Victoria, Alex, Stella, and the unnamed woman fell into a steady rhythm over the following weeks. Mornings were consumed by mandatory theory—Arcane Law, Magical History, and Combat Ethics—before they split into their specialized courses in the afternoon. Forge Mastery, however, came every evening without fail. It was exhausting but focused, the repetition forming a hard-earned discipline that few complained about. Evenings often ended in silence, with each of them falling into their cots too drained to speak.
That routine persisted until the final day of the month.
That morning, just as breakfast trays were being cleared, a deep, resonant gong sounded across the academy—its tone low and final. Students froze mid-bite, forks hovering, eyes flicking toward the wide arched doors of the mess hall.
It was the summoning signal.
All fourth-year students were required to report to the main hall immediately.
They gathered quickly, whispering guesses and half-formed rumors. A line of professors materialized near the doors, and with efficient gestures, they opened warp steps—translucent magical gateways pulsing with gentle light. The students stepped through without hesitation.
The hall they arrived in was vast and circular, its stone floor embedded with an ancient compass rose. Arched windows flooded the space with morning light. At the far end, standing calmly beneath the academy crest, was Headmaster Dumbledore, flanked by Professors Marth, Hightower, Mefaal, and a few lesser-known assistants.
The warp steps behind them vanished in sync, like bubbles popping in reverse.
"Good morning, my dear students," Dumbledore said warmly, his voice reaching the farthest corners of the room without effort.
"I trust you enjoyed breakfast. It will likely be the last decent meal you'll have for a while… if you're good enough."
Murmurs surged through the room.
He smiled faintly. "Today, you begin your Mock Exam—a practical preparation for the trimester's finals."
Before the noise could rise again, he raised a hand.
"You will be split into groups of five, arranged by your current specialization—two attackers, two defenders, and one healer. Each group has been carefully assembled based on your evaluation rankings, ensuring balanced performance across all teams."
"The test will last one week and will be held in the forest surrounding the White Griffon. Your task is simple: survive."
The room stilled.
"It is, of course, a controlled environment. Professors will monitor your progress and intervene only if necessary. That said—if you're reckless, expect consequences."
Dozens of hands shot up. Victoria's among them.
"Victoria Velastra," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Speak freely."
"I was under the impression there would be no tournaments or trials this year," she said, her tone neutral but direct. "Why the change?"
"This is not a competition," Dumbledore replied. "You won't be fighting each other. The forest is vast. Each group will be warped to separate regions—encounters are statistically improbable. Should any team attempt to disrupt another, they'll be stopped immediately and penalized… severely."
A faint chill touched the air as he said it, and he swept his gaze across the students with sudden sharpness.
"Your actions will be monitored and recorded. So mind both your spells and your words."
A hush fell over the room as everyone reevaluated the seriousness of what was to come.
Another hand rose.
"Yes, Hists Cawfor?" Dumbledore prompted. Victoria recognized the girl—slight, pale, and ranked near the bottom of the War Mage class.
"Isn't this... unfair?" Hists asked hesitantly. "The forest is brutal. If the groups are built from our evaluations… isn't it just setting the worst of us up to fail?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"You misunderstood. The groups have been constructed so that each team is equal in overall performance rank. This isn't about punishing weaknesses—it's about learning to work with them."
He glanced around the hall, expression unreadable.
"This is your first taste of what real fieldwork is like. The kingdom does not allow you to choose your allies. You will be assigned missions, paired with strangers. Flexibility, teamwork, and trust—those will keep you alive."
The room dissolved into low murmurs again.
The top-ranked students frowned, already lamenting whichever "dead weight" they'd be saddled with. The struggling ones sat stiffly, praying for someone—anyone—to carry them through.
Dumbledore raised a hand again. "That's enough."
Victoria raised her hand a second time, even as glowing glyphs began to shuffle across the air behind Dumbledore—automated group assignments forming.
"One more question, Headmaster," she said. "If someone is attacked by a beast and gets rescued by a professor… are they allowed to return to their group?"
Dumbledore nodded once. "That student will be considered to have 'died' in the field and returned to the castle. They cannot rejoin the group. If a group loses all but one member, it's considered wiped, and the final student will be pulled as well."
A pause.
"You are not allowed to abandon or eject your teammates. Work out your differences, or you'll all fail together."
Just as the glyphs began finalizing, a sudden shout broke the order.
"What do you mean I'm in the same group as this commoner trash?!"
Gasps echoed through the hall. Everyone turned to see a girl near the center, red-faced and trembling with rage. Victoria blinked—she recognized her: the second-ranked Battle Mage, renowned for her dueling skill… and infamous for her superiority complex.
Dumbledore's eyes hardened.
Victoria leaned toward the Headmaster. "What's happening?"
He sighed. "The young lady is objecting to her team assignment. She's ranked far above her teammate—whom she's now loudly insulting."
He turned back to the crowd. "This is exactly what I warned you about. This exam is not about who you are—it's about what you become when placed in difficult circumstances."
Two assistant professors were dispatched to separate the group.
Moments later, Dumbledore called forward Victoria, Alex, and Stella.
"You three," he said, "will be grouped together. However, as top-performing students, your assignment includes a challenge."
He turned, and with a flick of his hand, four names shimmered into the air. Each was highlighted in dull gray—lowest-ranked in their respective specializations.
"You will choose one of these students to complete your group. Each is the bottom-ranked in one of the following: War Mage, Battle Mage, Mage Knight, or Warden. Choose wisely."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Why are the lowest-ranked Wardens and War Mages considered the worst?"
Victoria crossed her arms, thinking.
"Wardens?" she said. "They take ten minutes to cast anything. By the time they finish a spell, we'll be ash."
Alex nodded grimly. "And the worst War Mage?"
"Only good with water and fire spells. That's it. Zero versatility. Can't adapt to wind, ice, or anything complex."
Stella added, "Battle Mage at the bottom is probably all offense, no defense—great with spells, can't handle a sword."
"And the Mage Knight?" Victoria smirked. "Great with weapons. Can't cast to save their life. Literally."
Dumbledore gave them a moment.
Then:
"Your decision?"