Dawn did not come gently to Beastfall Academy.
The sky above the trial grounds was iron-grey, heavy with clouds that refused to break. Cold mist clung to the stone terraces where older students had already gathered, their silhouettes dark against the rising light. No banners flew. No speeches were made.
This was not a ceremony.
The first-years stood below, arranged in a semicircle around the arena floor. The ground itself was scorched and cracked, layered with old impact marks that no magic had fully erased. Dark stains lingered in the grooves—some scrubbed thin, others permanent.
Blaze stood among them, shoulders tight, breath shallow.
No one spoke.
At the center of the arena, five massive iron gates loomed, each etched with a different sigil. Even from a distance, Blaze could feel them—pressure in the air, a low vibration under his feet, like something enormous shifting just out of sight.
An instructor stepped forward. No introduction. No welcome.
"Trial by Dawn begins now."
A ripple of unease ran through the first-years.
The instructor raised a hand, and a second line of gates opened behind the students—revealing a long stone table laid with weapons. Not training tools. Real ones.
Blades hummed faintly with magic. Spears traced with glowing runes. Gauntlets that crackled softly. Bows strung with shimmering threads of light. Each weapon bore layered enchantments—reinforcement, elemental alignment, emergency stabilization spells woven by master mages.
Not to save them.
To make sure the monsters didn't end it too quickly.
"Choose," the instructor said. "Once selected, your weapon is bound for the duration of the trial."
Blaze stepped forward with the others, heart hammering. His fingers hovered over steel, wood, crystal. Every weapon felt alive, buzzing under his skin. His instincts pulled him left—then right—then stopped.
Then he saw it.
A blade unlike any other, set apart on a pedestal that glowed faintly as if aware of his presence. Its steel was black, polished to a mirror sheen, with thin veins of molten orange running along its length. They pulsed softly, almost like a heartbeat.
The hilt was simple, unassuming, yet perfectly balanced. The orange veins flared as he gripped it, and a tingle rippled up his arm—a whisper, a command: "Use me."
The blade drank in the weak morning light, shimmering brighter with every second. For a moment, clarity sparked—a whisper of instinct guiding him, suggesting how to move, how to fight, how to survive.
Blaze had chosen the Soulflare Blade. And it had chosen him.
High above, Akira leaned forward, knuckles white on the stone railing.
"This is wrong," he muttered.
Kai didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the gates—on the sigil carved into the darkest one.
Tatsuya spoke quietly. "They've added Umbral."
Akira's jaw tightened. "They what?"
Below, the instructor's voice carried again.
"Every student will face one Disaster Monster."
A pause. Long enough to hurt.
"There are five classifications," he continued evenly.
"Stonebeast.
Flameborne.
Stormblood.
Iceburst."
His gaze flicked briefly—almost imperceptibly—to the fifth gate.
"And Umbral."
A murmur broke through the first-years. Older students shifted uncomfortably. Some swore under their breath.
Akira's jaw tightened. "They never let first-years face that."
"They do now," Tatsuya replied.
The instructor's voice was cold. "Victory guarantees your place at Beastfall Academy. Defeat carries two outcomes: retreat, forfeiting your place and accepting expulsion—or failure to retreat."
No one needed clarification. The gates groaned softly, something massive shifting behind them.
"Begin."
The first gate slammed open.
A Stonebeast emerged—towering, jagged, its body a mass of living rock. The first student stepped forward, hands shaking, weapon raised too high.
Blaze didn't watch. He watched the instructors.
The student was thrown once. Then again. Blood streaked the stone. A boulder-sized limb smashed down, crushing everything in its path—only when the student crawled backward, screaming, did the instructor gesture. The body was dragged away. No healer followed.
One by one, the first-years stepped forward. Some won—barely. Some fled, sobbing. A few did neither.
By the time Blaze's name was called, his hands were steady. That terrified him.
The gate before him opened. Darkness spilled out.
The Umbral crawled forth, a nightmare forged from the abyss. Its form was a writhing mass of inky blackness, devouring the light. Curved horns arched from its elongated skull, a jagged, tooth-filled maw glowing pale in the shadow. Tendrils of darkness trailed from its body, coiling like living veins. Every movement radiated hunger, a primordial dread as if the void itself had taken shape.
The Umbral did not roar. It only locked eyes with Blaze. The temperature dropped. Breath frosted in his lungs.
This is it.
His instincts screamed: run. Every part of him wanted to obey.
Instead, his grip tightened.
The Umbral lunged.
Blaze moved before his mind caught up. He rolled aside, his sword deflecting a claw that tore through stone where his head had been moments before. The arena trembled. Dust and shards cascaded around him. Every instinct screamed: survive.
Older students watched silently. His dormmates—Akira, Kai, even Tatsuya—stood frozen at the edge of the crowd. This year's trial had gone beyond anything they'd seen.
Blaze swung again, aimless at first. The creature's form blurred, shadow merging with shadow. The sword passed through intangible darkness, pulsing with light. For a heartbeat, he felt the cold certainty of death brush against him.
And then it happened.
Time slowed.
Not around him—inside him. Every motion of the Umbral registered before it occurred. He saw angles, openings that hadn't existed moments ago. His body reacted, anticipating, striking, dodging. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He just moved.
The Umbral shrieked, recoiling from a beam of sunlight striking its edge. Blaze's eyes widened. Its core—a pulsing sphere of energy, nothing like a heart, alive and vulnerable—was exposed.
He had no time. No strategy. One chance.
He slammed a fallen pillar into the shadowy mass. Light fractured along the stone, casting beams across the arena. The sword flared. I refuse to die like this.
He leapt, swinging at the core. The Umbral convulsed violently, tendrils lashing outward. One latched onto his shoulder. Pain flared.
The Soulflare Blade pierced the core. A pillar of light erupted.
Silence.
Then shards of darkness clung to him. His knees buckled. His chest burned—not from exertion, but from something crawling beneath his skin. His blood felt thick, wrong. The Umbral's tendrils had latched onto him, It's essence had seeped into him. The curse was real.
Akira, Kai, Tatsuya stared in horror. The instructors did not care.
Blaze collapsed, sword slipping from his hands.
A voice rang out, cold and indifferent:
"Next student."
He had survived. But deep inside, something dark had awakened.