Adam woke to the sound of rain against his window. The grey light of early morning did little to lift the heavy fatigue still settled in his muscles. By the time he reached the cafeteria, the others were already there, gathered around their usual table in a bubble of quiet exhaustion.
Raven was methodically eating a bowl of porridge. Wren was chasing the last of his scrambled eggs around the plate with a piece of toast. Lira nursed a large mug of tea, her eyes half closed. Kael simply sat, a piece of dry toast untouched on his plate.
"Sleep alright?" Adam asked, sliding onto the bench and reaching for the bread.
"I dreamt I was still in that swamp," Lira murmured into her mug. "Woke up tasting mud."
Wren snorted. "Sounds better than my dream. I was being chased by a giant, giggling proctor with a grading quill."
A small, tired smile touched Raven's lips. "Your subconscious is disturbingly specific."
"It's the anxiety," Wren said, finally giving up on the eggs. "It's fermenting in there."
From the other side of the table, Kael spoke without looking up. "You'd ferment."
The quiet, dry remark hung in the air for a second before Wren let out a sharp laugh. "See? He gets it."
Adam felt a grin tug at his own mouth. The knot in his chest loosened, just a little. This was normal. This was them.
When the academy's great bronze bell finally tolled for first bell, the sound cut through the murmur of the hall. A visible ripple went through the students who had participated in the trial. Spoons were set down. Chairs scraped back.
No one ran, but the movement toward the central courtyard had a determined, nervous urgency.
The Grand Board was a slab of polished dark stone, magic swirling across its surface as it finalized the rankings. The crowd was thick, a low hum of anxious conversation filling the damp air.
"Can't see a thing," Wren complained, trying to peer between two taller third years.
"Wait for the push to subside," Raven advised, though he was standing on his toes.
The list wasn't a team ranking, but a long scroll of individual names, ordered by total points from cores and token contributions. Adam's eyes scanned, skipping over the top elites and the clusters in the middle.
He found his own name first.
Adam Ashblade:Rank 20.
A breath he didn't know he was holding left him. Solidly in the upper tier, if at its lower edge. No penalties. No disciplinary drills. He quickly looked for the others.
Raven Vale: Rank 19.
Wren Vale:Rank 22.
Lira Wordin:Rank 21.
Kael Frost:Rank 18.
They'd all made it. All safely in that 18 to 22 band. A unified result, just as their effort had been unified.
"Twenty two?" Wren elbowed his brother. "See? I let you beat me. It's called tactical humility."
"Your tactical humility involved falling into a gully and losing a core," Raven replied, but the relief in his voice was clear.
"A sacrifice for the team," Wren said, grinning.
Lira was nodding slowly. "Upper tier. Good. Means we passed. I call that an absolute victory."
Kael's gaze was still on the board. "It's done," he said, the words quiet but final. He turned away, the ghost of something that might have been satisfaction in his eyes.
The tension that had held them since returning finally dissolved, leaving behind the pleasant ache of hard work that had paid off. The crowd began to disperse, some celebrating, some groaning.
"Right," Adam said, rolling his shoulders. "Sparring yards. I feel like I need to spar, Kael if you would."
The yards were busy, but they found space. Adam worked through basic forms with a practice longsword, its weight and balance unfamiliar and clunky. Nearby, Raven ran through a series of fluid thrusts and controlled retreats with a practice spear. Lira moved through grappling drills against a wooden post, her practice gauntlets thudding against the oak in a steady rhythm.
At the edge of the circle, Kael and Wren paired off, their practice daggers a blur of silent, precise motion. The sharp clack clack of wood on wood was a faster, sharper counterpoint to the other sounds of the yard.
Adam's mind kept drifting from the exercises, pulled toward the steady plume of smoke from the forge wing.
He was pulling a whetstone down the practice sword's edge for the third time when a junior apprentice from the forge, her arms covered in fine soot, appeared at the edge of the sand.
"Ashblade? Master Brynja says your blade's ready for the final quench. She says the owner should witness it." The apprentice's gaze swept the group. "Vale, your daggers reinforcement is done too."
The announcement cut through their focus. Adam set the practice sword down.
"The dramatic part," Wren said, sheathing his practice daggers. "Where the steel screams and gets its soul. Can we watch?"
The apprentice shrugged. "She didn't say you couldn't. Just to fetch the owner."
The walk to the forge was lighter than the one the day before. The misty rain had stopped, leaving the air clean and moist.
"Hope it took the edge," Wren said to Adam as they walked. "The earth and fire thing."
"Hope it didn't turn into a fancy brick," Adam replied, the casual words belying the knot of anticipation in his gut.
From behind them, Kael spoke up. "It won't."
"Confident," Raven noted.
Kael just shrugged.
As they approached, the deep, welcoming roar of the fire grew louder, promising answers.