The training grounds were nothing like the courtyard.

  They were larger, harsher—an open stretch of stone rings and sand pits, surrounded by tiered stands and tall poles carved with spiraling runes. The mountain wind cut sharper here, carrying the smell of dust and metal, faintly scorched.

  A wide circle of students gathered, first-years clustering in loose groups. Older students watched from the edges like predators on higher ground, already in uniform, already comfortable.

  Ayla stood with Ren near the back. Good view, less attention.

  Instructor Thalen waited at the center of the largest practice ring.

  Beside him floated five crystal shards, each glowing a different color—red, blue, green, gold, brown—suspended in the air like pieces of frozen light.

  A murmur ran through the first-years.

  "Basic orientation will be brief," Thalen said, his voice carrying easily across the grounds. "Those who cannot keep up with words will not survive actions."

  A few nervous laughs flickered, then died.

  Thalen raised his hand. The red shard flared.

  "Fire," he said. "Pure, aggressive, consuming. It gives strength to attack, speed, destruction."

  The blue shard brightened next.

  "Water. Adaptable, patient, relentless. It gives longevity, healing, control."

  The green shard—

  "Wood. Growth, change, connection. It strengthens recovery, flexibility, support."

  Gold—

  "Metal. Sharp, focused, unyielding. It builds defense, precision, authority."

  Brown—

  "Earth. Steady, resilient, grounding. It anchors the body, fortifies barriers, stabilizes the rest."

  Ayla's chest tightened.

  All five lights flickered in the air—separate, distinct. Not swirling, not fighting.

  Not like the basin.

  "In theory," Thalen said, "every human body holds traces of all five. But only those whose roots resonate strongly with one or more elements may cultivate safely at higher levels. That is why you were tested. That is why most people stay villagers."

  He let that sink in.

  "For example," he continued, "a strong fire root can channel greater destructive force with less effort. A sharp metal root can manipulate blades and armor. A rich earth root can endure more physical strain."

  He gestured, and the red shard shot toward a practice dummy at the edge of the ring.

  It erupted in controlled flame. The dummy blackened, then exploded into ash.

  Some students flinched.

  The blue shard spun toward another dummy—wrapping it in a sphere of shimmering water that hardened into ice in seconds.

  Green sent a wave of vines bursting from the ground. Gold split a boulder. Brown sank a pillar deeper into the earth without cracking the top.

  The demonstrations were simple—but the message was loud.

  This was power. Controlled, refined, unquestioned.

  "And then," Thalen said, turning back to the students, "there are... other kinds of roots."

  A few heads turned subtly toward Ayla.

  "Mixed roots. Dual, triple. Complicated, but still predictable." His gaze sharpened. "And the rare five-element root—scattered, inefficient, unfocused. Like trying to shout in five directions at once and be heard in all."

  Ayla kept her face still. Something inside her chest curled tight anyway.

  Ren shifted just enough for her shoulder to touch Ayla's—light, steady. Not pity. Just presence.

  Thalen's eyes moved across the crowd. "Five-element students exist, and the Academy does not deny them entry. But you should understand that success rates are... low."

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  He didn't look at her.

  That almost hurt more.

  "Now," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, "your rules."

  The crystals drifted higher, circling above him like slow, colorful moons.

  "Rule one," Thalen said. "Respect the hierarchy. Disrupting assigned rank, table, room, or class will result in discipline. Repeated offenses will result in expulsion."

  A few students shifted, glancing toward the Ground table group.

  "Rule two. The Academy is not a nursery. Injury is expected. Tears are tolerated—quietly. Whining is not."

  Lami, wherever she stood, probably swallowed very hard.

  "Rule three. Teams are mandatory for certain challenges and missions. Leaving your team during official exercises, except under direct instructor order, is considered abandonment. Abandonment is punished."

  Ayla felt that word stick in her mind.

  Abandonment.

  "Rule four," Thalen went on. "Dueling without instructor supervision is forbidden. Harassment, sabotage, and petty cruelty, however..." His mouth flattened. "The Academy is not blind. But it is also not your mother."

  Ren snorted under her breath. "Translation: if you get hurt, you're responsible for standing back up."

  Ayla nodded, more to herself than anyone.

  "Rule five," Thalen finished, "is simple. Grow."

  He lifted his hand slightly.

  A pressure rolled outward from him—an invisible wave slamming through the ring.

  Some students stumbled. A few dropped to one knee. Others gasped as if the air had grown suddenly heavy.

  Ayla's chest seized.

  It felt like the world had layered on top of her—earth on her shoulders, water in her lungs, heat pressing against her skin. She swayed, fighting the instinct to curl in on herself.

  Breathe, she told herself. In. Out. Slow.

  She'd carried buckets up hills. She'd worked fields in drought.

  This was just... more weight.

  Her knees trembled, but she stayed standing.

  Beside her, Ren gritted her teeth, head bowed, muscles tight.

  A flash of movement caught Ayla's eye.

  Cael Darion stood in the center cluster, spine straight, jaw clenched but unbent. His eyes were narrowed—not in fear, but calculation. Measuring the pressure. Measuring himself.

  Thalen held the weight for a heartbeat longer—

  Then released it.

  Air rushed back, light, suddenly too easy.

  Several students sagged in relief. One or two sat down hard on the stone, breathing fast.

  "You are all," Thalen said calmly, "very weak."

  No one argued.

  "That is not an insult. It is a starting point. You will either push past it, or you will give way beneath it. The mountain does not move. You do."

  He gestured.

  Assistants moved through the crowd, handing out small wooden tokens stamped with symbols.

  Ren caught hers and squinted. "Training field assignments."

  Ayla looked at hers.

  A simple circle with five faint lines carved inside.

  "Fivefold track?" Ren raised her brows. "Interesting."

  Alya frowned. "But my root—"

  "The Academy doesn't build a different class for every variation of failure," Ren said dryly. "First years all get the same basics. Later, they shove you into narrower boxes."

  Ayla traced the carved lines with her thumb.

  "It means," she said slowly, "they expect everyone to learn all five."

  "Expect?" Ren snorted. "No. They dream. Expectation is for the ones up the hill."

  Thalen spoke again. "You will attend three basic classes this cycle—Elemental Theory, Physical Conditioning, and Focus Training. Your performance will earn—or cost—points for your ranking."

  He paused.

  "And finally. In three days, you will be placed into temporary teams of four for ranking week. Team scores will matter. Choose your allies with care."

  The crystals above him dimmed gradually, one by one, until only a faint glow remained.

  "Orientation is over," Thalen said. "Schedules are posted in the courtyard. Class begins at dawn tomorrow. Dismissed."

  The crowd broke apart.

  Students surged toward the courtyard. Voices rose—people comparing symbols, roots, dorms, speculating who would make Platinum, who would crumble.

  Ren jerked her chin toward the path. "Come on. Before all the good training times are taken."

  Ayla followed, her mind still replaying the weight pressing down on her.

  She didn't like it.

  But she understood it.

  The Academy was not interested in who she'd been in Stonehollow. It barely cared who she was now.

  It only cared if she could carry more tomorrow than she carried today.

  In the courtyard, a tall board had appeared while they were gone—runed wood, glowing faintly, covered in neatly organized columns of names and times.

  Students crowded around it.

  Ren shoved gently, carving space for both of them.

  "Whitlock... Whitlock..." she muttered. "There."

  Ayla leaned in.

  Ayla Whitlock — Fivefold Basic Track — Group C

  Beneath it, the schedule:

  ? Elemental Theory — Morning

  ? Physical Conditioning — Midday

  ? Focus Training — Late Afternoon

  Her gaze slid sideways.

  Ren Kallin — Fivefold Basic Track — Group C

  Ren grinned. "Looks like you're stuck with me."

  Ayla exhaled, some of the anxiety easing. "Good."

  She glanced further down the board—just enough to catch a familiar name.

  Cael Darion — Elemental Elite Track — Group A

  And, a little lower:

  Lami Redfern — Fire-Focused Track — Group B

  The mountain was already sorting them.

  Placing them on different ledges.

  "Does it bother you?" Ren asked quietly. "Seeing them higher?"

  Ayla considered the question.

  "Yes," she said at last. "But not in the way they think."

  Ren tilted her head. "How, then?"

  "They're starting from above," Ayla said. "If they fall, it will hurt more."

  Ren laughed softly. "Remind me never to make you angry."

  "I'm not angry," Ayla said. "I'm... taking notes."

  Ren liked that answer.

  "Come on," she said. "We should look at the training fields. Tomorrow you'll see them tired. Today, at least, they're only scary."

  They walked away from the board, the buzz of voices fading behind them.

  As they crossed the courtyard, Ayla glanced at her token again.

  Five faint lines. A circle around them.

  The Academy saw her as scattered, inefficient, unfocused.

  Maybe they were right.

  But she knew something they didn't.

  Everyone here, no matter their rank, no matter their glowing, perfect roots—everyone was a body of earth, water, fire, wood, and metal.

  The difference wasn't whether they had all five.

  It was what they did with them.

  Ayla closed her fingers around the token.

  She didn't need to shine yet.

  She just needed to last long enough to be impossible to ignore.

  Tomorrow, training would begin.

  Today, she walked the grounds of the place that would try to break her.

  And quietly, patiently, she prepared to learn how to bend instead.

  Like a tree.

  Like water.

  Like all five, waiting.

  ??