The academy courtyard was too clean for the number of people packed into it.
Stone polished smooth by decades of magic reflected the pale morning light, banners hanging perfectly still despite the open air.
The stone seemed to drink in sound rather than reflect it, as though the place itself had learned how to listen.
Hundreds of students stood in uneven rows, whispers rippling through the crowd like insects trapped beneath glass. Some voices were sharp with excitement.
Others trembled with nerves. All of them blended into a restless, constant murmur that pressed in from every direction.
Riven hated crowds.
Not because they were loud—
But because they were unpredictable. Too many people. Too many unknown variables.
He stood with his hands at his sides, posture relaxed in a way that took effort. Every muscle stayed loose by design, ready to tighten at a moment's notice. He forced his breathing slow, even, steady.
His eyes moved constantly, tracing lines most people ignored: exits, elevated walkways, the spacing between towers. The height of the surrounding walls. The way the shadows pooled unevenly near the corners.
The giant dais at the front.
The man standing upon it.
Beside him, Cael rocked back on his heels, arms folded behind his head like this was a street performance instead of the most important day of their lives. He scanned the crowd with open curiosity, as if daring it to impress him.
"Bet the food's terrible," Cael muttered.
"Places like this always pretend hunger builds character."
Riven didn't respond. He was too busy watching the way the light bent strangely around the dais, as if the air itself was reluctant to settle there.
The sound changed.
Not louder.
Heavier.
Like a puzzle piece being put into place.
The courtyard fell silent without anyone asking for it. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the shuffling of boots stilled, as though the ground itself had been warned.
Headmaster Valen Oris stood at the center of the dais.
No announcement.
No procession.
He had simply always been there, as though the world had remembered him late and rushed to correct itself.
"Welcome," Valen said, his voice calm, carrying effortlessly across the stone.
"To Orison Academy."
The words settled like weight, pressing into ribs and lungs. Riven felt it land somewhere deeper than sound could reach.
"You stand here because you showed promise," Valen continued.
"Talent. Persistence. Or a refusal to stop when you should have."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Valen did not react.
"This academy does not value bloodlines," he said.
"It does not reward laziness."
"And it does not forgive wasted potential."
Riven felt Cael straighten beside him, some of the humor draining from his posture. The easy confidence tightened into focus.
"From this moment forward—"
The air shifted.
Riven felt it first as pressure behind his eyes, like the world had leaned too close. His vision sharpened painfully, edges too crisp, details too loud.
Then came the heat—
Sudden.
Sharp.
Blooming directly in his chest, spreading outward like a brand pressed from the inside.
He gasped, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric over his heart, breath tearing free before he could stop it.
Beside him, Cael hissed under his breath.
Riven turned.
Their eyes met.
No confusion.
No question.
Just the raw, immediate understanding that whatever this was—
It wasn't happening to just one of them.
The courtyard fractured. Students gone.
Stone beneath Riven's feet blackened and split, cracks racing outward like veins seeking a heart. The academy towers twisted, partially collapsed, their upper floors hollowed and burned as if consumed from within.
The sky dimmed to a dull, unmoving gray, heavy and oppressive.
Sound vanished.
No screams.
No explosions.
Just silence—
Thick.
Final.
Ash drifted upward, defying gravity, brushing past Riven's face without warmth or weight.
Riven stood in the same place.
But no one else did.
The courtyard was empty.
Not abandoned—
Emptied.
His breath hitched, chest tight, lungs refusing to work properly. The air tasted wrong, dry and lifeless.
The vision tore sideways.
Valen Oris's voice cut through the ruin, layered and distant.
"—you will be ranked."
Riven blinked.
The academy snapping back into place.
Stone unbroken.
Banners intact.
Students standing shoulder to shoulder like nothing had happened. Like the world had never cracked open at all.
But the heat in his chest remained.
A flicker at the edge of his vision—
A girl a few rows ahead clutching her arm, eyes unfocused, breathing too shallow.
Another standing unnaturally still, jaw locked, as if bracing against something unseen.
A third tilting her head, nostrils flaring faintly, like she smelled smoke no one else could sense.
Then they steadied.
Or pretended to.
Valen continued without pause.
"You will fail," he said evenly, "if you believe power alone is enough."
Riven pressed his palm flat to his chest, grounding himself in the pressure. The sensation there wasn't pain.
It wasn't injury.
It was presence—
Something settled beneath skin and bone, undeniable but unreadable, like a second heartbeat waiting to be acknowledged.
Beside him, Cael leaned closer, his voice low, stripped of its usual edge.
"Did you see that?"
Riven nodded once.
Their eyes stayed locked—
Not searching for answers.
Just confirming reality.
Cael, jaw tightening.
"Was that real, Riven?"
"I don't know," He said, and hated how true it sounded.
Cael glanced toward the dais, then down at his hands like he expected them to be wrong somehow, like they might still be burning or broken.
"I saw…" He shook his head once.
"Something bad."
Riven swallowed, throat tight.
"So did I."
They didn't say more.
They couldn't.
Whatever it was, it hadn't come with words.
No warning.
No meaning.
Just an image burned too deeply to ignore.
Valen Oris's gaze swept the courtyard again, unreadable, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.
"For those who endure," he said, "this academy will give you everything you need."
The heat in Riven's chest cooled—
Not fading.
Not disappearing.
But settling.
Like a heartbeat finding its rhythm.
The speech ended.
Students exhaled.
Whispers returned.
Life resumed—boots shifting, voices rising, nerves loosening.
But Riven didn't move.
Neither did Cael.
Because somewhere beneath the stone and banners and orderly ranks,
Something had already gone wrong.
And whatever it was—
It had showed them something terrible.