The morning after the first day of combat training felt almost criminal in its normalcy.
Avdhoot dragged himself out of bed on Tuesday, every muscle protesting the motion. The Lions' dormitory showed similar signs of damage. Rohan shuffled across the room like an old man, Kavi winced with every step, and even Veer—normally impossible to slow—moved as if gravity had doubled overnight.
"I think I've discovered new types of pain," Veer announced, lowering himself carefully onto a bench in the common room. "Pain I didn't know existed. Pain with subcategories."
"That's adaptation," Tara replied, already dressed and sharp-eyed despite the obvious soreness in her posture. "Your body adjusts by day five."
"I don't have five days," Veer muttered. "I have five more classes today."
That reality followed them out of the Lions' Den and into the Academy corridors, where students from every House moved with the same stiff, careful steps. Conversations overlapped as they walked—half-remembered combat drills, speculation about professors, and more than a few anxious mentions of the upcoming campaign.
"Devendra's teaching the first lecture," someone ahead whispered.
"Beasts, right?" another replied.
"I heard he doesn't sugarcoat anything."
The classroom confirmed it immediately.
The space was circular, dimly lit, its walls lined with crystalline cases holding preserved remains—claws, skulls, segmented limbs frozen mid-motion. Chains hung from the ceiling, suspending massive skeletal frames that cast long shadows across the stone floor.
Professor Devendra Rathod stood at the center.
"Sit."
Everyone obeyed without hesitation.
"In combat," Devendra began, his rumbling voice filling the chamber, "you learn how to fight. Today, you learn what you're fighting—and what you should avoid entirely."
He gestured upward.
A massive skull hung above the board, easily the size of a lion's head, curved fangs gleaming under the light.
"Stalking Shadowcat. Tier Two. Apex predator of the lower forests. Hunts in coordinated packs. Ambush specialist."
As animated diagrams formed in the air, Devendra broke down hunting patterns, territorial markings, psychic coordination, and escape routes. The lecture wasn't dramatic—just precise. Clinical.
When an Owl student finally asked if anyone had ever been killed by one, Devendra didn't pause.
"Yes. Three Academy students in the last fifty years. All alone. All in restricted zones. Lesson: don't be alone. Don't be stupid."
Fear settled into the room—not panic, but awareness.
By the time Devendra finished, Avdhoot understood something clearly:
the campaign wasn't an exercise.
It was controlled exposure to danger.
As the students filed out, conversations stayed low.
"I'm not ready for this," someone whispered behind him.
"That means you're paying attention," Tara replied calmly as she passed.
They had only a short break before the next lecture. Most students clustered in hallways, arguing about threat tiers and worst-case scenarios. Avdhoot and Meira moved away from the noise, settling briefly along a quieter corridor.
"He answered questions like someone who's been there," Meira observed.
"He made it sound inevitable," Avdhoot said. "Like encounters aren't a possibility—they're expected."
"They probably are," Meira replied. "The Academy doesn't train comfort. It trains survival."
That thought followed them into the next classroom.
This one was stark—bare stone walls, orderly rows of desks, and a raised platform at the front. Professor Isha Kapoor stood waiting, silver hair immaculate, eyes sharp enough to cut through fatigue.
"Sit."
With a single gesture, a glowing chart filled the wall behind her—a hierarchy of light and symbols.
"Mana level determines what you can attempt safely," Kapoor said. "And what will kill you."
She explained the classifications with cold precision, demonstrating the difference between weak, unstable sparks of power and controlled, complex flames. The gap between levels wasn't just visible—it was terrifying.
When she said that most of them were still at the very bottom, no one argued.
"Mana level is not everything," Kapoor continued. "Efficiency, tactics, and teamwork frequently defeat raw power. Arrogance kills faster than ignorance."
Her gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Meira.
By the time the lecture ended, the students left buzzing—not with excitement, but with recalibrated expectations.
"She's only Level Four," Veer muttered as they walked. "That means Tier Three beasts…"
"…are worse than anything staff want to handle directly," Avdhoot finished.
"Good to know we're avoiding them," Veer said weakly.
They weren't given long to dwell on it.
The potions lab assaulted the senses the moment they entered—heat, scent, bubbling liquids, and humming enchantments layered over one another. Professor Hemant Verma greeted them with energy that bordered on enthusiasm.
"Survival brews today," he announced cheerfully. "Because campaigns don't forgive exhaustion."
He walked them through recovery tonics and enhancement brews with meticulous detail. Measurements, timing, temperature—nothing was forgiving.
Most attempts were mediocre.
A few failed outright.
Meira's mana tonic glowed the correct silver-white on her first attempt. Avdhoot's strength brew settled into a clean golden-amber, its magical signature steady.
Verma studied both, eyebrows lifting. "Good instincts. Very good instincts."
By the time the students left, potion vials secured in preservation containers, the weight of the day finally caught up to them.
They returned to the Lions' common room in silence, collapsing wherever space allowed. Even Veer didn't complain immediately—an achievement in itself.
Priya Devkaran stopped by later, leaning against a pillar as if exhaustion were optional.
"Tomorrow's briefing," she said. "Supply distribution, group assignments, zone details. Friday morning, we leave."
After she left, the room stayed quiet.
The Academy rhythm was settling in.
And somewhere beneath that routine, something was shifting.
[End of Chapter 7]