Exam - 12 Day 4 starts

The room was thick with smoke—not from fire, but from burnt tempers and overworked mana suppressants.

A dozen voices clashed at once in the faculty chamber, echoing against the enchantment-muffled walls.

"It was the third day! The third day! And no one has officially reported the casualty numbers yet—are we a school or a battlefield?!"

"Don't exaggerate. It was a containment failure—"

"Containment failure my left rune. That wasn't a flare-up, that was a massacre disguised as an accident."

"We don't use words like that unless we want to be audited. Again."

Someone slammed a palm against the table. A minor tremor knocked over three cups and a projection crystal. No one apologized.

"The kids—some of them didn't even make it to day four. And we're still sitting on our hands because we can't say the name?"

Silence. That silence that only fear could breed.

A chuckle from the far end. Bitter. Tired. Azherk. "What are we supposed to say? 'Excuse us, one of our vice chairmen decided to run a live experiment using unregistered students as bait?' Brilliant PR."

"Do not say that so loud—"

"Why? He's not in this room. He never is. And yet we all know it was him."

"No evidence. No permission. No chain of command. He didn't clear it with anyone. He just did it."

"And now we clean it up. Again."

"Do you even know what it was for? What he wanted?"

"Does it matter? He does what he wants. No reprimand. Just silence and a fresh robe next term."

"I'm not burying another list. I'm not writing another condolence scroll."

"You will. We all will. Because as long as no one says his name—"

"—we're complicit."

The room fell quiet again.

Just the sound of a teacup being slowly stirred, like someone trying to mix calm into boiling water.

"We don't need to name him. We just need to find out what he started. Because this? This wasn't random. And it's not over."

"You think it was a test?"

"No. I think it was a message. And the worst part? I don't think it was meant for us."

No one answered that.

Not because they didn't have thoughts.

But because someone had started scribbling down a new examiner list for Day Four.

And three names were already missing from it.

Azherk was one of them.

The other two were just as real, just as gone. No explanations. No memos. Just absence in ink.

And no one wanted to ask who updated the list.

The omissions triggered waves of hushed speculation across the noble houses. Whispers filled lounges and meeting rooms, from quiet parlors to marble corridors lined with heritage portraits. What had been outrage among instructors turned to layered concern in places with much more at stake.

Azherk's absence drew particular attention—not just because of his reputation for speaking out, but because unlike the others, he wasn't from a prestigious lineage. He'd clawed his way up from a common background, gaining respect through his keen insight and uncompromising standards. The fact that his head was still attached likely meant he knew exactly how far to lean into his criticism without tipping over the edge.

In contrast, the other two missing instructors came from long-standing noble families. Their sudden silence—whether voluntary or enforced—was taken as a cue. Their families were powerful enough to bury outrage under silk and protocol.

Even among the named instructors still active, reactions were split. Some were quietly furious. Others acted surprised but voiced nothing. A few simply accepted the shift, as if erasure was just another administrative formality.

No one called out the mastermind. But everyone knew.

The academy was shifting. And everyone was adjusting to the new rules—whether they understood them or not.

—

Near a tall window laced with privacy runes, two instructors stood apart from the chaos.

Nera Solvine slouched in her chair, legs over one armrest, arms folded as she toyed with a dried mana-peel someone had forgotten in a tea dish. "So that went well," she muttered, watching a cluster of senior mages argue.

Orsa Melevin bit into a piece of ceremonial jerky she'd pulled from an inside pocket. Shark teeth and cured meat—not elegant, but it got the job done. "Nothing like a scandal to bring out the best in academic cowardice," she said.

Nera made a slow rolling gesture. "Think anyone's going to actually name him?"

Orsa scoffed. "They won't even name their illegitimate kids. A vice chairman? Forget it."

"Still." Nera paused. "He screwed up. Big. Someone should at least hex his scribe."

"Too busy writing reports about 'stress-adaptive evaluation modules.'"

"That doesn't even mean anything."

"Exactly."

Both fell into silence for a beat.

Then Nera sighed. "You're leaking scale dust on the chair again. That upholstery is warded against blood, not glitter."

"It's not glitter. It's prestige."

"It's annoying."

"So's the whole exam schedule."

Nera tipped her chair back dangerously. "We're on Day Four's list."

"Mandatory participation," Orsa said. "Or penalization."

"So we show up. We pretend we don't see the cracks."

"Welcome to higher education."

They both laughed.

—

Alex sat alone in his study, documents strewn across the desk. His team had pulled in every thread they could. But it wasn't enough.

Jenkins was sorting the examiner roster. Jamie had confirmed the removals. Marell kept rereading Ko Trask's sponsor lists.

"No one leaves these roles unless something serious happens," she muttered.

Kael's report, delivered in his usual roundabout fashion, was clearer than usual:

Slums tense. More deaths. Illusions used. Not just cover—some were traps. Watch your backs.

Rahul tilted his head. "He's not being subtle today."

Alex didn't reply. His focus had narrowed.

He hated being one step behind. And the fact that no recording existed from any internal meeting meant only one thing—the Vice Chairman's influence was deeper than they feared.

Even Alex, despite all his connections, was running in the dark.

He looked at the window. Then back at the report.

"I'm going to the exam halls," he announced.

The room collectively froze.

"You've barely slept," Jamie said. "You're already on edge."

"Exactly," Alex replied. "And I'm tired of being lied to."

Davor stood up. "You shouldn't go alone."

"Then follow at a distance. I don't care. But I need to see it. Myself."

He got up and walked out before the debate could begin.

Behind him, the team looked at each other—equal parts worried and resigned.

Because if Alex was getting up before finishing his hot chocolate and half baked fire pheasant eggs…

Something was truly wrong.

—

The exam halls were still alive with motion. But it was a different kind of energy now.

There were still bright banners, scent-trails of mana-cooked snacks, and the ambient hum of magical chatter. But the mood had shifted.

Candidates still talked. Still laughed. Still ran in late for check-ins or tripped over levitating chairs.

But those from the Houses—the well-connected, the trained, the legacy names—they moved quieter. Watched more. Their steps were measured. Their conversations kept low.

Even the braggarts from before had calmed down. The sycophants walked straighter, heads forward. Compliments came with less volume and more caution.

"Did you hear they pulled one of the instructors last night?"

"No, really? Which one?"

"Don't say the name. Just... be careful."

Alex didn't approach anyone. He watched. Listened.

One candidate bowed awkwardly as he passed, nearly tripping over their robes.

Another whispered behind a palm. "That's him, right? The kid everyone keeps talking about?"

"Shh. Just walk. Pretend you don't see him."

The show was still running. But the performers had learned new lines.

And some weren't sure if the audience was even safe anymore.