The morning sun hung low behind Vorthryn's spires, casting angled gold across the war hall's floor. Karian stood by the window, arms crossed behind his back. His cloak was unfastened, sleeves rolled to the forearms—a rare sign that he was already deep into the day.
Ajax and Reva stood before him, quiet, expectant.
Karian spoke without turning. "You've both made quite a name for yourselves."
Reva raised an eyebrow. "We were just doing our jobs."
"That's the problem," Karian said. "You did them too well."
He turned, tossing a folded parchment onto the desk. The wax seal bore the crest of Vorthryn's High Tribunal.
"There's attention on you now. Council members. Instructors. Even the lower nobility. And attention, in this place, is a dangerous kind of gravity."
Ajax stepped forward. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you need structure and information," Karian replied. "You're being placed into the Academy."
Reva blinked. "Wait—what Academy?"
"Verathis. The Vorthryn Academy for Combat and Governance," Karian said. "The one we send our nobles to. Dueling, law, magical theory. You'll be students, effective tomorrow."
Reva groaned. "This is punishment."
"It's insulation," Karian said. "They won't question rising warriors if they're 'properly educated.' And frankly, it wouldn't hurt either of you to know how this realm is actually run."
Ajax frowned slightly. "I don't need combat instruction."
"You won't be taking any," Karian replied. "You're being exempted from battle courses. Just history and geography."
Reva gave him a sidelong glance. "Why does he get out of it?"
"Because Ajax could teach half the instructors there. Hell, he could teach me." Karian said bluntly. "Putting him in a sword class would be a waste of everyone's time."
"And I get tossed in with puffed-up rich kids who think mana is inherited?"
"You'll survive," Karian said. "Or more likely, make sure they don't."
Reva sighed and looked at Ajax. "Bet you feel smug."
"Not really," he said. "I still have to sit through lectures."
Karian stepped around the desk and handed Ajax a scroll. "These are your courses. Orientation's at sunrise. Uniforms will be delivered to your quarters by tonight."
Ajax looked over the parchment. "We're supposed to blend in, then?"
"Try," Karian said. "Even if it's impossible."
There was a pause, a beat of unspoken thought between them.
Then Karian added quietly, "You're strong, Ajax. But that's not enough in this world. Knowing where you stand—why things are the way they are—will matter more than you realize."
Ajax folded the scroll and nodded. "I'll learn what I can."
Karian turned back to the window. "Good. Because people are watching you."
He paused, then added, "And one last thing, you two. Don't get in any fights on your first day."
Ajax smiled, "We'll try our best."
As they turned to leave, Reva muttered under her breath, "School, huh. Wonder if it's harder than fighting a Screaming Death."
Ajax didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
___
Morning sunlight streamed over the upper walls of Verathis, turning the polished blackstone walkways a glossy silver. The campus was tucked into the upper-left of the cliff-integrated fortress. The school's central plaza buzzed with movement—new students stepping cautiously in formation, instructors barking out last-minute directions, and magic-lanterns hovering like watchful eyes overhead.
Ajax and Reva stood side by side in their new uniforms—black, tightly fitted jackets with high collars, silver clasps, and long split tails that brushed against the backs of their knees. A single band of charcoal-gray wrapped diagonally across their chests, ending beneath the shoulder badge of Vorthryn's Scout Division.
Black combat slacks and plated greaves completed the look—somewhere between military practicality and ceremonial display. Even Ajax had to admit—they looked sharp.
"Does it feel like this is… too much?" Reva muttered, tugging her sleeve straight. "Like, we're dressed to storm a fortress, not take notes."
Ajax glanced at her. "It's a dueling academy. Fashion is part of the intimidation strategy."
A bell chimed above them—clear and melodic. The sound echoed across the courtyard as dozens of students turned toward the massive amphitheater ahead. Columns of shadowed obsidian rose into the morning sky, and at the top of the tiered structure stood a gleaming dueling platform, worn with scars.
"Initiates, form ranks!" a voice called. An older instructor with a voice like cracked steel stood beneath a fluttering banner. "By tower and track!"
Ajax broke off from Reva with a quiet nod. She was headed toward the combat track—Pulse Mastery and Reflex Arts. He moved toward the eastern line, where Theory, Geography, and History students waited, less armed but no less sharp-eyed.
Inside the amphitheater, the crowd shifted into rows. Over two hundred students now sat beneath the tall arcane domes, glowing faintly with protective shielding. At the center, Headmaster Velmor took the platform, his dark armor gleaming beneath enchanted torchlight.
"Power without knowledge is noise," he began. "And knowledge without strength is a whisper in a storm. Here, we train you to carry both."
Ajax took a seat halfway up the slope. He noticed a few sideways glances from the nearby students—some curious, others suspicious.
He ignored them.
Then—
"Is this seat taken? Great, it is now."
A girl dropped into the seat beside him. Not eased. Dropped. As if gravity had skipped the courtesy of asking her first.
Her coat was technically correct—black and grey with a scout sash—but her collar was crooked, one boot unlaced, and her dark-brown lazy bun was fluffed so unevenly it resembled a small bird's nest. Instead of grieves she wore a short black skirt and stockings to match up to her mid thigh. To top it off, she wore glasses.
"I was late because I lost my other boot and then I couldn't decide which arm to wear my sash on—do you think there's a wrong arm? Wait, are you Ajax? You're Ajax, right? Because someone pointed and said 'that one,' and I just assumed. Also, hi! I'm Lyssa!"
Ajax blinked once. "…Hi."
She leaned in. "I can already tell we're gonna get along. Unless you hate questions. Do you hate questions?"
"I don't mind them."
"Oh, good. Because I have a lot. Like why are there so many stairs in this place? And where is the potty? I'm going to pee myself."
Ajax opened his mouth—but mercifully, the Headmaster stepped onto the platform at that moment.
"You stand at the edge of something larger than yourselves," he began. "You are no longer children of noble houses, soldiers' sons, or merchant daughters. You are Valern's future."
The room quieted further—no shifting, no murmurs. Even Lyssa stopped talking.
"While our borders tighten, while whispers of war slither from Cairn's mountain roots, you have been chosen to learn not only magic, but responsibility. To wield flame and blade, yes—but more importantly, to wield judgment."
He paced slowly across the platform, his voice never rising, but deepening.
"Some of you will go on to lead cities. Some to fight at the edge of our realm. And some of you…" He glanced toward Ajax's section briefly. "Some of you may define Valern's very survival."
His eyes swept the amphitheater like a blade.
"This academy does not build tools. It cultivates command. You will not be praised for power alone. You will not be applauded for arrogance. The ones who rise here are those who understand what their power is for—and who they must become to carry it."
He stopped at the center.
"There will be duels. Rivalries. Victories. But in the end, only one question matters: when Valern calls, will you answer as a warrior?"
He let that question hang, unspoken, unanswered.
Then, more softly: "Welcome to Verathis."
Mana-lanterns flared overhead, casting ripples of violet light across the upper balconies. A bell tolled once—final and low.
The students stood as one.
"Oooo, dramatic." Lyssa decided.
Then leaned toward Ajax again, whispering, "Do you think they'll give us food after this? Or is this one of those magical starvation tests to make sure we're not illusions? Because I skipped breakfast and I'm like… sixty percent sure I might vanish."
Ajax didn't laugh.
But he smiled.
A small smile.
Lyssa leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Well. We're here. This is it. The start of the rest of our magically traumatizing academic lives."
Ajax stood without responding.
Then she added—cheerfully, obliviously—
"Oh! Did I mention we're roommates?"
He turned slowly. "What?"
Lyssa beamed. "Room 3-C. We're sharing it! Isn't that just… fate?"
Ajax said nothing.
He instead turned and asked himself whether or not he should drop out then and their.