Chapter 3.1

The day of the final trial arrives.

The sun is high, the air heavy with expectation. The nobles stand tall, their golden robes gleaming in the light. They do not fear this test. They were born for it. Trained for it. Their magic will carry them through.

I have no such luxury.

I step into the arena. The stone beneath my feet hums with power. The walls rise high, circling us like the jaws of a beast. This is the heart of the academy, where the weak are culled, where the strong rise.

I know what they expect.

They expect me to fail.

A voice echoes across the arena. The headmaster. Cold. Unforgiving.

"Begin."

The first challenge comes in an instant.

A beast of molten rock erupts from the ground, its body pulsing with heat, its eyes glowing like embers. It moves like a mountain falling, slow but unstoppable. The nobles raise their hands, summon water, wind, ice. They fight with magic. They fight like nobles.

I do not.

I do not have power. I have patience.

I move. I wait. The beast is strong, but strength is not everything. It tires. The molten cracks along its body begin to cool. It slows. I strike at the moment of weakness, a precise blow to the joint, where the stone is brittle. The beast crumbles.

One down.

The second trial is the Illusion Walk.

The magic swirls around me, whispering, pulling, twisting the world into something unreal. I see faces from my past. I see my mother's eyes, filled with sorrow. I see my father, his back turned as he walks away. I see my siblings, golden, perfect, untouchable.

I see my own grave.

The illusion wants me to fall. To break. To doubt.

But I have lived with doubt my whole life. I have faced fear, swallowed pain. I dig my nails into my palm, grounding myself in what is real. The illusions cannot touch me. They cannot hold me.

I walk forward.

The final test is a duel. The last opponent stands before me. Lenhardt. The noble I fought before. He has not forgotten. His pride is a wound, still bleeding.

He will not lose again.

Fire bursts from his hands, wild and furious. He has grown stronger. But strength does not scare me. Strength is reckless. Strength is blind.

I move. I weave through the flames, waiting for the pattern, for the rhythm of his attacks. He expects me to run. I do not.

I close the distance.

A fist to the ribs. A strike to the throat. A final blow to the side of his head. He collapses.

Silence.

The nobles stare. The headmaster watches. Then, the final words are spoken.

"Cid Nelaoji passes."

I exhale.

I do not belong here.

But I am still here.

And I have won.