The moment I stepped out of the arena, the world changed.
It wasn't dramatic—no crowds mobbed me, no proctors demanded explanations. But the looks were different. The whispers had a new edge. Candidates who'd ignored me before now tracked my movements with careful eyes. Some nodded respectfully. Others glared with barely concealed hostility.
I'd won without landing a blow. To the fighters, that was either brilliance or cowardice. Either way, I was no longer invisible.
Vance found me near the candidate quarters, a grin splitting his face. "That was insane! You made a dwarf warrior surrender! To a plant mage!" He clapped my shoulder, then winced at my flinch. "Sorry. Forgot about the bruises."
"Where are the others?"
"Dorn's getting his arm checked. Elara's sleeping—she wore herself out watching you. Mira's..." He glanced around, lowering his voice. "Mira's following a lead. She'll find us when she's ready."
I nodded, too tired to ask more. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. Three days of training and one match that felt like a war—my core was screaming, my muscles were jelly, and all I wanted was to collapse.
A figure appeared at the end of the corridor. Tall. Silver-haired. Eyes like winter sky.
Eve Snowfall.
She walked toward us with the casual grace of someone who owned every space she entered. Candidates scattered from her path like leaves before a storm. Vance went rigid beside me, his face pale.
She stopped three paces away. Her gaze fixed on me.
"You're the plant mage."
It wasn't a question.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"The one who made the dwarf yield without a strike."
Another nod.
She studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Interesting."
She walked past us without another word, disappearing into the crowd.
Vance exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. "That was... that was Eve Snowfall. The Ice Empress. She spoke to you. She said 'interesting.' That's... that's..."
"Terrifying?"
"Yes. Terrifying. Also kind of amazing." He grabbed my arm. "Come on. We need to get you somewhere safe before anyone else decides to have a conversation."
---
Safe was relative.
The candidate quarters were crowded with survivors of the first round, all buzzing with the day's matches. I found a quiet corner and sat with my back to the wall, watching the chaos. Vance brought food. Dorn appeared, his arm freshly bandaged, and sat beside me like a loyal mountain. Elara joined us later, still pale but steadier.
Mira didn't come.
The second round of matches was announced at dusk. I was scheduled for the morning—another random opponent, another fight for survival. I should have been preparing, planning, resting. Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about Eve Snowfall's eyes, the weight of her attention, the single word that could mean anything or nothing.
"Stop brooding," Vance said, dropping beside me. "You'll wear yourself out before tomorrow."
"Easy for you to say. You're a fighter. You belong here."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You know, before the trials, I thought I was special. Noble family, decent talent, good training. Then I saw the Five. Then I saw you make a dwarf surrender with plants." He shook his head. "I don't know what you are, Roy. But you belong here as much as anyone."
Before I could respond, Mira appeared.
She moved like a shadow, slipping through the crowd without a sound. When she reached us, her face was grim.
"I found something."
We gathered in the storage room again—our unofficial meeting place. Mira waited until the door was sealed before speaking.
"The collector's employer. I traced the blade's origin to a merchant caravan that passed through Stormhold three months ago. The caravan was registered to a noble house." She paused. "House Vane."
My blood chilled. "Vane? That's—"
"My family." Mira's voice was flat, but something flickered in her eyes. "My father's house."
Silence.
Vance broke it. "Your father is connected to the Dark Forest?"
"I don't know. But someone in my house is. The caravan's manifest listed the weapons as 'curiosities' from the borderlands. They were imported legally, with all the proper seals." She looked at me. "The collector wasn't some random assassin. He was supplied by someone with resources, connections, and access to Academy procedures."
Elara whispered, "Do you think your father knows?"
Mira was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
She turned to leave. I caught her arm.
"Mira. If your father is involved—"
"Then I'll deal with it." She pulled free. "This is my responsibility. My family. My problem."
She was gone before anyone could respond.
---
The second match came too fast.
My opponent was a woman named Sera Ironwood, an elf from the borderlands with a spear and a reputation for ruthless efficiency. She didn't charge like Kaelen. She studied me from across the arena, her eyes cold and calculating.
"You're the plant mage," she said. "The one who talks to the ground."
"I try."
"I've fought wood mages before. They die the same as anyone." She spun her spear, the blade glinting. "I won't charge into your traps. I'll take my time. Wear you down. And when you're exhausted, I'll finish it."
The gong sounded.
She didn't move. Neither did I.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The crowd grew restless. Sera smiled, patient, waiting.
I couldn't win a waiting game. My stamina was limited, my core still healing. She could stand there all day.
So I changed the game.
I knelt and placed my palms on the stone. I reached out with my awareness—not to the seeds I'd scattered, but to the arena itself. The ancient stone. The deep foundations. The life that had been here long before the Academy built its walls.
*"Help me," * I whispered. *"Not to fight. Just to... grow." *
The stone didn't answer. But something else did.
Beneath the arena, buried for centuries, seeds waited. Old seeds. Forgotten seeds. Seeds from the time before the Academy, when this mountain had been a living forest. I felt them stirring, responding to my call.
I encouraged them. Gently. Patiently. Not to erupt, but to reach.
Sera frowned, sensing something. "What are you doing?"
I didn't answer.
A crack appeared in the stone at her feet. Then another. Then a dozen. From the cracks, green shoots emerged—pale at first, then darkening, strengthening. They grew fast, faster than natural, twining around her ankles, her spear, her waist.
She cursed and tried to move, but the growth was already thick, already strong. Within seconds, she was rooted in place, her spear trapped, her body immobilized.
"Yield," I said.
She struggled, but the plants held. After a long moment, she stopped.
"How?" Her voice was hoarse. "Those aren't your seeds. Those aren't even alive—"
"They were waiting," I said. "For someone to ask."
She stared at me. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I yield."
The crowd erupted again, louder this time. In the highest seats, all five figures were leaning forward.
I'd won again.
And I'd revealed even more.
---