The blade struck her staff with a crack that echoed through the training hall, bright and ringing like breaking bone. Aria staggered, boots grinding against the polished stone. Radek's grin flashed like a knife.
"Move faster, corpse-girl!"
His second swing came from the left—sharper, meaner. He wasn't holding back. They never held back with her.
Aria brought her staff up just in time, the vibration rushing up her arms.
The crowd of students circled in, eager and hungry.
Master Halveth shouted something at them from the stands, something about form and restraint, but Aria barely heard him. Her heart was too loud.
This is… not how I pictured starting my morning.
Radek lunged again.
Aria twisted away, breath shaking.
And that was when the thought drifted over her like a shadow:
You may wonder how I got here.
She knocked aside another strike.
I'm honestly wondering that too.
Because this fight—this clash of mana and wood and ego—
started with porridge.
2 Hours before.
The dining hall was warm in the way old libraries were warm—dim, full of dust-light, buzzing with secrets. Students pressed around the tables, still half-asleep, still complaining about the coming mock battle.
Aria ate silently, hunched over her bowl like it was a shield.
She'd survived her first day. Barely.
Now she had to survive her first test.
A metal tray clattered beside her.
Mira slid into the seat with the dramatic exhaustion of someone who didn't sleep because she didn't feel like it.
"You ready for the will and capacity exam?" Mira asked, leaning in.
Aria stabbed her spoon into her porridge.
"I… don't know. I've never done one before."
"Oh, don't worry," Mira chirped. "If you fail, they don't expel you. They just make you take remedial theory with Master Pelth."
Aria blinked. "…Is that bad?"
"Pelth reads every lecture off scrolls. Monotone. No blinking. Hardly human."
She tapped her cup. "He's basically a sentient houseplant."
Aria almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Radek sat down across from her.
"Morning, corpse-girl."
He smirked, slamming his tray down so hard her tea sloshed.
Aria exhaled through her nose.
"Please don't call me that."
"It's a compliment," he said. "Means you'll survive today's battle. Hopefully."
Mira muttered, "You are an entire plague."
Radek ignored her.
"Since today's the mock fight," he said, pointing his spoon at Aria, "why don't we warm up together?"
Aria stopped chewing.
"…Warm up how?"
"A duel," Radek said with too much satisfaction. "Before the instructors get there."
Mira sat upright.
"Oh absolutely not. She is not doing an unofficial duel before a scored test."
Aria's gut twisted.
Radek's smile sharpened.
"Scared?"
Aria met his eyes.
I am not fragile.
"…Fine," she said.
Mira smacked her forehead into her hands.
"Why do you do this."
Radek's blade hissed through the air, mana flaring along its edge.
Aria planted her feet.
Staff raised.
Breath steady.
The crowd roared as Radek charged.
"Come on!" he shouted. "Show me what the death cult taught you!"
Aria's jaw locked.
It's not a cult.
But she didn't say it.
She didn't need to.
The cold thing inside her—quiet yesterday, whispering—now cracked open like frost under pressure.
The world sharpened.
Radek swung.
Aria moved.
Her staff smacked against his blade, knocking it aside with a force that startled even her. Whispered excitement rippled through the students.
Radek stumbled, eyes narrowing.
"Well," he breathed, "maybe you aren't fragile."
Aria felt something rising in her chest—something dark, something unafraid.
She did not smile.
She simply braced.
Master Halveth's voice boomed across the hall:
"Enough! Save the rest for the official match. Report to the capacity stations. Now."
Radek lowered his weapon, giving Aria a look she couldn't quite name.
It wasn't hate.
It was… interest.
And for the first time since arriving, Aria felt the faintest curl of dread.
Because if Radek found her interesting—
then things were about to get much, much worse.
The testing atrium hummed like a beehive — low voices, echoing footsteps, the scrape of chalk across enchanted slate. The vaulted ceiling arched like the ribcage of some long-dead creature, lanterns swinging from iron chains, spilling pale amber light.
Students filed into three assessment lines, each marked with glowing banners:
Willpower. Capacity. Elemental Affinity.
Aria felt eyes on her wherever she walked.
Some curious.
Some wary.
Some eager — like Radek's.
He lingered at her shoulder, too close, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"Try not to break the equipment," he murmured.
She gave him a sidelong glare.
"I'm not planning to."
"Mm. Accidents happen," he said, his grin faint but sharp. "Especially with people like you."
People like me.
Aria swallowed and stepped forward as her name was called.
The examiner — a thin older mage with ink-stained cuffs — gestured her toward a floating obsidian sphere veined with silver.
It pulsed with faint light, like a heartbeat.
"Place your hand on the surface. Let the mana flow naturally. Do not force it," he instructed.
Aria inhaled slowly.
She could feel the God of Death's mark stirring beneath her ribs, rising like a tide that wanted to swallow the room whole. She had learned — painfully — that letting it surface too strongly caused magical objects to crack, break, or scream.
So she did what she always did.
She pushed it down.
Her palm touched the sphere.
For a moment, the stone thrummed — a low, trembling note.
Silver veins glowed.
Then sputtered.
Then dimmed almost completely.
The room fell strangely quiet.
The examiner blinked hard.
"…Miss Thorne, did you actually channel mana?"
Aria nodded, pulse racing.
"Yes. I— I think so."
He frowned, tapping the slate tablet in his hand.
"Necromantic capacity… one point eight? That cannot be right."
A few students looked over.
Mira frowned from across the room.
"That's impossible," she whispered under her breath.
Radek let out a soft, low laugh.
"Wow," he said. "Barely above non-magical. Congratulations, Thorne — even the houseplants are stronger than you."
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she kept her face still.
Still. Still. Still.
If she let the truth slip…
If her real capacity surfaced…
The sphere might split open like a skull.
The examiner cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
"Well… the device is functioning properly for other students, so… the reading stands."
Aria stepped back.
She felt the truth clawing inside her chest, furious to be silenced.
You are not weak.
You are simply hidden.
As the God wills.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her nails into her palms.
Radek watched her the entire time.
Not mocking now.
Something else.
Interest.
Suspicion.
Possibly excitement.
She didn't know which she feared more.
When she reached the next station — a tall runic pillar with spiraling sigils — she could feel Radek behind her again.
Watching.
Waiting.
Measuring.
The instructor pointed to the pillar.
"This will determine the resilience of your mana under external pressure."
Aria nodded and placed her hand against the stone.
The runes flared.
A wave of force slammed into her consciousness — a crushing weight meant to push her mana, bend it, overwhelm it. Students ahead of her had lasted seconds, some a bit more.
Aria braced.
The force grew.
And grew.
And grew.
Her breath steadied.
Her heartbeat slowed.
This is nothing.
I know worse pressure than this.
I have lived beneath the gaze of a God.
The runes brightened, surprised.
The instructor leaned forward.
"…Remarkable stability."
Radek muttered under his breath:
"What the hell…"
Aria stepped back, dizzy but steady.
The examiner smiled faintly.
"Your capacity may be low, but your will is… exceptional."
Radek scoffed.
"Or she's hiding something."
The examiner frowned at him.
"That accusation is inappropriate."
Radek smirked unapologetically.
But his eyes — they stayed on Aria.
Sharp.
Suspicious.
Hungry for answers.
And she knew then, with perfect clarity:
Radek wasn't going to leave her alone.
He didn't fear her.
He wanted to understand her.
To push her.
Test her.
See what happened when she cracked.
And the soft-dark halls around them — warm lanterns, quiet whispers, the scent of ink and parchment — felt suddenly smaller.
As if the Academy itself leaned closer.
Listening.
Hungry.