The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of burnt orange and lavender. Long shadows stretched across the training field as the last of the squads drifted away. Most returned to the dorms, eager to rest, argue, or quietly dissect what had happened during the day's matches. The instructors had already vanished into the stone corridors of the Academy, murmuring amongst themselves, their expressions unreadable.
Reed, Marek, and Lannis didn't speak for a while. They walked in comfortable silence, heading toward the student dorms on the northern side of the campus. The path curved through a grove of tall, silvery trees that whispered softly when the wind passed through them. Evening birds chirped overhead. The world felt momentarily peaceful.
But Reed's mind didn't rest.
Each squad that had fought today left an impression. Juni's improvisation under pressure. Cath's unshakeable command of the battlefield. Hare's effortless, predatory grace. These weren't just students—they were all contenders. Strong, driven, aware of their strengths and their weaknesses. He would face them again, and next time, none of them would take his squad lightly.
The illusion of being underestimated was gone now.
Marek cracked his knuckles, exhaling. "So. Now they know."
"They've only seen one move," Reed replied.
"Yeah, but it was a good one."
Lannis glanced at them both. "That move won't work again."
Reed nodded. "It wasn't meant to. It was just an opening."
They reached the wide stone steps of the dormitory hall and climbed them together. Inside, the lighting was soft and warm, casting golden hues over smooth wood panels and woven rugs. The common area had quieted. A few students sat on the couches or leaned over tables, scribbling notes or speaking in hushed tones about today's matches. Conversations stopped briefly when Reed and his squad entered.
Eyes tracked them.
Not hostile. Not welcoming.
Just watching.
A girl near the back—a fire mage from Yanis's squad, if Reed remembered right—lowered her voice mid-sentence as they passed. Her eyes flicked from Lannis to Reed with something between curiosity and wariness.
Marek noticed. He grinned. "We've made an impression."
Lannis sat down in one of the armchairs and folded her arms. "That's not always a good thing."
Reed stayed standing, arms behind his back. His muscles still felt tight, but not from the fight. It was something else. A tension under his skin that hadn't left him since the mist receded. A hunger.
Even now, the mark on his back—shaped like a skull wreathed in shadow—felt warm. Dormant, but alert. Like it was listening.
"Think they'll target us first in the next round?" Marek asked, flopping down onto the nearby couch with a groan.
"They'd be stupid not to," Lannis replied.
Reed didn't look at them. He stared out the window instead, eyes fixed on the fading line of the horizon.
"They won't just target us. They'll test us. They want to know what else I can do. What else we can do. The next few matches won't be about victory. They'll be about control."
"Which means what?" Marek asked.
"It means they'll bait us. Try to corner us. Force us into showing our hand. They'll want to confirm if the power I used was a trick or something real."
"It was real," Marek said flatly.
Reed nodded. "But it's not something I can use freely."
Lannis's voice was calm but firm. "It burns through your focus."
"And if I push too far…" Reed let the thought trail off. He didn't need to finish it. They'd all seen what happened at the MAR exam when his power had nearly spiraled out of control.
Silence settled over them again.
Then Marek sat up. "So what do we do?"
Reed turned toward them. His eyes were steady. "We train. Not just our magic, but our timing. Our awareness. We find ways to shift formation fast, to cover each other's weaknesses. No one else is going to do that for us."
"You mean like that rotating cover maneuver?" Lannis asked.
"Exactly. Except tighter. Cleaner. We don't just fight as individuals—we operate as one. When I move, you're already reacting. When you're pressured, I'm already in place. It needs to be instinct."
Marek rubbed his neck. "That's going to take more than a few days."
"We'll start tonight."
Lannis didn't argue. "Where?"
"The courtyard behind the archives. No one uses it this late."
Marek groaned but stood. "Fine. But if I'm dead on my feet tomorrow, I'm blaming you."
They left the common room through the back door and made their way down the lantern-lit paths to the outer edge of campus. The archive building loomed ahead, a squat structure of aged stone and flickering glyphs along the base. Behind it, the courtyard stretched out beneath the stars—a square of flattened grass bordered by training dummies and worn equipment.
No one else was there.
Reed stepped onto the grass first and breathed in the cool night air. He could still taste the dust of the dueling field, still hear the echo of cheers in the back of his mind.
But none of that mattered now.
He turned to his squad. "Positions."
Lannis moved without hesitation, falling into her usual angle just behind and to the left of Reed's stance. Marek cracked his knuckles, stretching his shoulders before falling in on the right.
"Again," Reed said.
They practiced their pivot maneuver first—an evasive triangle that allowed for seamless coverage when one member retreated. Over and over. Reed adjusted angles by inches. Lannis tightened her step timing. Marek corrected his delay between shield pulse and movement.
When that was clean, they worked on formation shifts.
Offense to defense. Defense to retreat. Retreat into pincer strikes.
Sweat formed quickly, even in the night air. Mana pulsed faintly from each of them, illuminating edges of movement and impact.
Reed never used the mist. He didn't need to. This was about movement, understanding, and precision.
After a full hour, they collapsed on the grass in silence. The stars above looked sharp and cold.
Marek lay flat, chest heaving. "This is gonna kill me."
"You're tougher than that," Lannis said, sipping from her flask of water.
Reed sat cross-legged, still alert despite the fatigue creeping into his limbs. "We'll need more than this. If we want to survive the next phase."
Lannis gave him a look. "Do you think it'll really be that dangerous?"
"I do."
Marek let out a long breath. "So when are we going to talk about the fact that your mark moved today?"
That silenced the group for a moment.
Reed glanced down at his arm, where the faint shadows still lingered along his veins, barely perceptible unless one knew what to look for.
"It responds to my will," Reed said. "But not always. When we were in the ring, something about Yanis's pressure triggered it. It felt like… something wanted to answer him."
"Like it was hungry," Lannis murmured.
Reed didn't deny it.
"I don't know what it wants. But I do know this—if I lose control in front of the instructors, or Cath, or Hare, they'll stop treating me like a student. And start treating me like a threat."
Marek didn't argue. "Then we make sure you don't lose control."
"We'll figure it out together," Lannis added quietly.
Reed looked at them both, and for a moment, the cold clarity behind his eyes softened.
"Thanks."
They stayed like that for a little while longer, quiet and breathing under the stars.
When they finally returned to the dorm, it was past midnight.
The halls were silent.
The Academy slept.
But Reed didn't.
Even after the others were gone, behind closed doors, he stood at the window in his room, watching the shadows stretch across the training field below.
His hand reached behind his back, fingers tracing the faint heat of the skull-shaped mark.
In the glass reflection, his eyes caught the faintest shimmer of shadow pulsing through his veins.
The mist was waiting.
Not gone.
Just quiet.
And tomorrow?
It would rise again.