The next few days at the academy felt strangely normal for Alex. After the mid-semester holidays, the lectures picked up again, though nothing about them was light. Ancient history of ruins in the morning, dungeon strategy in the afternoon, combat drills in between—it was enough to leave anyone's head spinning.
Still, Alex found a certain rhythm to it all. He was slowly learning when to push through and when to simply survive. His friends, Toren, Joren, and Silsa, had also settled into their own habits. Toren and Joren were constantly trying to outdo each other during weapon practice, while Silsa spent hours at night studying formations and strategies, sometimes falling asleep with parchment still clutched in his hand.
It was during one of these long academy days that the four of them first ran into another group that would soon make their lives more interesting.
"Alex and his friends entered the class. They were answering with confidence, each of them managing to get the teacher's approval more than once. The four from Varlen, sitting a few rows back, started to get jealous as they watched the attention shifting away from them."
The lecture had just ended, and the courtyard was alive with chatter as students made their way to the dining hall. Alex and his friends walked together, talking about the day's lesson on dungeon layouts.
"I'm telling you," Joren said, swinging his arm in wide gestures, "if I was leading a squad in a dungeon, I'd smash through the traps head-on. No wasting time."
"That's why you'd be the first one skewered by spikes," Silsa muttered, not even looking up from the notes he was scribbling while walking.
Toren laughed. "He's right, Joren. You'd die before the loot even came into view."
"Hey! That's not—" Joren began, but his voice cut off when four boys stepped into their path.
They weren't just any boys. Their uniforms were crisp, their boots spotless, and the way they carried themselves screamed confidence. Or maybe arrogance. Alex noticed right away how other students gave them space, either out of respect or discomfort.
At the front stood a tall boy with sharp features and eyes that looked like they were always judging. He crossed his arms and smirked.
"Well, well. If it isn't the commoner squad," he drawled. "Making yourselves comfortable here, are you?"
Alex frowned but said nothing yet.
Joren, however, muttered under his breath, "Here we go…"
The tall boy stepped closer. "My name is Varlen of House Greystone. Perhaps you've heard of it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "We ranked higher than you in the last assessment. You remember that, don't you?"
His companions chuckled behind him, each one carrying the same smug expression.
Alex tilted his head. "And? Do you want applause for it?"
The laughter around them stopped. Varlen's smirk wavered for a moment, but then he chuckled lowly. "You've got a mouth. Interesting. But here's the thing—you should know your place. Some of us were born to lead, and others… well, others are meant to follow."
Silsa finally looked up from his notes. "Born to lead? Or born with a silver spoon?" he asked flatly.
Joren burst out laughing, and even Toren cracked a grin.
Varlen's eyes narrowed. "Careful, strategist. That tongue of yours might get you in trouble."
Alex stepped forward now, meeting Varlen's gaze without flinching. "Listen. I don't care who your family is or how high you placed in the last assessment. If you're stronger, prove it in training. If not, stop blocking the path. We've got dinner to catch."
The words caused a ripple in the crowd. Students nearby had already started gathering, sensing the tension. Some were whispering, some were grinning, eager for entertainment. Rivalries were nothing new in the academy, and this one promised to be fiery.
Varlen leaned in just a little. "Careful, commoner. You and your friends will learn soon enough that the academy doesn't treat everyone the same. I'll make sure of that."
Alex's jaw tightened. He wanted to retort, maybe even shove the boy aside, but Toren lightly tapped his shoulder. "Not here," Toren murmured.
Alex exhaled sharply, stepping back. "Fine. We'll see who's standing at the end of the year."
Varlen smirked again, satisfied for now, and motioned to his group. They walked off, leaving an uneasy silence behind.
As the nobles disappeared into the dining hall, Joren finally spoke. "Great. Just great. First month back and we've already made enemies."
"Enemies?" Silsa corrected. "No. Rivals."
Toren chuckled. "I was starting to get bored. This might be fun."
Alex crossed his arms, staring in the direction Varlen had gone. "They think they can push us around just because of their families. We'll show them otherwise. No shortcuts, no names to hide behind. Just hard work."
For the first time, his friends saw that determined spark in his eyes again—the same one that carried him through the brutal training of the first months.
None of them knew it yet, but the rivalry with Varlen's group would shape their days at the academy more than any lecture or simulation.
And so, the sparks had been lit.