That same afternoon, Ezra had Arcane Studies—his second class of the day. His body still ached from the punishment earlier, every muscle searing with the aftershock of the trial. He could feel the black-and-blue bruises spreading across his shoulder like a cruel map of his failure. But he shoved it all down, buried it in the depths of his mind.
There was no time for self-pity. There was no time to think about what had just happened. His mind was already racing ahead, preparing for the next challenge, the next battle.
But this one… This one felt different.
His shoulder burned, swollen with a dark purple bruise. He could've used his resomance to heal himself. The gift, the one he had been born with, could have mended the torn muscles and eased the swelling—but that would be cheating. No, this was his punishment for himself. The first day he already had slipped up and he was banned from class for three weeks. For the first time in his life, he felt the weight of that failure, heavy and unrelenting.
The lecture hall was massive, a cavern of stone and shadow. Ezra's footsteps echoed on the cold floor as he entered. Rows upon rows of students were crammed into seats, their eyes trained on the professor's podium.
The air hummed with the low buzz of anticipation. The whispers around him filled his ears, but Ezra kept his gaze fixed ahead, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, the gnawing discomfort of his body, and the still-fresh sting of being punished.
The door at the front of the room creaked open. The man who entered was like an ancient storm made flesh. Clad in flowing robes, his long white beard cascaded down to his chest, and his hands were clasped behind his back. His every movement was precise, deliberate—graceful, but with a weight that seemed to press down on the room.
He radiated authority, a presence that commanded silence without a word. His very existence filled the room like a shadow that loomed over them all.
The students fell into an uneasy quiet as he made his way to the front of the room. Ezra couldn't take his eyes off him. The professor's gaze was sharp, penetrating, like he was dissecting each of them, seeing them in ways no one had ever seen them before.
When he spoke, his voice was deep, rich, and cutting—his words reverberated in the air like a blade scraping against stone.
"Welcome to your first class of Arcane Studies," the professor said, his voice smooth, but laced with an edge. "Now, let me make one thing clear." He paused, letting the silence stretch, as though savoring the weight of his words. The atmosphere in the room thickened, suffocating. "This class will be hard. The kind of hard that leaves you crawling on the floor, gasping for breath. But if you think you can't handle it, feel free to leave. I won't stop you."
A shiver ran through the room. Ezra's heartbeat quickened, but he refused to let fear show. He wasn't about to back down now. There was no quitting.
The professor's gaze swept across the room again, cold and calculating. His voice dropped, even darker. "You can drop out, of course. But know this—dropping this class won't just cost you your credits. It will cost you your future."
Ezra's breath hitched as the professor locked eyes with him for a fraction of a second, his gaze like a fire burning straight through him. He swallowed hard. The weight of the professor's words settled over him like a cold stone.
The professor raised a single finger, commanding attention. "You are studying at Blackspire," he said, his voice firm. "The best academy in Arkanis. This is the place where the Empire's future is forged. So don't waste it. Many would sell a limb just to touch the kind of power you have access to here."
The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. Ezra's gaze flickered over the students around him. They were all silent now, their faces etched with a mix of fear, ambition, and something else—something that Ezra couldn't quite place.
The professor's eyes swept across them all once more, before settling back on the class.
"My name is Professor Grim," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade through silk. "And now, class shall begin."
Ezra sat rigid, his body still aching from the earlier trial. He was seated next to a small boy, someone who seemed so out of place in the grim atmosphere of Blackspire. The boy had large, wispy brown curls that hung over his forehead, and glasses that were far too big for his face. His cheeks were dotted with freckles, making him look younger than he probably was.
The boy turned to Ezra, giving him a tentative smile. His lips were trembling slightly, but there was something genuine in his eyes—an eagerness to connect, to find some semblance of normalcy in this place.
"I'm Milo," the boy said, his voice soft, almost nervous. He leaned in closer, as though trying to be discreet. "You must be Ezra, right? You're the one who caused the commotion in Master Vaun's class this morning, right?"
Ezra stiffened, the sting of his punishment still fresh in his mind. He didn't want to be noticed, didn't want to draw attention. But now, with Milo's eyes on him, he felt every ounce of his exhaustion and anger boil up again.
He gave a curt nod, eyes flickering briefly to the front of the class where Professor Grim stood. "Yeah," Ezra muttered, his voice low, careful.
Milo blinked, seemingly unsure of how to respond. His smile faltered slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, still watching Ezra. There was something almost sympathetic in the way he looked at him, as if he understood the weight of what Ezra had just gone through, even if he couldn't fully comprehend it.
The silence in the room stretched on, but it wasn't uncomfortable—just an undercurrent of tension, of unspoken thoughts shared between the students as they waited for the lesson to begin. And yet, Ezra couldn't shake the feeling that something was different here, in this class, in this room.
He glanced over at Milo, the boy still looking at him, awaiting a response or perhaps a reassurance that Ezra wasn't just a brutal, broken force that had come from the streets.
But Ezra ignored him, unwilling to indulge in any drama. He knew it was a shitty move, and it made him feel like an asshole—but the truth was, he didn't want to cause more trouble. The last thing he needed was attention. He just wanted to survive this, get through it without any more complications.
The professor's voice broke through the heavy air, his deep tone commanding attention instantly.
"Today's topic will be about the Celestials," he said, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the class.
Ezra's stomach twisted. He had heard the word Celestial a thousand times, but it always felt like something distant, something otherworldly, untouchable. There were stories—stories of beings that could bend the world to their will, gods who could burn cities with a single thought, who could manipulate fate itself.
But the idea that someone, anyone, could truly control that kind of power felt like nonsense, something reserved for bedtime tales told to children.
The class seemed to draw in a collective breath. Even the air itself felt different, heavier, as if the name "Celestial" held weight far beyond its meaning.
Milo shifted nervously next to him, scribbling down notes in his book. Ezra didn't look at him. His mind was too busy, lost in the strangeness of it all. The Celestials weren't real. They couldn't be.
But the professor was staring at them, his expression unreadable. "The Celestials were once beings of unimaginable power," he continued, his voice deep and unwavering. "Some say they still exist in the hidden corners of the world. Others claim they have abandoned us. But the truth is, no one really knows. What we do know, however, is that their power was the foundation of this Empire."
Ezra's brow furrowed, the words gnawing at his thoughts. Power. Everything, all of this, was about power. The Empire. The academy. The trials. The blood.
"What is power, truly?" the professor continued. "Is it in resonance ? In knowledge? In the ability to destroy? Or is it something far more complex? To truly understand the Celestials, you must first understand what power means—and what it costs."
Ezra clenched his jaw. He wasn't sure what the professor meant by that, but it made his chest tighten. What could someone like him possibly understand about the kind of power the Celestials had? He was just a street rat with no family, no history, no future beyond what this academy allowed him to carve for himself. The idea that he could even begin to comprehend what a Celestial might be was laughable.
The professor let the silence hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. "Today we'll start by studying their influence—how the Celestials shaped this world, and why, despite their power, they've remained hidden in the shadows. You will learn about their abilities, their wars, and the myths that have built them into gods."
As the class settled into the rhythm of opening their textbooks, Ezra's mind began to churn with the professor's earlier words. The Celestials. Power. The weight of what he was about to learn was heavy, pressing down on him, filling his chest with unease.
Professor Grim's voice broke through the stillness.
"Now, before we delve into the ancient wars, we must first understand resonance—the power that courses through every living thing, the force that binds us to the universe."
Ezra's brow furrowed. Resonance. It wasn't a term he was unfamiliar with, though he'd never truly understood it. It was something spoken of in hushed whispers, especially on the streets of District Five. But the Celestials—gods or not—had always seemed so far removed from the dirt beneath his feet.
Grim's eyes flicked across the room, his gaze sharp, cutting through the class like a knife.
"Resonance is the force that connects all living beings to the energies of the world. It is both a gift and a curse. The Celestials, the most powerful of all beings, mastered resonance long ago, bending it to their will. But in doing so, they became more than just gods."
"They became the embodiments of the seven virtues and seven sins."
"Each of the Celestials mastered resonance to embody these sins," Grim continued.
"And when they did, they became the rulers of the world—beings so powerful that the very thought of them shaped reality itself."
Ezra's heart pounded in his chest. Beings so powerful.
"What we do here, at Blackspire," Grim said, his voice hardening, "is learn to master resonance. To control the power of the gods, the power that courses through us. Some of you may find your own resonance in the form of these sins. Others may find something else entirely."
Grim's eyes narrowed, as if he was peering into the very soul of the class. "But remember this: resonance is not just a gift. It is a curse. And if you cannot control it—if you cannot master it—you will be consumed by it."
Grim's gaze lingered on Ezra for a moment longer than the others. "Class dismissed," he said finally, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We'll begin training tomorrow. Prepare yourselves. You'll need it."
It seemed the day had stretched longer than Ezra could bear, and he couldn't be more relieved when it finally ended. His muscles burned with every movement as he rolled onto the thin mat that passed for a bed, the stone floor beneath him cold and unforgiving.
He could feel the ache in his joints, the sting of each bruise, each bruise from today's training. Yet, despite the agony, his body welcomed the stillness.
Ezra glanced around the dormitory. The others were already settling in for the night, preparing for the quiet that would follow. It was an uneasy quiet, however. The kind that buzzed with tension, with the simmering resentment of the day's trials and the unsaid thoughts lingering between them.
Silas, still a mystery to Ezra, was scribbling furiously in a small notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. The faint rustle of the pages was the only sound in the otherwise still room. Ezra couldn't help but watch him for a moment. Silas, so distant, so absorbed in whatever thoughts were spinning through his head.
To Ezra's left, Asli sat on his own mat, his brown skin glowing softly in the dim light. The boy hadn't spoken much since their first meeting, but Ezra could feel the weight of his silence. His presence was like an impenetrable wall—distant, unreadable, yet somehow still strong in a way that felt almost… unnatural.
Across the room, Cassian was lounging, leaning back against the stone wall with his arms behind his head. His eyes were half-closed, the smirk still on his lips even as exhaustion tugged at him. He was restless, too. The way he sat, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his leg—it was as if he couldn't stop moving even when everything was still.
Beside him, Rin was tucked under her blanket, her head turned away from Ezra, lost in the dim light. Her sharp eyes flickered toward him for just a second, her gaze cold, but unreadable. She was quiet, which made Ezra even more uncomfortable than if she had spoken. There was something about her presence, about the way she carried herself, that unsettled him.
Octavia, sitting near the far corner of the room, was rubbing her hands together, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the few candles in the room. She seemed lost in thought as well, a gentle frown tugging at her lips. The silence in the room felt heavier with her presence—another weight added to the already thick atmosphere.
As Ezra lay there, surrounded by the others who would be his squadmates, the same gnawing thoughts twisted in his gut—thoughts that made his chest feel tight, his pulse quicken. What would tomorrow bring? What kind of hell would they put him through next? What would be expected of him?
These questions rattled around in his mind, unanswered, teasing him with their uncertainty.
He sighed, the sound barely audible in the stillness of the dormitory. Without another word, he pulled the blanket up over his head, trying to shut out the noise in his own mind. The swirling thoughts—questions without answers—lingered, but they would have to wait. For now, there was nothing to do but sleep.
The silence grew deeper, heavier. The kind of silence that only came when everyone was too tired to speak, when the weight of the day's struggles had worn them all down. It wasn't peaceful; it was thick with the unspoken tension, the unprocessed fear and exhaustion that clung to the air.
Ezra's mind fought against the sleep that tugged at him. His body was broken—aching, bruised, battered from the day's trials—but it wasn't his body that kept him awake. It was the thought of tomorrow. Of the endless cycle that was just beginning.
Tomorrow, they would push again. Another trial. Another test. Another reminder that nothing in this place would ever be easy.
His mind churned as exhaustion began to creep in, the thoughts of what lay ahead mixing with the darkness around him.
The broken sleep came—not a peaceful reprieve, but the kind that was jagged and fractured, where his mind wouldn't stop spinning, wouldn't let him rest.
Tomorrow would come, just as it always did.
And with it, another battle. Another test to survive.