The gates opened with a groan that shook the earth.
Light seared across the aspirants as the Arena revealed itself — a vast circle of white stone, its walls rising like cliffs, its floor etched with runes that pulsed faintly beneath their feet. Above, thousands of voices roared, the gathered students, instructors, and nobles filling the air with thunder.
Elira stepped forward, her boots striking stone that hummed with restrained power. The ember in her chest beat in time with it, a steady rhythm that grew hotter with each breath.
"This is it," Marcell murmured beside her, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. His grin was wide, but his eyes gleamed with focus. "Try not to make me look bad out there."
"You'll manage that yourself," Vaelith replied, his tone flat, though his shadow flickered unnaturally in the blazing light.
Serenya strode ahead, her armor glinting, her expression carved from stone. "Remember why you are here. Not to survive. To rise."
The crowd roared louder as the last of the aspirants filed in — nearly two hundred in all. They spread across the Arena, weapons drawn, flames flaring in colors that painted the air in fire, lightning, and smoke.
Then silence fell.
A figure descended from the highest seat, landing with a weight that made the runes flare. The instructor who had silenced the courtyard days ago — his cloak snapping like a banner, his black hair gleaming in the sun. His voice carried without effort, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"Aspirants of Heaven School. You stand in the Arena of Embers. Here, your strength, your will, your flame will be tested. Not all of you will rise. Some will fall. That is the way of fire — it consumes the weak to temper the strong."
His gaze swept across them, sharp and unyielding. For a heartbeat, his eyes met Elira's, lingering as if recognizing something in her silver flame.
"The Trial begins in phases. First, the Test of Endurance. Survive the storm."
He raised his hand.
The runes beneath their feet ignited.
The Arena roared to life.
The sky above darkened as flame burst from the runes, spears of fire lashing upward before crashing down in torrents. The stone trembled, splitting open to unleash gouts of molten heat. The floor itself shifted, sections rising and falling, turning the battlefield into a living storm.
Screams rang out almost immediately as weaker aspirants faltered. One boy was caught by a sudden jet of fire, his barrier shattering as he collapsed, his body dragged from the Arena by glowing chains. Another lost his footing as the ground shifted, swallowed into a pit that sealed shut as quickly as it had opened.
Marcell swore under his breath, yanking Elira aside as a column of flame erupted where she had been standing. "Storm, he says. This is a damned inferno!"
"Stay moving," Vaelith snapped, his shadow stretching to sense the shifting ground. "The runes are alive. They want us scattered."
Elira's silver flame surged instinctively, wrapping around her form as heat bore down from every side. The storm pressed against her, but her fire did not falter. Instead, it grew, steady and sharp, as though the ember within her demanded she prove herself.
Students clashed amid the chaos, blades flashing, spells colliding. The storm did not stop them — it urged them forward, forcing them to fight as the world itself tried to consume them.
"Endurance," Serenya growled, cutting down an opponent who lunged too close. "Endure, and then strike."
Elira's gaze swept the Arena. The golden-haired boy who had mocked them in the courtyard stood amid his followers, flame radiating from him like a sun. He laughed as the storm crashed around him, his arrogance unshaken, his enemies driven back by the sheer force of his power.
Their eyes met across the chaos. His smirk widened.
Elira's flame flared silver in response.
Minutes dragged into an eternity. One by one, aspirants fell — dragged screaming from the Arena, or broken under the storm. The crowd roared for every collapse, every strike, every burst of fire that lit the sky.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm ceased.
The runes dimmed. The ground stilled. Smoke and steam curled upward, shrouding the Arena in a haze.
Where nearly two hundred had entered, barely half remained.
Elira stood tall, her silver flame steady, her chest heaving with exertion but unbroken. Around her, Marcell wiped sweat from his brow with a grin, Vaelith's shadow drew back into place, and Serenya lowered her blade, unmarked.
The instructor's voice rang once more.
"You endure. Good. Then prove you can fight."
The runes flared again, but this time they did not unleash storm. Instead, the ground split, dividing the survivors into smaller rings. Walls of flame surged up, isolating groups of five, sealing them together in circles of fire.
Elira found herself cut off with Marcell on one side, but separated from Serenya and Vaelith. Opposite her stood four strangers — one bearing twin blades, another crackling with lightning, a third cloaked in shifting smoke, and the last with eyes glowing crimson.
The walls roared higher.
The instructor's voice was cold. "Second phase. Trial by battle. Only one leaves each ring."
Marcell's grin faded. "…Well. That's a twist."
Elira's silver flame blazed, reflecting in the eyes of her opponents as they raised their weapons.
The Arena roared again.
And the second phase began.