Morning arrived without ceremony.
The Sol hung steady above the academy, its light spilling into the Patrol wing through narrow, high-set windows. The warmth was familiar now, settled into the stone and metal like a constant breath. Cyros stood among the other Patrol candidates in the training hall, hands at his sides, posture relaxed but attentive.
Sleep had come easily the night before. Too easily. As if his body had decided there was nothing worth worrying about yet.
Nagumo Sensei arrived precisely on time.
He entered without announcement, boots striking the stone floor once before stopping at the front of the hall. The room quieted instantly. Whatever doubts or disappointment lingered from the evaluation, they were swallowed the moment he looked at them.
"You already know what path you're on," Nagumo said. "What you don't know is why it exists."
He paced slowly as he spoke, hands behind his back.
"Sorcerers are built to overwhelm. Their job is simple—destroy threats fast and decisively. Guards exist to protect symbols. The Sol. Borders. Figures of authority." He stopped and turned. "Patrols deal with everything else."
His gaze swept across the room.
"Crimes. Disappearances. Internal conflicts. Assassinations that never officially happen. We work in cities, not battlefields. We don't get applause. We don't get banners."
He tapped the side of his head once.
"We get responsibility."
A few students shifted uneasily.
"You'll notice something else," Nagumo continued. "Patrols aren't chosen by how bright your ember core burns. They're chosen by whether you can function when it doesn't."
He gestured toward the racks of equipment lining the far wall.
"And that," he said, "is why physical fitness matters more here than anywhere else."
Cyros listened without reacting. None of this surprised him. If anything, it aligned too neatly with what he already felt. That the world didn't move according to power alone. That most problems began long before embers were ever ignited.
Nagumo's mouth curved slightly.
"Stand up."
The order landed flat and sharp.
Before anyone could ask questions, he continued. "No embers. No preparation. We're testing you."
Chairs scraped back as students rose in confusion. Taren Watt, standing two rows ahead of Cyros, blinked in surprise.
"Now?" Taren muttered. "No warning?"
Nagumo heard him.
"There is no warning in the field," Nagumo said. "Follow me."
The first test was endurance.
They were sent running through the inner academy corridors, down stairwells and across long, looping routes that doubled back on themselves. No markers. No cheering. Just Nagumo's presence at intersections, redirecting them with a glance.
Cyros settled into a steady pace early. He didn't sprint. He didn't lag. He focused on breathing, on foot placement, on conserving energy. Students dropped behind gradually—some too fast, some too proud.
Someone matched his pace beside him.
"You look way too calm for someone who just got ambushed by exercise," the boy said between breaths.
Cyros glanced sideways. "You're still talking."
"Habit," the boy replied. "Name's Taren Watt."
Cyros exhaled softly. "Cyros."
"Good," Taren said. " If I die here, tell people I complained heroically."
They ran.
When the endurance test ended, Cyros finished second.
He barely noticed.
The second test came immediately after.
Grip strength and restraint drills. Pairs were formed at random, and students were ordered to subdue each other without causing harm. No embers. No strikes to vital points. Control mattered more than force.
Cyros moved efficiently. He didn't overpower his opponent. He redirected, locked joints, applied pressure where it mattered. When it was over, his opponent tapped out, breathing hard.
Second again.
The third test removed sight.
Blindfolds were distributed. A reaction drill followed—responding to sudden contact, avoiding strikes, and maintaining balance while disoriented. Panic ruined most attempts. Cyros stayed still until he needed to move, responding only when contact was unavoidable.
Second again.
Taren collapsed onto the ground somewhere between tests, face down, arms spread wide.
"I would like to formally apologise," he muttered into the stone, "to my legs, my lungs, and whatever poor soul is assigned to partner with me."
Cyros offered him a hand. Taren took it gratefully, hauling himself upright.
"You're not even breathing hard," Taren accused.
"I am," Cyros said. "Just evenly."
"That's worse."
The final assessment was controlled sparring. No embers. No enhancements. Just movement and restraint. Cyros faced opponents from different kingdoms, adapting quickly, neutralising rather than overpowering. He lost only once.
To Aerin.
She disarmed him cleanly, twisting his wrist just enough to force compliance without pain. Their eyes met briefly at close range. Hers were calm, assessing. Not triumphant.
Nagumo observed everything.
When the tests ended, he recorded results without commentary. Students gathered water and leaned against walls, exhaustion settling in.
Aerin stood apart, cooling down with precise stretches, her breathing already steady. Cyros noticed the way she scanned the field even while resting, awareness never dropping.
Taren followed his gaze.
"Don't tell me," he said. "You noticed it too."
"Noticed what?"
"That she's terrifying."
Cyros didn't respond.
As the group dispersed, Aerin approached.
She stopped a few steps away, arms crossed loosely, head tilted slightly as she studied him.
"You held back," she said.
Cyros met her gaze. "I finished."
"That's not what I asked."
He considered her for a moment. "You topped every test."
"Yes."
"You could have finished earlier," she said. "You could have pushed harder. Why didn't you?"
Cyros shrugged, the motion subtle. "I wasn't interested."
Aerin blinked once.
Before she could respond, Cyros turned and walked away, his pace unhurried.
Taren hurried after him, whispering urgently. "You can't just say things like that and leave. That's how rumours start. Or vendettas. Or duels. Mostly duels."
Cyros didn't slow down.
Behind them, Aerin watched, a faint crease forming between her brows—not irritation, but curiosity.
For the first time that morning, she smiled.