The academy woke louder than usual.
Freya noticed it before she was fully awake. Sound carried differently through the dormitory corridors, a constant undercurrent of voices and hurried footsteps that never quite settled. Doors opened and closed in quick succession. Laughter spiked and faded. Somewhere down the hall, someone was arguing about formations at a volume that suggested they had been arguing about it all night.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
The air felt charged.
Inky was already awake as usual, perched on the same windowsill with his tail curled neatly around his paws. Pale morning light traced the sharp line of his silhouette. He did not look at her, but one ear twitched as she sat up.
"What's going on?" she murmured.
By the time she stepped into the corridor, the noise had shape. Verdant students clustered in small knots, talking over each other with an intensity that bordered on feverish. Words surfaced and sank in the current of conversation.
"…if we control the center—"
"No, that only works if Pyros overcommits to—"
"They're finalizing squads this week, I'm telling you—"
Freya slowed as she passed them, catching fragments of information like loose threads. No one stopped her. No one explained. The conversations flowed around her, self-contained and urgent.
Her chest tightened with a thin ribbon of curiosity.
In the dining hall, the atmosphere was worse.
Every table screamed tension. Students leaned across benches, sketching rough diagrams on scraps of paper or gesturing animatedly with utensils. House colors mixed and clashed in a riot of movement. Even the upperclassmen, usually islands of detached calm, were engaged in low, focused discussions.
Freya slid into a seat beside Sera, who was halfway through an explanation involving three cups and a salt shaker.
"—you collapse their flank here," Sera said, nudging a cup sharply to the side. "But only if your anchor holds. Otherwise you're split."
Her audience murmured in agreement. When she noticed Freya, her expression brightened.
"Morning," Sera said. "You're up early."
"It's impossible to sleep," Freya replied. She nodded at the improvised battlefield. "What's all this?"
Sera blinked, then laughed softly, like the answer was obvious.
"Preparation," she said. "Everyone's losing their minds."
"For what?"
Sera studied her for a heartbeat, as if confirming she was serious. Then she leaned back, folding her arms.
"You haven't heard?"
Freya shook her head.
"The House League," Sera said simply.
The word landed with weight. Around them, conversations surged, as if punctuating the name.
"It starts soon," Sera continued. "They're finalizing everything. Squads, rotations, arenas. Once it kicks off, the whole academy shifts around it."
Freya felt that thin ribbon in her chest pull taut.
"The House League," she repeated quietly.
Sera grinned. "Yeah. Biggest inter-house event of the year. Everyone wants a good showing. Reputation sticks."
She gestured broadly at the hall. "This is what it looks like when people realize it's almost here."
Freya watched a nearby table erupt into animated debate. A Pyros student slapped his palm against the surface for emphasis. Across from him, an Aurelith girl countered with a sharp shake of her head, tracing precise lines in the air as she spoke. The tension wasn't necessarily hostile. It was electric.
"And classes?" Freya asked.
"They'll still happen," Sera said. "But everything tilts. Instructors start paying less attention to students from other houses. Prefects get busy. Training ramps up. You'll feel it."
As if summoned by her words, a hush rippled briefly through the hall. A group of prefects crossed the entrance in quiet formation, their presence drawing eyes without demanding them. Conversations dipped, then resumed at a slightly lower volume.
Freya followed their movement instinctively. Lysandra walked at the center of the group, posture straight, expression unreadable. She spoke softly to the others, and they nodded in turn. There was purpose in the way they moved. Coordination that mirrored the diagrams scattered across the tables.
Something big is coming.
The thought settled into Freya's bones.
After breakfast, the academy made it impossible to ignore.
Training grounds that were usually busy became crowded. Students rotated through drills with sharp efficiency, pushing harder and resting less. But it wasn't just the students who had changed.
The instructors had, too.
Freya joined a Verdant cluster running formation exercises. Their instructor, Master Helion, stood with his arms folded, eyes sharp as glass. Normally his corrections were measured and evenly distributed. Today they landed with a slant.
"Verdant," he called, voice cutting cleanly across the field. "You rely too much on recovery. Anticipate. Adapt before the break, not after."
His gaze slid briefly to a nearby Pyros group. Their instructor barked a different rhythm entirely, praising aggressive advances that bordered on reckless.
"That's it! Savor the burn," the Pyros instructor shouted. "Defeat is a mockery only Verdant and Aurelith are capable of showcasing!!"
The contrast was impossible to miss.
Helion's mouth tightened by a fraction. He turned back to Verdant with renewed intensity.
"You see the difference children," he said quietly. "They gamble on force. We do not. Again!"
Freya felt the shift ripple through her team. Movements continuously sharpened. Not just from competitive instinct, but from something subtler. Pride. House identity drawn into the open.
Across the field, an Aurelith instructor adjusted a student's stance with surgical precision, murmuring approval when a formation aligned perfectly. Their squad moved like a diagram come to life. Every clean execution earned a small nod that carried disproportionate weight.
Between drills, the air hummed with comparison.
"Pyros is getting away with murder over there," someone muttered under their breath.
"They always do," another replied. "Their instructors eat that style up."
Helion's head turned slightly, not enough to accuse, but enough to remind them he had heard. His expression didn't soften.
"Lock in." he said. "These other houses are fascinating examples of WEAKNESS, children."
But the edge in his voice betrayed investment. He wanted Verdant to look good. To be good. The neutrality instructors usually wore like a uniform had thinned, house loyalties bleeding through in flashes of tone and emphasis.
Freya absorbed it all as they reset for another run. The drills felt heavier with implication. Every success was a small victory not just for the team, but for Verdant itself. Every mistake stung sharper.
When they executed a clean transition at last, Helion allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
"Better," he said. "Remember that feeling children. That is what carries into the League."
The word settled over the group like a seal.
Around them, the rest of the training grounds pulsed with similar energy. Instructors pushed their students along house-shaped lines, refining strengths, sharpening identities. The academy wasn't just preparing individuals.
It was preparing banners.
Freya wiped sweat from her brow, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. The bias in the air wasn't ugly. It wasn't cruel. But it was unmistakable. The League had pulled something old and tribal to the surface.
And standing in the middle of it, moving in step with her house, she felt the pull of it in her bones.
The big announcement came at dusk.
Verdant students filtered into their house hall in loose clusters, the day's energy still clinging to them like static. Conversations bounced off the high stone ceiling, fragments of speculation and bravado tangling in the air. Freya slipped in beside Sera, her muscles pleasantly sore from training, her mind still humming with formations and possibilities.
At the front of the hall, the prefects stood in a quiet line.
The noise softened the moment Lysandra stepped forward.
Attention gathered around her naturally, like iron filings to a magnet.
"You all know the League is approaching," Lysandra said. "Squads have been finalized."
A ripple passed through the room. Shoulders straightened. Hands stilled. Even the students who had been pretending indifference leaned in by a fraction.
"We selected teams based on performance, adaptability, and projected synergy," she continued. "This is not a measure of worth. It is a strategic decision."
Freya felt her pulse pick up.
Names began to fall into the hall.
Lysandra read them in steady cadence, each squad announced as a unit. With every familiar name, the room shifted. Small bursts of excitement flared and were quickly smothered out of respect for the setting. Students exchanged tight smiles, restrained fist bumps, sharp nods.
Freya tracked the rhythm of the list, anticipation coiling tighter with each passing second. She could almost see where she might fit. Which gaps she could fill. The shapes of the teams forming in her head.
Sera's name was called.
Freya's head snapped toward her. Sera inhaled sharply, surprise flashing across her face before it settled into fierce satisfaction. She squeezed Freya's arm once, quick and electric.
The list continued.
Freya waited.
Each new squad felt like a door closing softly somewhere in the distance. The spaces where her name might live grew fewer. Narrower.
The final team was announced.
Silence followed, thick and expectant.
Lysandra let it settle for a heartbeat before speaking again.
"Those not called will serve as reserves and observers this round," she said. "This is standard. The League rotates. Your time will come."
The words were measured. Professional. Designed to land cleanly.
They still hit like a dropped weight.
Freya stared at the floor between her boots, the pattern of the stone swimming faintly. Her name echoed in her head in the space where it hadn't been spoken. Around her, the room exhaled in a complicated chorus of relief and disappointment. A few students shifted subtly, recalibrating expectations in real time.
Beside her, Sera's excitement dimmed into something gentler. She turned, searching Freya's face.
Freya looked up and managed a small smile.
"It's fine," she mouthed.
And it was.
The realization arrived with surprising clarity. The sting was sharp but clean, free of the tangled bitterness she might have expected. The prefects hadn't hesitated. There had been no dramatic pause where her name almost existed. The decision had been certain.
She wasn't ready.
The thought settled without ceremony.
At the front of the hall, Lysandra moved on to logistics. Schedules. Rotations. Expectations for conduct. Freya listened with half an ear, committing the details to memory anyway. Observer or not, she would know the rhythm of the League. She would study it from every angle.
Around her, conversations began to spark back to life in hushed tones. Strategy bloomed instantly among the chosen squads. The air tasted different now. Focused. Directional.
Freya let it wash over her.
Sera leaned in slightly. "I'll tell you everything," she whispered. "Every match. Every mistake."
Freya huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. "You better," she murmured back.
At the front, Lysandra's gaze swept the hall once more. For a fleeting second, it snagged on Freya. There was no apology in it. No pity. Only acknowledgment.
A statement without words:
We're watching. Improve.
Freya met her eyes and dipped her chin in the smallest nod.
The message landed. Solid. Unavoidable.
As the meeting dissolved and students surged toward the doors in excited clusters, Freya remained still for a moment longer. The noise rose around her, bright and buzzing. Somewhere inside it, disappointment flickered again, softer this time. Manageable.
Underneath it, something steadier burned.
Resolve.
She turned and followed her house into the corridor, the echo of unspoken names fading behind her. The League stretched ahead, vast and alive. She would not walk it from the arena floor.
But she would not waste a single step watching it, either.