Night falls over the Academy like a damp shroud.
After the announcement, no one lingers outside. The campus — usually alive — feels like a deserted city. The corridors are crowded, yet silent. Doors close faster. Laughter has vanished.
Brask remains seated for a long time.
So do I.
It's as if the air itself understands.
An island. A week. No grades. No reward.
Just selection.
When I lie down, sleep doesn't come immediately.
I stare at the ceiling — too white, too clean — and think about the name that disappeared from the board. A name we will never see in the rankings again. As if it had never existed.
Morning arrives without mercy.
And the Academy keeps moving.
As if it already knows who it will swallow.
Far from the walls of Pyrrhès, beyond the Academy's reach, another room breathes.
Larger.
Colder.
More dangerous.
The Royal Palace of the Fire Kingdom.
The throne hall is a chasm of dark red stone and gold. Massive columns stretch toward the ceiling. Thick carpets mute every footstep. Torches burn slowly, as if even flame here has learned discipline.
At the far end stands the throne.
Carved from black rock, bound in ancient metal.
The King sits upon it.
Upright. Still.
His face is half-shadowed.
His eyes miss nothing.
Before him, a circular table has been arranged. Counselors are already seated — politicians, strategists, generals, nobles. Every voice carries weight. Every word is sharpened.
One of them speaks — a man with rings covering his fingers.
"Your Majesty, the situation in the southeast is deteriorating."
He places a map on the table. An island circled in dark ink.
"Sarn Island."
The name cracks across the hall.
An older counselor leans forward.
"It is not merely lost territory. It is a strategic point."
The King does not move.
"The Earth Kingdom is using it," the man continues, "as a discreet military base. Not official. Not declared."
A pause.
"But active."
A broad-shouldered general growls.
"'Active' is an understatement. Patrols. Camps. Temporary fortifications."
Silence spreads.
"They're preparing something," the general says.
A bitter chuckle echoes from one end of the table.
"They're always preparing something."
The King tilts his head slightly.
A minimal gesture.
The room falls silent.
Another counselor clears his throat.
"There is also information concerning the Academy of Pyrrhès."
At that word, several expressions tighten.
"The Academy will soon send students to Sarn. Officially: a survival examination. Unofficially…"
He hesitates.
"…a reconnaissance operation."
A dry laugh circulates.
"Children," a noble spits. "They're sending children to an island controlled by Earth."
"They are not children," a strategist replies calmly. "They are future soldiers. The Academy is accelerating its output."
The King straightens — barely.
His fingers rest on the armrest.
Silence deepens.
"The test is ungraded," the counselor continues. "Eliminatory. A purification process."
The general exhales sharply.
"A suicide mission."
"Yes," the strategist agrees. "But politically efficient."
Heads turn toward him.
"If the students die, the Academy claims no responsibility. If some return with intelligence…"
He taps the map.
"The Fire Kingdom gains information without officially deploying its army."
The noble clenches his jaw.
"And if Earth captures them?"
The strategist shrugs faintly.
"Earth can claim they were trespassers. Young intruders. Not soldiers. Not an act of war."
Heavier silence.
Everyone understands.
Sarn is a trap.
And the Fire Kingdom is willing to throw its youth into it.
The King finally speaks.
His voice is low. Steady. Controlled.
"The Academy acts without informing me."
No one answers immediately.
A counselor bows his head.
"The Academy holds historical autonomy, Your Majesty."
The King's gaze sharpens.
"Autonomy is not independence."
The counselor lowers his eyes.
The general steps forward.
"Give me the order. I block the departure. I deploy troops. We take Sarn now."
The strategist shakes his head slowly.
"Too soon. Too visible. An open operation would reignite the war. And we are not prepared."
A quieter voice adds:
"They are."
The King does not react outwardly.
He studies the island on the map.
Then the table.
"Who is currently on-site?"
Silence.
"No one officially," the general admits. "Our forces withdrew after the last treaty."
The King inhales slowly.
"Then we send someone."
The general straightens.
"Who, Your Majesty?"
The King turns his head slightly.
A door opens.
A man enters.
He walks without sound, as if the hall already belongs to him. He stops at the center and kneels without hesitation.
Elëv.
His armor is simple. His posture firm. He does not perform heroism.
Nor submission.
He is here because he was summoned.
"Elëv Arin," the King says.
The name resonates more loudly than it should.
"You will command a squad. You will proceed to Sarn Island."
Elëv does not lift his head.
"Orders?"
"Observe. Identify Earth Kingdom positions. Confirm the scale of their presence. And…"
A pause.
"…ensure that no information leaves that island if it threatens the Kingdom."
The counselors understand immediately.
Elëv does not flinch.
"Understood."
"You depart tonight."
Elëv presses a fist against his chest.
"At your command, Your Majesty."
He rises.
For a brief moment, his eyes meet the counselors'.
None hold his gaze.
He leaves.
The door closes.
The King remains still.
Then he speaks once more, quietly:
"If the Earth King desires war… let him remember that Fire has never been extinguished."
A pause.
"Only contained."
Back at the Academy, no one knows any of this.
No one knows that a round table has already turned the island into a game piece.
In the corridors, students prepare.
Bags are distributed. Rations counted. Names checked. Instructions repeated.
Everything is orderly.
Everything is official.
Everything feels false.
Brask tightens the straps of his pack.
"I don't like this," he mutters.
"Neither do I."
I look toward the inner courtyard. The ramparts. The professors watching from above.
Somewhere far from here, a squad is already moving toward the same island.
Without our knowledge.
Without our consent.
The sea is waiting.
And out on the water…
there is no bell to signal the end of class.