The academy trials began a week later.
They were meant to measure potential. Endurance. Adaptability under pressure.
I passed them without difficulty.
Others did not.
One candidate collapsed during a stress simulation, mana backlash seizing his limbs as medics rushed in. Another failed to stabilize a spell and suffered nerve damage to his casting arm. The instructors adjusted difficulty ratings upward after each failure.
By the final trial, the atmosphere had changed.
People whispered about imbalance. About unusual difficulty spikes. About how the tests felt harsher than last year.
I stood at the center of it, untouched.
When my turn came, the test registered near-perfect output. No instability. No resistance.
The lead examiner stared at the results longer than necessary.
"You're not pushing yourself," she said finally.
"I am meeting the requirement."
"That isn't the same thing."
"It achieves the same outcome."
She said nothing more.
That evening, news arrived from the trade road.
A small village had been destroyed. Monster surge. Poor response time. Survivors relocated.
The report was brief. Impersonal.
I read it once.
Then closed it.
The world was dangerous. That was not new.
What mattered was adapting faster than the danger grew.
And so far—
I was winning.