the weight of anticipation. For weeks, the academy had simmered with speculation. Now, at last, the results of the grading criteria vote were being revealed.
Students crowded into the main hall, voices echoing off high stone arches. A projection bloomed across the air above the dais — bright, official, impossible to mistake. Three challenges already known; three sets of criteria about to become law for the tournament.
Kael stood at the edge of the throng, Rys beside them, his arms folded loosely across his chest. For all his teasing, his eyes were locked on the shimmering words as they appeared.
> Break the Wall – Physical Gauntlet
Grading Criteria:
1. Raw Power (force and endurance)
2. Efficiency (use of stamina and technique)
3. Creative Application (unexpected approaches to overcome obstacles)
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some grinned, pleased with the balance. Others scowled — it wasn't just about breaking things the hardest, but about how cleverly and efficiently it was done. That alone meant powerhouses wouldn't have free reign.
Rys tilted his head. "Well. Guess smashing your way through won't cut it this year."
Kael's lips curved faintly. "Good news for you."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good news for us. You've got efficiency down to an art form."
The board shimmered, shifting to the next contest.
> The Veil Maze – Illusion & Mental Trial
Grading Criteria:
1. Clarity of Perception (resisting or unraveling illusions)
2. Mental Fortitude (persistence in navigating confusion)
3. Time Efficiency (speed of completion)
The hall buzzed louder. Some students groaned openly. The Veil Maze had a reputation for chewing up even the strongest. Now, time itself would weigh heavily.
Kael's gaze lingered. The idea of illusions pressing in, tugging at every weakness, every buried fear—it wasn't something they looked forward to. But clarity? That was something they could strive toward.
Rys glanced sideways at them, voice dropping. "Don't get lost in there, yeah? I don't plan on dragging you out."
Kael rolled their eyes. "If anyone needs dragging out, it'll be you."
The banter came easy, but both knew the truth: the Veil Maze would test them in ways no sparring session ever could.
The final shift came, the projection burning brighter as though demanding silence.
> The Waking Gate – Adaptive Fear Endurance
Grading Criteria:
1. Resilience (capacity to endure without yielding)
2. Adaptability (response to shifting fear triggers)
3. Composure (clarity under psychological strain)
The silence that followed wasn't relief or outrage — it was unease. The Waking Gate was already infamous, but now its criteria confirmed it: this would not be about brute survival alone. It would measure how well a person held themselves together in the face of breaking.
Kael felt the weight settle into their chest. They had endured much already. But this was different. To be judged not just on lasting, but on composure… that was something that cut deep.
Beside them, Rys gave a long exhale, then grinned crookedly. "Well. Looks like we'll find out who can keep their head and who cracks first."
Kael glanced at him, studying the lines of his expression. Rys spoke lightly, but his hand drifted unconsciously through his hair — that familiar tell of unease.
For a moment, Kael almost reached out, almost rested a hand against his shoulder. Instead, they held still, words catching in their throat.
The crowd began to disperse, each student already recalculating their strategies, their training, their odds.
Kael and Rys remained where they stood. Neither said much more, but the silence between them carried a shared understanding: whatever the criteria demanded, it would test not only their strength, but the parts of themselves they rarely showed.
---
Snow lingered on the cobblestones even into the eighth month, clinging stubbornly despite the thin sunlight that broke through the clouds. For most students, the season was a signal: time to harden, time to sharpen themselves against the criteria that would soon define their worth.
Kael and Rys trained together almost daily now. Their partnership had settled into a rhythm that was both practical and quietly intimate. They didn't need to speak much to coordinate, didn't need to declare every thought.
On one cold morning, Kael stood before the training wall — a monolithic slab of stone enchanted to reset itself after each attempt. Break the Wall's criteria hovered fresh in their mind.
They crouched, gathered momentum, and struck. The stone shuddered, cracks spiraling outward. But not enough. Their breathing was steady, but the exertion showed.
Rys clapped slowly from the side, leaning on a practice spear. "Efficient. Not exactly creative, though. I give you… seven out of ten."
Kael turned, an eyebrow arching. "Seven?"
"Harsh but fair. Now watch and learn." He swung the spear, angling it into the fissure Kael had made, using leverage rather than brute force. The stone split apart with a thunderous crack.
He grinned, sweat on his brow. "See? Creativity. Top marks."
Kael shook their head, but the faint curve of their lips betrayed amusement. "And composure?"
Rys wiped his forehead dramatically. "Zero. I was terrified."
Their laughter carried lightly across the frost-touched courtyard, but when it faded, silence pressed in again. Both of them knew the laughter only softened what lay ahead.
Later, in the labyrinth simulation chamber, they tested themselves against illusions designed to mirror the Veil Maze. The magic twisted corridors into endless loops, turned shadows into familiar figures.
Kael pushed forward steadily, ignoring the flickers of their past. Rys, though, grew sharper in tone, mocking the illusions with sarcasm until the spell frayed and fell apart.
Afterward, sitting against the chamber wall, Rys let out a long breath. "You're annoyingly calm in there. I'm starting to think nothing rattles you."
Kael looked down at their hands. "Plenty does."
For a moment, silence. Then Rys nudged their shoulder against Kael's. "Guess we'll both find out in the Gate, huh?"
Kael didn't answer right away. Instead, they allowed the weight of his words to settle. Endurance, adaptability, composure — all things easier said than done.
By the month's end, the academy had shifted completely. Friendships strained, alliances hardened, rivalries sharpened. Everyone was preparing not just for competition, but for judgment.
Kael and Rys continued their quiet rhythm. Training, laughing, sometimes arguing. Beneath it all, though, something unspoken grew stronger. Each test pushed them closer to the edge — and closer to each other.
The eighth month closed with the air heavy with tension, the winter snow beginning to thaw, and the certainty that soon, the academy would demand everything of them.