The gates of the Vesperan Military Academy groaned open. Aras stepped inside, his boots clicking against the polished steel walkway. The air reeked of oil and gunpowder.
A cadet with a brass-plated arm sneered at him. "Lost, farmer boy?"
Aras ignored him, scanning the courtyard. Barracks. Training grounds. Armory. Every inch designed to break weaklings.
A voice barked from behind. "Yashira!"
He turned. A scarred instructor with a rifle slung across his back glared. "Drop your bag. You're late for drills."
Aras let the satchel fall. "Where?"
"West yard. Now."
The yard was a pit of mud and sweat. Two dozen cadets swung weighted swords at dummies. Seraphina Vesper stood at the front, her blade a silver blur.
The instructor shoved Aras into line. "First drill: disarms. Partner up."
Seraphina turned, her mechanical brace glinting. "You."
Aras met her gaze. "Me."
She attacked without warning. He sidestepped, grabbing her wrist. The brace whirred, twisting free. He yanked hard.
Her dagger clattered to the ground.
Silence.
Seraphina flexed her fingers. "Lucky."
"Skill."
The instructor whistled. "Next drill. Five-mile run. Full gear."
The mess hall smelled of burnt meat. Aras shoveled tasteless stew into his mouth, ears tuned to the chatter around him.
"…Yashira's just a backwater name now."
"Word is his father's tactics are outdated."
"Bet he cracks before week's end."
Talis slid onto the bench beside him, grinning. "They're scared of you."
Aras wiped his mouth. "They're stupid."
Midnight. The library's gas lamps flickered. Aras spread a map of Vespera's eastern front across the table, marking supply lines in red.
A shadow fell over the parchment. Seraphina leaned down, her breath warm. "You missed a weak point." Her finger tapped a mountain pass. "Here. One squad could collapse the route."
Aras didn't look up. "Too obvious. They'd expect that."
"Then what?"
He drew a line through the forest. "Burn it. Force them into the open."
Seraphina studied him. "You think like a Vesperan."
"I think like a winner."
The firing range echoed with gunshots. Aras loaded his pistol, exhaled, and fired.
Bullseye.
The range master grunted. "Again."
Aras emptied the clip. Every shot landed dead center.
Seraphina watched from the sidelines, arms crossed. "Show-off."
He reloaded. "Observation."
The sparring ring. Blood in his mouth. A cadet's fist had caught him off-guard.
Aras spat, rolling his shoulders. "Again."
The cadet lunged. Aras twisted, driving an elbow into his ribs. The boy crumpled.
The instructor nodded. "Enough. Next."
Seraphina stepped forward, rolling her neck. "My turn."
They circled.
She struck first—fast. He blocked, countered. Their blows were sharp, precise. No wasted motion.
Her knee slammed into his gut. He grabbed her braid, yanking her off-balance. They hit the dirt, grappling.
"Yield," she hissed.
He flipped her, pinning her wrists. "You first."
The instructor cleared his throat. "Break it up."
They stood, breathing hard.
Seraphina wiped her lip. "Tomorrow. Same time."
Aras nodded. "Bring better tricks."
The barracks were silent. Aras lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Talis's whisper cut through the dark.
"Found something. The academy's hiding weapons in the sub-levels. Experimental ones."
Aras turned his head. "Proof?"
A rusted bolt landed on his chest. "From a crate. Marked 'Lysara's Favor.'"
Aras pocketed it. "We'll check tomorrow."
Dawn drills. Twenty laps around the yard. Push-ups in the mud. Sword forms until arms shook.
Seraphina matched him step for step, her breath steady.
The instructor barked, "Pair up! Disarm or die!"
She lunged. He dodged, sweeping her legs. She rolled, kicking his knee. He staggered—
Her dagger pressed against his throat.
A beat.
Aras smirked. "Better."
She sheathed the blade. "Getting slower, farmer."
The mess hall again. Rumors buzzed.
"…heard the Ironclad Empire's moving troops."
"Solarion's Blade Legions are mobilizing."
"War's coming."
Aras chewed slowly. Talis nudged him. "You're thinking."
"Planning."
Night. The sub-levels reeked of chemicals. Aras picked the lock, slipping inside. Crates lined the walls, stamped with Vespera's crest.
Talis whistled. "Blackpowder rifles. Enhanced. These could punch through steel."
Aras pried open a crate. The barrels gleamed—etched with elven runes.
Hybrid weapons. Magic and machine.
Footsteps echoed. He snapped the crate shut. "Go."
They vanished into the vents as the door creaked open.
The next morning, Director Marr addressed the cadets.
"Your final test begins at dusk. Survive the Crucible, and you'll earn your rank."
Seraphina leaned close. "Ready to lose?"
Aras adjusted his gloves. "Ready to win."
The gates opened. The Crucible awaited. Sence bu necədi