The Opening banquet lasted exactly five hours, and much like the initial entrance ceremony, apart from the initial buzz was largely uneventful.
Before one could react, the sun soon set and a new day had arrived.
However, this morning sun did not bring warmth to the students of Class F, instead, it brought pain.
While the rest of the Academy slept off their wine and roasted boar, Class F was already awake.
Damien had dragged them out of their dorms at 5:00 AM sharp, marching them to Sector 4, a muddy, miserable patch of land on the Academy's perimeter, usually reserved for punishing soldiers who disobeyed orders.
"Get up, Ironheart," Mozart's voice cut through the morning mist.
"The ground is for the dead."
Alaric gasped, rolling onto his side in the mud. He coughed up bile. His body screamed in protest. Every muscle fiber felt like it had been shredded.
"I can't..." Alaric wheezed, his face pale. "My legs... they won't move."
