The streets of Heaven School pulsed with life.
Everywhere Elira looked, there was motion, brilliance, fire. Students sparred in courtyards beneath banners that snapped in the wind, their flames clashing in arcs of scarlet, azure, and emerald. In a distant plaza, a boy conjured lightning that cracked against the stone, while his opponent raised a shimmering shield of ice that hissed and steamed under the strike. Towers loomed above it all, connected by bridges etched in glowing runes, their heights filled with shadows of more figures training, climbing, leaping.
It was a city made of fire and ambition, and every stone thrummed with the hunger of those who walked it.
Marcell exhaled low beside her. "And here I thought the Sanctum was intense. These people… they look like they're ready to kill each other in the streets."
"They are," Vaelith said calmly, his eyes tracking every movement, every group that passed them. "Do not be deceived by the word school. This place is no sanctuary. It is a forge where rivals temper themselves on one another's blood."
Serenya walked at the front, her stride unbroken, her voice crisp. "Then we will burn hotter than the rest."
Elira followed in silence, her silver gaze sweeping across the crowd. She felt their stares — lingering, prying, some curious, others openly hostile. Whispers drifted as they passed.
"New arrivals.""Sanctum-trained, by the look of them.""Her… the silver one. There's something about her flame."
They reached a wide courtyard where a fountain surged with water that shimmered faintly, as if infused with light itself. Students milled about, some alone, most in clusters. Factions were visible even to an untrained eye — crests stitched into cloaks, the colors of noble houses gleaming, weapons and talismans unique to their bloodlines.
Marcell leaned closer to Elira, lowering his voice. "Guess we're the only ones here without banners."
"That will change," Serenya said sharply. "Strength is its own banner."
A sharp laugh cut through the air.
Elira turned. A boy stepped forward from a group of students dressed in deep crimson. His hair was gold, gleaming in the sunlight like metal, and his eyes burned with arrogance. He carried no weapon, but the heat that radiated from him made the air ripple.
"Well, well," he drawled, his gaze raking across Elira before lingering with a sneer. "Fresh out of the Sanctum, are you? They let anyone in these days."
Marcell's grin sharpened, his hand resting casually on his sword. "You're awfully confident for someone whose voice cracks when he laughs."
The boy's eyes snapped to Marcell, his smile fading. Flame flared around him, hot and fierce. "Careful, gutter-born. You're standing in the Court of Houses now. Insult me again, and you'll leave in ashes."
Vaelith stepped forward, his shadow flickering unnaturally in the sunlight. "Try it. See how far you get."
For a tense moment, heat and shadow pressed against one another, the courtyard thick with anticipation. Students gathered quickly, whispers rising like a tide.
"Rivalry already…""Who are they?""Sanctum blood against House flame. This will be good."
Before the clash could ignite, a voice thundered across the courtyard.
"Enough."
The crowd stilled instantly. A figure descended from the tower above, his cloak billowing, his presence commanding silence. His hair was black as obsidian, his eyes sharp as a blade, and the mark of Heaven School's seal glowed faintly across his chest.
An instructor.
He landed with a weight that shook the stones. His gaze swept the courtyard, landing on the golden-haired boy, then shifting to Elira's group. "Fights are not forbidden here. But they are not wasted on posturing."
His voice rang clear, each word precise. "If you want to measure your worth, do it in the Trial. Two days from now, the gates of the Arena will open. Every aspirant, new or old, will enter. Only those who emerge will rise."
A ripple ran through the crowd — excitement, fear, ambition.
The instructor's eyes lingered on Elira one last time, narrowing as if he saw something others could not. Then he turned, his cloak snapping, and strode away without another word.
The golden-haired boy smirked, his arrogance undimmed. "Two days, Sanctum girl. We'll see if your flame is more than smoke." He turned on his heel, his followers trailing after him.
Silence lingered for a beat before Marcell muttered, "He's going to be fun."
Serenya's gaze sharpened. "Focus. The Trial will not forgive distraction."
Elira said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the distant spire that towered above all others, gleaming like a challenge thrown at the heavens themselves.
Two days.Two days until the Trial.Two days until she proved herself not just to Heaven School, but to the world.