The day of the Entrance Test was quieter than I expected.
I finished my run before the town properly woke up, breath steaming in front of me as I cut back toward Marin's bakery. The streets still held that early-morning hush, the kind that made every footstep feel louder than it should. Frost clung to the corners of the windows. Smoke drifted lazily from a few chimneys, thin and pale against the grey sky.
When I pushed the bakery door open, a familiar warmth hit my face. My eyes flicked towards the back. And right there by the counter, Marin had stacked my things in a neat little pile.
My coat. My worn gloves. The cloth-wrapped spear. A small shoulder bag with what little I owned that mattered.
For a second, I just stood there, staring at it.
Marin's voice cut. "Wash your hands."
"I literally just ran," I grumbled, but my feet still carried me toward the sink.
"Then you are filthy," he replied, as if it were a settled fact. "Wash."
I did. Properly. Twice, because I knew he'd make me.
When I turned back, a loaf of bread sat on the counter, still warm enough that a puff of air steamed through its top. Marin leaned on the wood with his arms folded, eyes half-lidded like he hadn't slept much.
I quickly took the loaf and wolfed it down. The crust cracked softly under my teeth. The inside was hot, dense, and almost sweet. For a moment, the cold outside didn't exist.
Marin watched me like I was a nuisance he'd accidentally grown used to.
When I finished, he spoke without looking directly at me.
"Boy," he said, voice low. "If you fail, there is always next time."
I swallowed the last bite and smiled.
"I'm not letting go of a job this easily, not in this economy", I said.
His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but refused on principle. "Idiot."
He snorted.
I reached for my gear, tying my boots tighter than necessary, checking the spear wrap, adjusting my coat.
When I was ready, I faced him.
"I'm going to try my hardest," I said.
Marin waved a hand like he was shooing smoke. But I knew his eyes still lingered.
As I reached the door, I turned around and bowed.
"Thank you," I said. "For everything."
Marin stared at me for a heartbeat, "If you are giving me a farewell, you must be confident."
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I don't know what I'm walking into. But I can handle myself."
He grunted. It could have meant anything.
I turned, reached for the door, and stepped out into the cold.
The town centre sat beneath a sky that was just beginning to lighten at the horizon, gold bleeding through the low cloud like someone had spilt paint and tried to wipe it up. A thin gust brushed past my face. It stung, then faded.
Viktor and Sylvie were already there.
Sylvie lifted a hand first, scarf wrapped high around her neck. Viktor stood beside her with his coat open, as if the cold didn't bother him.
"You're early," Viktor said.
Sylvie nudged him with her elbow. "Don't bother the boy." Her eyes flicked to my spear. "Uh-huh. Did Viktor give you the manual?"
"It helped." I smiled.
Her smile softened. "Good. Be careful. Academy tests are known to be harsh."
Viktor clicked his tongue as if he'd recalled a bitter memory. "Harsh is one way to explain it."
Sylvie sighed. "Just sit down nearby, Noah. We're waiting on any other candidates. Ten minutes."
I nodded and leaned against a nearby wall.
Viktor looked around the empty centre and then back at her. "We live in a small town. No one else is coming."
But despite his complaints, Viktor waited anyway.
A few people passed at a distance, but none walked towards the two. Rather, they almost pretended as if they didn't exist.
Ten minutes crawled by.
Viktor shrugged like he'd won a bet. "Right. Follow me."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a compact scroll, bound tight with a thin cord. The paper looked old, fibres dense and slightly metallic. Faint lines pulsed beneath the surface like veins.
"Here." He handed it to me.
My fingers itched as soon as I saw it and took it carefully. I recognised this item.
[Teleport Scroll]
"Stand a bit further away," Viktor said, stepping back. "Inject mana. That's all."
I nodded.
The next instant, Viktor lightly grabbed me by the shoulder.
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Listen. Candidates from all over the Southern Region will show up. So be careful. Aside from that, as far as I know, the test is in three phases."
"Three phases," I repeated.
"The Academy isn't looking for numbers," Viktor continued. "They're looking for the ones who stand out. If you have something special, do not hide it. That might be the difference between being accepted and being sent back."
I held the scroll tighter.
Sylvie's gaze met mine for a second. "Good luck," she said simply.
I stepped away from them, took a slow breath, and pushed mana into the scroll.
The paper went hot.
The cord snapped loose as if it had never been tied. Symbols flared across the surface in a flood of pale light, and the air around me thickened, then twisted.
I felt the world grab me.
Not gently.
A torrent of magic yanked my body, pulled hard, and then released.
The town vanished.
-
I landed in a large open field. On a dense woven mat of hardened fibres so wide I couldn't see the edge without turning my head.
Cold air hit my lungs again, but it was different. Sharper. Bitter.
As I gathered myself and straightened up, I saw hundreds of sets of eyes flicked toward me.
Some of them were curious. Some were dismissive. Some were openly predatory.
The testing grounds were already crowded. Hundreds of candidates stood in loose clusters. More teleport flashes sparked around the field, people appearing in bursts of light and stumbling into place.
Slowly, the people started sorting themselves by origin. They huddled in close-knit circles, some even gathered in a crowd.
At the end, I was left alone.
I moved to the side instinctively, spear still wrapped, shoulders relaxed, face neutral. It was an old habit. Don't look like prey. Don't look like a threat either.
For a second, as my eyes passed over the crowd, my brow furrowed.
I recognised a face.
'That', I muttered.
I hadn't seen it clearly. Just a flicker of familiarity, a shape in the crowd that tugged at my memory like a loose thread. I tried to focus, tried to pin it down, and then the cluster shifted, bodies moved, and the face disappeared.
I exhaled slowly.
'No matter. I'll probably find him again.' I muttered to myself.
Then the air changed, and the whispers around the field dried up. Everyone felt a strange pressure weighing on them. The teleporting bursts had stopped.
A man walked into the centre of the field.
He wore a perfectly black combat uniform with red highlights at the shoulders and along the silhouette. Clean lines, sharp seams, no wasted fabric. A mask covered only his eyes, dark material that reflected nothing.
Magic rolled off him in a quiet pressure that made the back of my neck tighten.
He stopped at the centre, looked over the crowd, and cleared his throat.
"Candidates, welcome to Roven Academy's entrance test," he said.
His voice reverberated strangely, as if it echoed against itself.
"My name is Aluis," he continued. "I am your examiner. "
The crowd rustled.
Aluis lifted a hand and pointed.
"Line up," he said.
The candidates obeyed. Not quickly at first, but the ones who hesitated got jostled aside, and the field organised itself into rows. It wasn't perfect at first, but it eventually became orderly enough to satisfy him.
Aluis walked to the edge of the field.
He flicked his wrist.
Magic surged, and the ground answered.
Tiles erupted and retreated in pulsing waves. Stones rose, sank, then rose again. A circular track formed around the field, wide enough for dozens to run side by side, and boundary lines on either end shimmered faintly.
Aluis turned back to us.
"What you must do is simple," he said.
He paused.
"Run the track," Aluis continued. "You are not allowed to deviate. Do not cross the boundary. Do not cut. Do not step outside the line."
He looked over us again.
"That is all."
'An endurance run?' I frowned, 'No, it couldn't be that simple.'
Before I could give it more thought.
Aluis raised both hands.
"Begin," he said. "Now."
His voice echoed.
Instantly, a panic rustled through the crowd. My eyes flickered as I saw that hundreds of people were immediately divided into three distinct types.
Those who ran without looking back. Those who hesitated, and the remaining few who started with small steps.
The sprinters launched first, charging as if the start mattered more than the end. Those who had hesitated still seemed to be waiting for extra instructions.
I had joined the last group. Starting with small strides and short steps. I rested my spear on my shoulder and set my pace.
Ten seconds in, Aluis spoke again without raising his voice.
"Those who do not move," he said, "will be disqualified."
Once again, a flare of panic ran through the crowd. The hesitant ones lurched into motion, rushing to avoid the invisible line that had just been drawn.
I didn't look back; rather, I looked straight ahead.
Patiently waiting for the twist.
A second later, I was proven right.
The ground shifted.
A wall rose.
Stone slammed up from the tiles with brutal speed, cutting straight across the lane. The front-runners rammed right into it. One boy bounced off and went down hard. Another tried to veer wide on instinct, toward the shimmering boundary, and jerked back at the last second when the edge flared brighter, as if warning him.
Bodies collided. Elbows dug.
I shortened my stride, shifted inward, and threaded through the gap. My boot clipped a stone. My balance wavered for half a heartbeat.
Behind me, the wall sank back into the ground as suddenly as it had risen, leaving chaos in its wake.
In the next stretch, the ground turned to rubble.
Smooth tiles cracked into jagged chunks, uneven and loose. People stumbled, surprised by the way the ground punished anyone who ran by feel instead of sight.
One girl twisted her foot and kept going anyway, face pale and tight. Another runner tripped, caught themselves on their hands, and came up with palms scraped raw.
I grit my teeth and adjusted my stride again, steps lighter, shorter. Controlled.
The track continuously shifted underfoot.
Then the spikes came.
Thin black points shot up in clusters, angled slightly, not tall enough to injure, but high enough to shred skin. A sprinter tried to leap over them without slowing, clipped a spike on the way up, and hit the ground.
His harrowing scream cut through the air as he grabbed his feet in pain.
Blood splattered across the track.
"Those who stop will be disqualified." Aluis cut in again.
The crowd panicked and surged around him, trying to avoid him without stepping outside the boundary.
Walls rose at odd angles now. Some appeared in pairs, creating narrow funnels where shoulders collided, and people fought for space.
Rubble patches appeared just after turns, right where momentum made runners careless.
Spikes appeared in lines, then in single points placed like traps for anyone who assumed the pattern would repeat.
The track forced everyone to think on their feet. You could neither rush through it nor ease into a familiar pace. You had to react because the moment you settled into a rhythm, the track would change.
As a few minutes passed, the crowd responded.
The sprinters burned out first. Their pace collapsed into ugly bursts. Their form got sloppy. The hesitant ones didn't last either. Every obstacle made them jump in surprise; at a certain point, they couldn't react any longer. Their minds were slowly crumbling, unable to keep up.
The only ones who adapted stayed.
I kept my pace the best I could.
'Breathe in. Breathe out'
But I could already feel my legs burning, my chest tightening. It was one thing to run, but another to constantly keep on your toes. The track wasn't just testing our endurance or stamina. No. It was testing our spirit.
How long could we persevere? When pushed to the limit, how many times could we make the right decision?
I groaned and kept going.
Somewhere to my left, I could already hear screams and grunts.
My eyes drifted to the side. Aluis stood in the centre of the field like a statue. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched as the track chewed at our discipline, our lungs, our pride.
And the most unsettling part was simple.
He still hadn't told us when to stop.
I exhaled slowly, adjusted my grip on the spear, and kept jogging.
The track shifted again.
A new wall rose ahead, angled, sliding sideways like a sweeping blade. Some candidates around me hesitated.
I didn't.
I watched for half a second, timed the opening, and stepped through as it slid past.
My lungs dragged another burst of cold air in, and my heart hammered back.
I kept moving.