The nightmare.
Alexander stood in a void of black, no ground beneath his feet, no ceiling above. Then fire. It came from nowhere, a roaring tide that swallowed everything in sight. The flames weren't warm; they were suffocating, heavy, and pressing into his chest. He gasped for air but inhaled only smoke.
Shapes appeared in the fire. An insectoid silhouette with gleaming mandibles. A pair of burning eyes that weren't human. A dragon's shadow spread its gigantic wings across the inferno, blotting out even the fire itself.
And then, a voice: low, rumbling, so close it felt like it came from inside his bones.
"Ashes precede rebirth. Do not forget what you've burned away to stand here."
The flames surged higher, swallowing him whole.
Alexander snapped awake.
His body jolted upright, only for pain to scream across his chest and ribs. He collapsed back into the mattress with a sharp exhale. His vision blurred, the white ceiling above him swimming into focus. For a long moment, he just lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing, trying to separate dream from reality.
The smell of herbs and antiseptic anchored him. His fingers brushed fabric, not coarse stone, not dirt, but sheets. Clean sheets. He blinked, disoriented, until recognition slowly sunk in.
He was in a bed. Not his bed, the academy infirmary.
Bandages crisscrossed his torso, wrapping his arms and shoulder. His right hand twitched, and a faint ache pulsed beneath the gauze. Strangely, though, the pain was muted, more like soreness than the agony he remembered before losing consciousness.
His eyes roamed the room. The room was small, too quiet, and he immediately noticed how isolated it felt. No other patients, no bustling footsteps of nurses or apprentices, just the low hum of mana lamps fixed into the walls.
He frowned.
The last thing he remembered was collapsing in that chamber, his body breaking apart under strain, and his consciousness fading. The dragon's words still in his mind. He had survived. Barely.
But how did he get here?
Before he could push the thought further, the door opened with a muted creak.
A woman stepped inside, carrying a tray of neatly arranged vials. Her hair was tied back into a bun, streaks of silver threading through otherwise dark locks. Her presence was calm, practiced, the kind of aura that came with years of dealing with panicked, injured students.
Recognition clicked immediately.
"...You," Alexander muttered, his throat dry.
Her eyes softened. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I thought I might find you here again."
He blinked, memories stirring. She wasn't just any healer. She was the infirmary nurse he'd run into countless times in his first and second year. Sparring accidents, overexerted mana practice, broken bones from training too hard. Every time, she was the one who patched him up, her patience unwavering despite his reckless streak.
Her name slipped from his lips. "...Miss Veyra."
Veyra smiled faintly. "So you still remember. That's good. It means your head isn't too damaged."
She set the tray down on a nearby counter and moved closer, giving him a quick examination. Fingers pressed gently along his bandaged arm, then his neck. Her expression was calm, but her eyes carried a weight he didn't miss.
Alexander finally asked the question clawing at him. "How... did I get here?"
Veyra exhaled softly, as though she'd expected it. "The proctors brought you back. You were found deep inside the cave unconscious. Sad to say, no one else from your group survived."
The words struck at his chest. His jaw tightened. He had already guessed it, but hearing it spoken aloud carved the truth deeper. He closed his eyes, remembering the chaos, the screams, the swarm of ants tearing through his classmates like paper.
Veyra didn't soften the truth. "You were the lone survivor."
Silence. He tried to process it, but his thoughts drifted to faces . Fleeting smiles, rivalries, voices that wouldn't return. His stomach twisted. Survivor's guilt crept in, unwelcome but undeniable.
When he opened his eyes again, he forced his voice steady. "What about me? My condition?"
That was when her calm mask shifted, just slightly. "You nearly burned out your mana veins," she explained. "They were overexerted to a dangerous degree. If the proctors had arrived any later... you might have permanently lost the ability to process mana."
His chest tightened. That close?
"You've stabilized now," Veyra continued, "but you need to be careful. The kind of strain you put yourself under is not something an ordinary body survives. You're... lucky."
Lucky. The word felt hollow.
He didn't feel lucky. He felt like a man who had stood at the edge of a cliff and survived only because the wind didn't blow hard enough.
Still, he nodded faintly, absorbing the information. His veins burned faintly under the bandages, like faint embers beneath ash.
"...And the exam?" he asked at last.
"It's concluded," she said. "The practical portion was cut short after too many casualties. The surviving students are on their way back to the Academy. You'll rejoin them once you're cleared."
Alexander let out a long, quiet breath. So it was over. For them.
Veyra checked a few notes on a parchment sheet at his bedside, then turned back to him. "Before I go, there's one more thing. The Headmaster is expecting you. Once you're strong enough to stand, you'll be summoned."
That left him with more questions than answers.
But before he could press, she gathered the tray and moved toward the door. She paused just long enough to meet his eyes one last time.
"You've come back from something that should've ended you, Alexander. Don't waste it."
Then she was gone, leaving him with silence once again.
The infirmary felt colder after the information he was told.
I'm the lone survivor.
Alexander stared up at the ceiling, unmoving. His mind replayed everything piece by piece. The dragon's voice, the surge of impossible power, the battle with the ant. He remembered the terror in its movements, the precision of its strikes, the way his body had moved almost on instinct, faster, stronger, sharper than it ever had before.
And he remembered the cost.
His fingers tightened into a fist, the bandages rustling faintly.
He had survived. But at what price?
The dream's words echoed again in the back of his mind. Ashes precede rebirth.
For the first time since waking, Alexander let himself sink back into the mattress and close his eyes. Not to sleep, but to confront the weight pressing against his chest.
The fight wasn't over. It had only just begun.