The bells tolled like war drums above Anatheon Academy, echoing through the obsidian spires and scarred courtyards.
Midterms had arrived—not just the usual blend of parchment and pen, but trials of strength, intellect, and will.
Siege awoke in a cold sweat. His back ached, the ghost of a forgotten nightmare coiled around his ribs.
Beneath his skin, his Aspect simmered—hungry, violent, uncooperative.
Gram, that black and silver leviathan of a blade, still refused to come to his hand except in moments of mortal peril or extreme feeling.
Now, he'd need to face exams as deadly as any battlefield.
His dorm common room buzzed with the fever of preparation.
Seraphina, the green-haired elf girl with a voice like a song from a half-forgotten forest, sat cross-legged on a levitating cushion, flipping through a tome titled "A Study of Runes and Rot".
"You know," she mused, "there's a high probability the theory questions will cover Realm Overlap anomalies."
Leo lounged upside down on the rafters, idly twirling his wooden club, Clava, with one finger.
"Bah! Books are for people who can't break walls with their heads."
He dropped with a flourish, landing beside Siege.
"Just say hit the monsters hard and grunt convincingly during the oral exam. Works every time."
"You failed the last oral test," Albion muttered from the shadows, perched on a windowsill like a silent falcon.
"I heard you compared Anatheon's founding to a drunken bar brawl."
"I stand by it," Leo grinned.
—-
The midterms were divided into three grueling fronts: Academic, Social, and Strength.
First of all we're the written exams.
The lecture hall was a vault of torment.
Siege sat at a desk beneath flickering aether lights, sweat beading on his brow.
Scrolls unfolded automatically like ancient curses across the marble surface.
Question 3: "If two corrupted ley lines intersect in a post-Yggdrasil collapse terrain, what is the likelihood of spontaneous Aspect amplification?"
Siege squinted at the sigils. They might as well have been daemonic chants.
Beside him, Seraphina scribbled effortlessly, her answers crisp and calligraphic.
She noticed his blank stare and gave him a soft, encouraging smile and whispered.
"Just remember: anchor the variable through Realm Constants. You've studied this, Siege."
He hadn't. But he nodded anyway.
Behind him, Leo had somehow turned his exam into a drawing of a lion suplexing a hydra.
Albion, hunched beside him, grunted with contempt.
"You're disgraceful."
"Says the guy who talks to his sword," Leo shot back.
"It's a halberd, and it speaks wisdom," Albion replied deadpan, flipping a page.
---
Later, they stood in the Hall of Voices, a grand arena of political scrutiny.
Nobles, ascendant scions, and gods-in-training all milled through court-like roleplay simulations where alliances mattered more than strength.
Siege struggled.
He wasn't charming. He didn't know how to trade favors or hide intentions behind smiles.
"Your handshake was like a corpse's apology," Leo told him after he tried speaking with an examiner.
Despite his brash personality, Leo was still a bonafide second-generation heir.
Albion intervened quietly, steering Siege through one of the simulations. "Let them think you're pitiful. People underestimate what they pity."
Siege blinked at him. "That's... comforting."
"Not really," Albion replied. "Just true."
---
Then came the Ranking Tournament..
Each class—Leviathan, Chimera, and Gorgon—held their own internal combat trials.
Siege's Leviathan class lined up beneath bloodstained banners in the Arena Nocturne—the real name of the Pit, where a twisted crowd of instructors, nobles, and cameramen watched from shadowed stands.
Siege stood across from his opponent—a towering brute named Korvus with a Mythical Aspec, [Gigante].
His breath was smoke. His knuckles were boulders.
"Begin," Thrakkor growled.
Korvus charged like a living landslide.
Siege rolled, dodging by instinct, heart thundering.
Gram didn't answer his call. Again.
His hand trembled.
Korvus's hammer- like fist caught him in the side.
Ribs cracked.
He hit the wall hard enough to leave a dent.
"GET UP!" someone shouted—Leo.
Another voice. "You know what to do, don't you, Siege?"
Albion.
And Seraphina, serene but firm: "You're not done yet."
Siege rose.
Not because he wanted to—but because if he didn't, that wrath in his chest would devour him from the inside.
He whispered the old word, the one etched into his bones.
"Gram."
The world darkened.
Time seemed to slow.
The blade didn't appear—it erupted.
A jagged rift split open before him. From the void surged Gram, howling with ancient hatred.
Its black and blue steel shimmered with death. The silver wave-markings pulsed like veins, alive with buried wrath.
Horns pierced from his skull.
Siege screamed—not in pain, but in a wild battle listed excitement.
He lunged.
Gram's blade caught the edge of Korvus's next punch and cleaved through it.
Tearing a large gash in his arm.
Not only through flesh, but through Korvus's will to fight.
Korvus stumbled, face pale.
Siege didn't stop.
Each strike fed him.
Each block built him.
The more pain he endured, the stronger he became. It was a grotesque symphony of growth through agony.
Korvus fell.
The crowd was silent.
Siege dropped to one knee. Gram faded. The horns retreated. His breathing slowed, a rasp through bloodied teeth.
---
Later, in the infirmary, Seraphina sat beside him, cleaning a cut near his eye. "You did it."
"Felt like dying."
"Looked like it, too."
"Thanks," he said dryly.
Leo burst in. "You looked awesome! Like some evil demon hero! I almost cried."
Albion stood in the doorway. "You still might. You're next."
Leo grinned. "Finally."
—-
Leo's match was next.
He strolled into the arena like it was a festival, yawning and shirtless—despite being told repeatedly not too by Thrakkor.
Clava, his gnarled wooden club, rested across his shoulders.
His opponent, Rhun, was a dark skinned young man,veined with molten rock and magma dripping from his eyes. His Mythical Aspect: [Cherufe].
"You're going to melt," Rhun rumbled.
"I like it hot," Leo grinned.
The bell rang.
Rhun summoned a pillar of volcanic rock from beneath Leo's feet.
Leo jumped, flipped, and came down like a meteor—Clava cracking into the pillar and smashing it into rubble.
"Nice party trick," he said, and disappeared in a blur.
He was behind Rhun before the titan blinked.
"BOOP," Leo whispered, and slammed Clava into Rhun's gut.
The impact sent magma spraying.
Rhun howled, punched—but Leo weaved, danced, laughed.
Every strike from Leo was joyful, savage, and unpredictable.
He sang battle songs. He made fart noises with his lips. And he won.
Rhun collapsed, groaning, eyes spinning.
"Winner: Leo," Thrakkor said, almost reluctant.
Leo winked at Siege from across the field.
"Don't blink during the finals."