Sleep had covered me for a couple of hours, and I awoke in the evening—to a raging stench. The smell of bandages, soaked through with herbal brews, mixed with dirt and something undefinable, giving it all a peculiar bitter edge. My body obeyed surprisingly well, responding better than before, as if I'd made a leap to a new level. I had to sit on the edge of the cot and look around.
The small room with six neatly made beds was empty. Last time it had been a long ward with about twenty beds. Here, the ceilings were higher, and in one corner stood two strange cots—excessively large, taking up half the space. Three people my size could easily fit on each of them. The door creaked and three people practically burst in: the familiar old man and two strangers. The first was a muscular woman with her sleeves rolled up, a huge scar running along her arm. The second was a towering giant, almost three meters tall, reminiscent of Trenn. Upon entering, he had to bend his head so as not to hit the door frame, and only then did I see that over his shoulder slumped a young man with a limp arm, a bone jutting from it. At the sight of that, nausea welled in my throat.
The woman took a couple of steps and immediately caught the smell. Frowning, she tried to narrow her nostrils, but realizing it was useless she covered her nose with her palm and waved irritably. The giant gently let the injured man drop onto the nearest cot. The old man immediately bent over him and began examining the wound. I couldn't tell exactly what he was doing—the view was blocked by the woman's huge, stone-like backside clad in dark shorts. It gave me the odd feeling that she had eyes in the back of her head. My glance lingered less than two seconds before she spun around. Her mouth opened to say something, but the old man cut her off:
"Bring me bandages, my herb bag, and the other one—the vial bag," he muttered, sighing in displeasure. "You're just piling extra work on me…" He complained softly, but in the small, almost empty ward every word was clear. The woman didn't argue and strode out at once, the giant following behind her.
The old man turned and grimaced, covering his nose. "And you go too. To the dormitory bathhouse. You reek of the street. I didn't think those blood-flow-stimulating herbs would work so strongly—they've pulled so many toxins out of the body." "Toxins?" I asked, beginning to unwrap the bandages layer by layer. "That's what the soaking is for," he grumbled back, already leaning over the wounded man and lifting his eyelids. "It speeds up the blood, warms the body, flushes out some of the junk. A side effect is that it can even take away fat along with the smaller muscles."
Indeed, the first layers of bandages differed in color and smell—the cloth was softer and more damp. Examining myself revealed no drastic changes: only here and there my body felt a bit drier, my skin a bit lighter. No miracles. In my imagination my muscles should have shown much more. Slight disappointment gave way to gratitude. After thanking the grumbling old man for his work, I heard him reply without turning his head: "I hope we don't meet again anytime soon."
I ignored his sharp words and stepped into the corridor, which was completely unfamiliar. All the walls were covered in a diamond pattern. I felt disoriented for a moment, but the echo of someone's footsteps down the long hallway helped me orient myself. From the other end of the corridor, the same woman appeared, carrying two packs over her shoulders. She held them with one hand as if they weighed nothing, though the bulging bags looked heavy. My presence here was clearly unnecessary, so I continued past her toward a fork in the hall. There, indeed, was a flight of stairs.
Going down, nothing looked familiar. The landings were neatly labeled with floor numbers, corridors and doors looked equally new and foreign. Only on the first floor did my gaze immediately catch an archway without a door—the exit. The infirmary was located at the far corner of the Academy grounds. The dormitory was perfectly visible from here, but walking toward it in my state felt awkward, almost shameful. Paths branched off in all directions, edged with flowers and tall grass. My eyes were drawn to large red buds I hadn't seen before: they seemed to breathe, slowly contracting and then unfolding again.
Beside them stood a group of girls with a guy, loudly discussing something. Their neat, clearly expensive outfits were far beyond what a commoner like me could afford. People like me—stinky and dirty—weren't usually welcome here. Unwanted stares, mockery, or even insults were the last thing I needed. I didn't want to put myself out there or make new enemies—I already had enough old ones, and no energy left for any fights after the infirmary. Trying to stay away from cadets and instructors, I finally managed to reach the dormitory. I had my question ready as I walked in.
"Until what time are the baths open?" I asked the man at the window. "Edric, they're open around the clock," he answered calmly. "It even says so at the entrance. Just don't forget to clean up after yourself." After a brief pause he added, "On the lower floor." "I didn't notice that, thanks," I mumbled and quickly retreated toward my room.
Back on my floor, I carefully opened the door and peered inside, making sure the room was empty. I headed straight for my bed. Underneath it I found my kitbag and the shoulder bag I'd bought a week ago. Having a free schedule allowed me to go into town without questions, which had its advantages. I definitely didn't want anyone snooping through my new belongings, so I transferred everything into the clean shoulder bag and tucked it behind the old kitbag I'd brought with me. It wasn't the most secure spot, but it was suitable for clothes and a couple of books. I pulled out my clean underwear and towel from the kitbag. By this time people were already returning to their rooms, and a few unlucky ones caught a whiff of that "aroma."
The lower corridors were noisy, crowded with cadets. On two doors hung crooked signs reading "M.K.", with a small engraving of a crossed-out chest next to them. Whatever it meant, everyone just ignored it. It didn't even occur to me what exactly it was warning against. Perhaps "do not bring trunks"—it sounded like nonsense. Sometimes it seemed a blessing that nobody could read minds: anyone coming up with such theories would get stupider by the second. The floor was wet, and my foot almost slipped on the flat stone. I had to grab a door frame and move cautiously along the warm stone floor. The entire space was filled with steam. A long hall with two pools stretched from corner to corner, and stone benches lined the walls piled high with clothing and towels—some neatly folded, others tossed haphazardly.
Some cadets kept modestly covered, avoiding extra glances. Others, by contrast, outright showed off their muscles. My attention was immediately drawn to a group of guys loudly praising the "excellent water" and teasing a big fellow who was undressing nearby. The warm water closed around my body, washing away the exhaustion and the clinging stench of the infirmary. The stone underfoot was smooth and warmed, and steam hung over the surface like a soft veil. As I submerged deeper, the tension that had built up during the day began to melt away. My shoulders dropped naturally, my breathing evened out. The water pressed pleasantly against my skin, as if reminding me that I was still alive.
"Now that's more like it," came a familiar bass voice from beside me. Trenn had stepped into the water next to me, almost jumping in and enveloping me entirely. He settled himself next to me, stretching out his legs and exhaling blissfully. Wiping my eyes, I didn't even get a chance to greet the familiar giant. "They temporarily suspended me after our scuffle," he began without so much as a hello. "They said, 'Sit and think about your behavior.' They only lifted it yesterday." Snorting in displeasure and splashing water generously, Trenn continued, "You know… coming back was actually boring. I even enjoyed being suspended. I trained, ate properly, and no one hassled me. And I came here every day—to relax, to wash off the dirty muscles." He turned his head and squinted through the steam toward the far end of the baths. "Wash off… dirty muscles?" I asked. The phrasing struck me as odd, like something from one of those old-Imperial texts crammed in the library. "Exactly," Trenn brightened. "We say that in our country. For your muscles to grow after training, you have to wash off the old ones!" He pounded the water with his fist, showing off his pumped arms.
I remembered Rector Tallores' words about the testing. For a moment I wondered if Trenn might not know, since his suspension had only just been lifted. "Yeah," he snorted, as if reading my doubt, "they came by today already, warned us about the changes." I recalled what Rector Tallores had said about the test. Trenn let out a chuckle. "The Council changed everything. The exam used to be in groups, now it's individual. Each on their own. The goal is simple in words: collect as many enemy weapons as possible. Obviously you can't kill anyone. Don't accidentally knock someone out," he said ambiguously, then fell into thought. "They'll give everyone a necklace. It reads your heartbeat. If your heart stops, the necklace flashes bright light and automatically opens the potion inside. They say it sometimes helps restart the heart." Trenn smirked and stretched lazily, water gently slapping the edge. He kept talking without pause. His endless stream of words reminded me suddenly of his girlfriend: she talked non-stop during meals. Back then it felt torturous; now I realized Trenn must have iron stamina. No wonder they found each other—they were two of a kind.
By this time my skin had wrinkled from the water and my head was beginning to throb a little. "Stop-stop-stop… staaahp," I cut him off. "Later. You're still stuck on day nine of your training, and I'm wiped out for today and want to sleep." Trenn looked at me for a second, then spread into a wide grin. "See you tomorrow then? At the training grounds?" he asked with such enthusiasm, as if it were already decided. I froze; for a moment the meaning of the question escaped me, but after briefly recalling his endless stories it became clear. He was talking about training together. I nodded in reply. Saying goodbye once more, I climbed out of the water. My old, stink-ridden clothes lay on the wet floor, soaking in the moisture and steam. I almost wanted to thank whoever threw them there—the fabric looked much cleaner, and I could certainly wear it again. Having changed into clean clothes, I bundled up the wet ones and the towel in my arms. A pleasant plan was forming in my head: return to my room, dump everything extra, drop by the mess hall to eat…
When I came back from the mess hall, two roommates who had been noisily discussing something suddenly fell silent. I met their eyes and gave a brief nod, then headed straight for my bed. "Go ahead," I called over my shoulder as I lay down. "You're not disturbing me." They continued whispering as background noise. My body slowly relaxed. The warm water, the fatigue, and the silence did their work. The pain dulled, becoming a distant, bearable echo. My breathing evened out and the tension drained from my shoulders. Then darkness closed in completely.
Morning greeted me with a chill and pale, diffused light. Through the high windows of the training hall stretched long strips of faint sunlight, falling on the stone and morning mist. The Academy was just waking up: somewhere doors were slamming, footsteps and muffled voices could be heard, but here on the grounds it was almost empty. Trenn was already waiting. His huge figure stood out immediately—he was at the edge of the circle, lazily rolling his shoulders and neck, as if he felt no chill. Seeing me, the big guy broke into a wide grin. "I was starting to think I overslept," he snorted. "But I see you're alive." I responded with a short nod. My body felt better after sleep than it had the day before, but the reminders of yesterday were still there: a twinge in my eye socket, a dull echo in my head every now and then. Nothing critical—for training it would suffice. "Let's start with something simple," said Trenn, moving to the center of the circle. "The part I like least." He stood opposite me, legs wide, arms lowered. As always, Trenn was energetic and was already moving. I slowly followed his lead; my breathing evened out on its own.
The first step was easy. Then a second. My body gradually came into work, my movements becoming more precise and natural. Trenn glanced back from time to time to make sure I wasn't falling behind. "Don't you have classes?" I asked, catching up to him. "Nah, they start later," he replied nonchalantly. "Want to speed up?" Already I was working hard just to keep pace. "Sure," I said sarcastically. "Just what I needed." "Great! I was already warmed up!" Trenn announced cheerfully and immediately picked up the pace. It seemed sarcasm wasn't in his experience. In the rush I didn't even have time to respond. Fatigue hit me suddenly—on the fourth lap as I tried to overtake Trenn. My head spun, my vision blurred, the edges of my sight started to darken. I had to stop, bend over, and stare at the stone under my feet.
And exactly then the familiar sensations surfaced—the ones accompanying acceleration. I forced myself to steady my breathing, recalled how blood flowed faster through my veins, how my body responded to that rhythm. I tried not to mimic it but to recreate it. Focus. Ignore Trenn's distant shouts. Something painfully clenched in my chest. My core tensed, my breathing faltered, my legs began to betray me. I had to ease off, calm down. Slowly, step by step, the tension spread through my body instead of focusing in one spot. And then the lightness came. First in my chest, then higher—toward my head. "Speed up, Trenn!" I shouted, waving my hand. "I'll catch you now!" He turned around, shrugged, and actually picked up speed. My steps became lighter. I bounded from foot to foot—feeling almost weightless. My body seemed to stop fighting the motion. I couldn't cover half the arena in one go, but my speed had noticeably increased—at least double. And the distance between me and Trenn began to shrink rapidly.
On the eighth lap something clicked in my chest—a dry, unpleasant crack, like a rusty latch turning. The lightness vanished instantly. In its place, emptiness swept through my body, followed by a sharp, burning heaviness. My stride faltered. The world jerked in my vision. The ground underfoot seemed to slide to one side, the lines of the arena skewed. When I tried to inhale, it came out ragged—air stuck in my throat. My heart hammered once, then again… and suddenly it skipped a beat. The speed didn't just fade, it was cut off entirely. My legs turned to stone, my knees buckled, and the next movement wasn't a step but a fall. My palms slammed into the cold stone, and pain flared in my skin. Black spots lit up in my vision, then crimson flashes on top of them. My chest and core collapsed inward. A wave of recoil shot through my channels—a dull, resonant blow that knocked the wind out of me. My temples throbbed as if someone were pounding from inside. "Hey!" Trenn's distorted shout came from behind me. I couldn't respond. My mouth opened, but only a hoarse rasp escaped. My body trembled with fine, uncontrollable shivers, as if after a deep freeze. Each attempt to move triggered another wave of pain—deep and dull, spreading through my muscles.
My consciousness barely held on. "It's okay," I brushed off as I removed Trenn's hand from my shoulder. I lay on the cold stone for another half-minute. During that time the internal tension subsided on its own. My breathing evened out, my heart steadied, and the pain receded as sharply as it had come, leaving only a dull fatigue. One thing was clear: I couldn't rely on a burst through my core right now—it was silent, as if burned out. Rising, I dusted off my palms and stood upright. "I suggest we stop running," I said, catching my breath.