The courtyard slowly thinned after the instructor's declaration, but the weight of his words lingered like smoke. The Trial. Two days. A test that would not be delayed, excused, or forgiven.
Elira stood still as the crowd dispersed, silver eyes fixed on the spire gleaming in the distance. That tower seemed less like a beacon and more like a blade waiting to fall. She had passed through the gates, but now the true measure awaited.
Marcell leaned on his sword with a grin that didn't quite mask the flicker of unease in his eyes. "Well, that was dramatic. An arena trial in two days. Guess they don't waste time with warm welcomes here."
Serenya turned, her armor catching the glow of the fountain. "They shouldn't. The weak do not belong. The Trial exists to cut them away."
"Cut them away," Marcell echoed, his smile thin. "Funny how you make it sound like pruning weeds instead of, you know, people."
"It is the same," Serenya said, voice hard.
Vaelith stood slightly apart, his gaze still tracking the direction the golden-haired boy had gone. "That one… he'll come for us in the Trial. He wants to prove something, and he'll use us to do it."
Marcell stretched his arms with exaggerated ease. "Good. Saves me the trouble of hunting him down."
Elira finally spoke, her tone quiet but steady. "Let him come."
Her words silenced the rest.
Their assigned quarters were within one of the lesser towers, stone halls lined with doors carved with the marks of new aspirants. The rooms were sparse but sufficient — a narrow bed, a desk of polished wood, a single window overlooking the city below. Compared to the iron barracks of the Sanctum, it was almost luxurious.
Elira sat at the desk, her hands folded, her gaze lingering on the view beyond the glass. Heaven School stretched outward in gleaming white and gold, alive with motion. But beneath its brilliance, she could feel it: the hunger, the rivalry, the ambition that burned hotter than any fire.
A knock broke her thoughts.
"Come in," she said.
The door creaked open, and Marcell leaned casually against the frame, a half-eaten apple in his hand. "Thought you'd be brooding alone. Wanted to check if you'd set the room on fire yet."
She arched a brow. "And if I had?"
"Then I'd tell you it looks better with some char." He grinned, taking another bite. "Everyone's talking about you, you know. The Sanctum girl who made the gates whisper."
Elira's expression didn't shift. "Let them talk."
"Talk's dangerous here," Marcell warned, his voice softening. "You're not just another student to them. You're a threat. That golden-haired brat? He's not the only one who'll be gunning for you in the Trial."
Elira turned back to the window. "Then I'll answer them with fire."
For a moment, Marcell only studied her, the usual ease in his eyes shadowed by something deeper — concern, perhaps, though he'd never admit it. Finally, he chuckled and stepped back. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we train."
The door clicked shut, leaving her in silence once more.
The next morning, the training grounds of Heaven School roared with life.
Courtyards of stone stretched wide, each divided into arenas where students sparred beneath the watchful eyes of instructors. Sparks flew, steel clashed, flames surged in violent bursts of color.
Elira walked among them with her companions, the crowd's whispers following like a tide.
"Sanctum.""Silver flame.""Dangerous.""She'll burn out."
Marcell swung his sword idly at his side, ignoring the stares. "Feels like being in a market where everyone wants to buy and sell your head."
"They won't stare for long," Serenya said coldly. "After the Trial, they'll either fear her or forget her."
Vaelith's sharp eyes flicked across the grounds. "Not all will wait for the Trial. Some will test us sooner."
As if summoned by his words, a group of students blocked their path. At their center stood a girl with hair as dark as midnight, her robes marked with the crest of House Kaelith — one of the great clans known for weaving flame and shadow into a deadly art.
Her gaze fixed on Elira, sharp and calculating. "So the Sanctum sends its stray embers here. Tell me, will you burn out quickly, or do you plan to take others with you when you fall?"
Marcell smirked, already reaching for his blade, but Elira lifted a hand, silencing him. She stepped forward, her silver eyes locked on the girl's. "You'll see soon enough."
The girl's lips curved into a thin smile. "I look forward to it." She turned, her followers trailing after her like shadows.
Serenya's expression hardened. "Rivals on every side. Do not underestimate them, Sovereign."
"I won't," Elira said quietly, though within her chest the ember pulsed harder, hungrier.
The days passed quickly. Training, whispers, stares. Rivals revealing themselves in words, in challenges, in the way their eyes lingered too long.
And then the morning of the Trial arrived.
The Arena was carved into the very heart of Heaven School, a vast circle of white stone surrounded by towering walls. Thousands of seats rose in tiers, already filled with students, instructors, and figures of power cloaked in finery. The air vibrated with anticipation, the roar of voices rising like thunder.
At the center, the ground shimmered with runes etched deep into the stone, waiting to awaken.
The aspirants gathered at the gates, each bearing their weapons, their talismans, their pride. Elira stood among them, her companions at her side, the ember in her chest steady but fierce.
Marcell grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Well, nothing like a welcoming party of a thousand bloodthirsty strangers, huh?"
Vaelith's shadow flickered unnaturally, his voice low. "Stay sharp. The Trial isn't about victory. It's about survival."
Serenya's gaze was fixed ahead, her voice like steel. "Then survive. And prove you are worthy of more."
The gates shuddered. Light flared. The ground trembled.
The Arena called.
And Elira stepped forward.