The morning sun barely pierced the heavy mist that clung to Vanguard Academy's grounds, casting the stone corridors in a ghostly half-light. Lost Voss stood at the edge of his dorm window, his breath fogging the glass. The weight of yesterday's trial lingered—those dire wolves, the clash of blades, and the fleeting moment when Athena Kade's eyes met his mid-battle. 'She fought like she knew my next move,' he thought, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword, now sheathed at his side. But the memory of Instructor Harlan Drake's piercing stare burned hotter. 'One of the ten. Right here. I'll start with you.'
The dorm, a spartan room of stone walls and wooden bunks, hummed with the nervous energy of new students. Lost's group—the newly named Edge Alliance—had been assigned to share this space, a practical choice by the academy to forge teamwork or break the weak. Joren Hale was already up, polishing his blade with a rag, muttering about "honest swordplay." Mira Sol lounged on her bunk, inspecting her nails with noble disdain, though her eyes flicked to the others, assessing. Finn Reed fumbled with his gear, dropping a scabbard with a clatter, while Garrick Thorne snored loudly, sprawled like a bear.
"Rise and shine, farm boy," Mira called, tossing a boot at Garrick. He jolted awake, grinning sheepishly.
"Thought I'd get one more minute," Garrick said, scratching his head. "After yesterday, I earned it."
"We all did," Joren said, his voice earnest. "Those wolves didn't hold back. We're lucky."
"Lucky?" Finn squeaked, adjusting his glasses. "I nearly lost an arm!"
Lost stayed silent, tying his boots. Their chatter was a distraction, but a useful one. 'Allies keep suspicion at bay. Let them think I'm just another student… for now.' He glanced at Athena, who was lacing her own boots across the room. Her movements were precise, economical, like a blade cutting through air. She caught his look and gave a small nod, nothing more. 'She's guarded. Good. So am I.'
A bell tolled, deep and resonant, summoning the first-years to orientation. The Edge Alliance joined the stream of students filing through Vanguard's labyrinthine halls, walls adorned with tapestries of legendary duels and swords crossed in eternal challenge. The air smelled of polished steel and old stone, a reminder of the academy's brutal legacy. Upperclassmen leaned against columns, sizing up the newcomers. One, a wiry girl with a scar across her cheek, smirked at Lost. "Voss, huh? Hope you're not as soft as your name sounds."
"Keep hoping," Lost replied coolly, his hand steady on his hilt. She laughed and moved on, but her words lingered. 'They're watching me. Do they know?'
The group reached the Grand Hall, a cavernous chamber with a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of ancient battles. Rows of benches faced a raised dais where professors stood like statues. Headmaster Darius Kane loomed at the center, his presence commanding silence. To his left was Professor Elara Voss—her name still a bitter coincidence—and to his right, Instructor Harlan Drake, whose gaze seemed to linger on Lost a moment too long.
"First-years," Kane began, his voice cutting through the hall. "You survived the Trial of Shadows, but that was merely the gate. Vanguard Academy forges blades—both steel and human. You will train in the art of the sword through duels, drills, and expeditions. You will study strategy, history, and the code of the blade. Fail, and you leave in disgrace. Die, and you're forgotten. Succeed, and you may join the elite who shape this kingdom. Your first task today: explore the grounds, learn its secrets, and report to your assigned training arena by noon."
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Joren leaned in. "Sounds like a scavenger hunt. Fun, right?"
"Fun until someone gets skewered," Mira muttered, adjusting her hair.
Athena's eyes narrowed. "The grounds are massive. We stick together, or we're easy prey."
Lost nodded. 'She's sharp. Already thinking like a survivor.' The group agreed to explore as a unit, their bond from the trial giving them an edge over the scattered solo students.
They began in the Armory Courtyard, a sprawling plaza lined with racks of practice blades and training dummies scarred by years of strikes. Finn tripped over a loose cobble, earning a chuckle from Garrick. "Careful, scholar, or the ground'll fight you before the upperclassmen do."
"Not funny," Finn grumbled, but he smiled, adjusting to the group's rhythm.
As they moved, they encountered other first-years. A loud boy named Torin Blaze, with a flashy sword and a louder ego, strutted up. "Edge Alliance? Cute name. Bet I could take you all in a duel."
"Try me," Athena said, her tone icy. She stepped forward, hand on her hilt, and Torin hesitated, sensing her skill. He backed off, muttering about "better opponents."
"He'll be trouble," Joren said, frowning. "Guys like him love starting fights."
"Let him," Lost said quietly. 'Distractions like Torin could be useful. Keep eyes off me.' But his focus shifted as they reached the Blade Library, a towering structure filled with tomes on swordsmanship, strategy, and the kingdom's history. Mira's eyes lit up—she clearly had a taste for knowledge beneath her noble facade.
Inside, they met another student, Lila Wren, a quiet girl with ink-stained fingers and a rapier at her side. She was reading a treatise on feinting techniques. "You're the wolf-slayers, right?" she asked, voice soft but curious. "I saw you yesterday. Impressive."
"Thanks," Garrick said, puffing his chest. "You joining us?"
Lila shook her head. "I work alone. But… good luck." Her gaze lingered on Lost, as if sensing something unsaid. 'Another watcher,' he thought, unease creeping in.
The group moved on to the Training Arenas, a series of open-air circles where upperclassmen sparred with terrifying precision. One, Royce Blackthorn from yesterday, was mid-duel, his blade a blur against a classmate. He won effortlessly, then sneered at the Edge Alliance. "Fresh meat better learn fast, or you're wolf food again."
"Charming," Mira said dryly, but Lost noted Royce's skill. 'Potential ally—or threat.'
By noon, they reached their assigned arena, where Instructor Harlan Drake awaited. His presence sent a chill through Lost. 'That stance. The way he grips his sword. It's him.' Drake's eyes locked onto Lost as he addressed the group.
"First lesson: survival is not enough. You must dominate. Pair up for sparring. Show me your worth."
Lost was paired with Athena, a twist of fate that quickened his pulse. They faced off, blades drawn, the arena's dust swirling around them. Her stance was fluid, intuitive, her eyes reading his every move. He struck first, a testing thrust—Echo Strike, a feint followed by a sharp lunge. She parried effortlessly, countering with a swift riposte that grazed his sleeve.
"Not bad," she said, a spark in her eyes. "But you're holding back."
"So are you," Lost replied, a half-smile breaking through. 'She sees through me already.'
Their duel flowed like a dance, each move testing the other's limits. Around them, the group sparred—Joren's earnest swings, Mira's precise cuts, Finn's surprising agility, Garrick's raw power. Drake watched, his gaze heavy on Lost and Athena.
After the session, as they caught their breath, Athena leaned close. "You fight like you've got something to prove, Voss. Care to share?"
Lost hesitated. 'Not yet. But soon.' "Just want to survive," he said, meeting her gaze.
She smirked. "Liar. But I'll figure you out."
As the group left the arena, bonding over bruises and shared laughs, Lost felt a flicker of warmth. The Edge Alliance was forming, and Athena's presence was a pull he couldn't ignore. But Harlan Drake's shadow loomed, and in the quiet of his mind, the vow burned: 'One down, nine to go.'