Group 32

The duel hadn't even ended before the rumors began. By the time Katsu left the infirmary, everyone knew two things: Rei Dravantiir was untouchable, and Katsu Nori was something else entirely.

Not stronger. Not weaker.

Just... wrong.

"Did you see the way the platform cracked? That wasn't lightning. That was—"

"He froze it after he stopped casting. Who does that?"

"Dravantiir's spell was clean. But his? His ice moved like it wanted to kill."

"Velthra raised a monster."

"No, not raised. Awakened."

The Academy ran on two things: history and spectacle. And Katsu had become both.

Sydney didn't speak to him again that week.

She passed him in the halls.

In the dining courtyard. In class.

Always close enough to be a shadow, never close enough to reach. She wasn't avoiding him.

She was preserving herself.

And Katsu? He let her.

He didn't know how to start over. Not when he couldn't take back what had happened.

Not when the Leviathan lingered in every quiet corner of his mind, her whispers curling like mist around a blade.

"You were seen. You were remembered. Let that be enough."

But it wasn't.

Four days after the duel, the bell above the East Tower rang twice.

Once to summon. Once to declare.

The annual Survival Exam had been announced.

The Academy's winter field was packed before dawn.

Not with students—but with teachers. Officials.

Spectators. The Survival Exam wasn't just another test. It was a rite. A declaration of place.

Every student took it once, and only once. Some called it the Threshing. Others the Cut.

It was meant to reveal who would break when left to nothing but wind, mana, and will.

And who wouldn't.

Master Uiscel stood at the center of the field. His robes were dark against the snow.

"Teams will be randomly assigned," he said. "Each will contain three students. Your objective is simple: survive seventy-two hours in the forested Wildglow stretch north of the Crescent Veil."

Silence.

Then a murmur.

"Wildglow? That's sealed territory."

"Even instructors don't train there anymore—"

"They say monsters nest in the frozen marsh—"

"It's a death sentence—"

Uiscel raised a hand. Silence returned.

"Supplies are limited. Each group will receive one beacon flare, one ration pouch, and a single spell-stabilized compass. Magic may be used, but no teleportation or artificial flight. If you are injured beyond recovery, send the flare. You'll be removed. But your team fails."

He let the silence build.

Then:

"Some of you will learn the value of cooperation. Others will learn the cost of arrogance. Either way—begin preparing. Rosters will be posted within the hour."

Katsu didn't bother waiting for the crowd to thin. He cut through them.

The board had been nailed to the side of the Armory Hall, the parchment still curling at the corners.

Eyes scanned.

Voices rang.

Names called.

Then—

"Wait. Wait—no way."

"Look at Group Thirty-Two."

"…You've got to be kidding."

"That can't be random. No way that's random."

Katsu stepped forward.

His name stared back at him.

Group 32 — Katsu Nori, Sydney Keahi, Rei Dravantiir

He stared for a long time.

Then he felt it.

Presence.

Two to his left. One to his right.

Rei stood calmly, hands behind his back, reading the parchment like he was memorizing a poem.

Sydney stood still. Too still. Her hand twitched once at her side. Her eyes locked on Katsu. Not shocked. Not angry.

Just cold.

Like she'd already decided not to speak.

Katsu opened his mouth.

And Rei said, without turning, "If either of you get in my way, I'll consider the flare a mercy."

He walked off.

Katsu's jaw tightened.

He looked to Sydney.

But she had already left.

Didn't run. Didn't flinch.

Just walked. Away.

Later that night, he sat alone in the northern observatory.

Snow drifted outside the glass dome, stars buried behind low clouds.

His breath fogged the cold tiles. The parchment with the group listing sat folded in his lap.

"Of all the students," he muttered.

The Leviathan emerged without ceremony.

Her eyes glinted gold.

Her voice was the hush between snowfall.

"Of course they put you together," she said.

He didn't turn.

"They want to see what happens when ice meets lightning. When guilt meets fire. When truth doesn't wait for safety."

Katsu folded the paper tighter.

"They want me to lose control again."

Her hand touched his shoulder.

"Then don't lose it."

He looked up.

She tilted her head.

"Use it."

Her smile was soft and sharp all at once.

"Teamwork, after all… is just war with rules."

"…Whatever you say."

Katsu turned toward the dorms, the cold stinging sharper now that the duel was behind him. Every step felt heavier than the last. The whispers hadn't faded—they clung to the walls, the windows, even the snow beneath his boots.

High above, wind broke in a thunderous gust as a griffin banked wide over the Academy's roofline.

Kairos stood near the saddle, hand gripping a rung of leather. Virenth leaned forward beside him, eyes fixed on the boy below.

"You think he's a beast yet?" Kairos asked, voice carried thin through the wind.

Virenth's mouth twitched. "Not yet," he said. "But he's tasting blood. Won't be long."

Kairos tilted his head, watching Katsu disappear beneath the arching stone bridge that led to the upper dormitories. "He uses water like a soldier. Precise. Brutal. His father used to say—"

"—'Water is patience, not passivity,'" Virenth finished. "Yeah. I remember."

A pause stretched between them.

Kairos exhaled, gaze narrowing. "He's starting to echo it. The rhythm. The control. But it's... raw."

"It's more than raw," Virenth said. "It's hungry."

Katsu entered the dorm slow, shoulders stiff, robe dragging frost behind him.

A few students looked up.

Then away.

Even now, they whispered.

This time softer. Careful.

He reached his door. Gripped the handle.

Paused.

Inside, the lights were dim.

He sat on the bed, elbows on knees, breath fogging the space in front of him.

The Leviathan didn't speak.

She didn't have to.

The silence said enough.

Above the Academy, the griffin turned again, wings folding.

Kairos watched the courtyard vanish below.

"Let's just hope," he muttered, "he doesn't drown before he learns how to swim."

Virenth adjusted the reins. "And if he doesn't?"

"Then Aelbyrn remembers what it's like," Kairos said quietly, "to lose a continent to one boy."