By late afternoon, exhaustion clung to the Academy like humidity.

  Students dragged themselves across the courtyard—shirts damp, hair plastered, pride dented. Ren stretched her arms overhead, joints popping like twigs.

  "If this is day one," she muttered, "ranking week might actually kill me."

  Ayla smiled. "Don't die. I'd have to find a new roommate."

  Ren gasped dramatically. "And repeat the emotional labor of tolerating someone again? Unthinkable."

  They turned toward the North Wing, steps slow but steady.

  A group of students lingered near the pathway—three boys and a girl, all wearing uniforms just slightly nicer than everyone else's. Their laughter was sharp, brittle.

  Ren's expression darkened immediately. "Upper Stone rank. They hang around Ground Wing for... sport."

  Ayla understood without asking.

  As she and Ren attempted to pass, one of the boys—tall, freckled, too proud of his shoulders—stepped into their path.

  "Well, well," he drawled. "Groundlings on the loose."

  Ren didn't stop walking. "Move."

  He didn't.

  Another boy smirked. "Relax, Kallin. We're just being friendly." His eyes slid to Ayla. "You must be the five-root rumor. The Academy charity case."

  Ayla paused—not shocked, not hurt. Just... unsurprised. "Ayla Whitlock," she said evenly. "If you're going to insult me, at least use my name."

  Ren choked. The girl beside the boys blinked like she hadn't expected a response with edges.

  The freckled boy tilted his head. "Names imply relevance."

  "Then remember it twice," Ayla said calmly. "So you don't have to ask again later."

  Ren's grin sharpened. "Oh, I really like you."

  The first boy's smile faded. He stepped closer, shadow falling over Ayla. "Listen, Groundling—"

  Ayla stepped aside—not back, not away—just enough that he suddenly found himself talking to empty air.

  He stuttered mid-insult.

  Ayla kept walking.

  The girl snorted—unable to help herself—and quickly disguised it as a cough.

  Ren followed, biting back laughter until they were out of earshot.

  "That was art," Ren whispered. "Teach me your ways."

  Ayla shrugged. "It's harder to fight someone who refuses to play the game."

  Ren slung an arm around her shoulders. "Still. I was two seconds from punching him."

  "That's why it worked," Ayla said. "They expected you. Not me."

  Ren stopped walking and stared. "You're terrifying."

  Ayla considered. "...Thank you?"

  They continued toward the dorms—but the encounter didn't fully leave Ayla's mind. Not because it hurt, but because it was inevitable. The Academy didn't need weapons to wound. It had hierarchy. It had hunger. It had eyes.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She just didn't intend to bleed for free.

  ?

  Room 19 welcomed them with still air and cool stone. Ayla washed dust from her hands and face, watching brown water swirl down the drain.

  Ren collapsed face-first onto her bed. "If Hale makes us run tomorrow, I'm throwing myself off the rope tower."

  "You'd miss," Ayla said.

  "Yes," Ren groaned, "and then I'd have to climb it again."

  Ayla sat cross-legged on her mattress, braid falling over her shoulder. Today replayed in quiet flashes—Seris's lecture, Hale's drills, Orrin's voice, the candle, Cael's warning.

  Each moment felt like a thread tightening.

  Someone knocked—short, hurried.

  Ren rolled over. "If it's Cael, I'm pretending to be dead."

  Ayla opened the door.

  It wasn't Cael.

  It was Lami—breathless, cheeks flushed, holding a folded paper so tightly it wrinkled.

  "Ayla," she whispered, "you need to see this."

  Ayla stepped aside, letting her in. "What happened?"

  Lami glanced at Ren, then back at Ayla. "They posted ranking week structure early. It's different this year."

  Ren sat up instantly. "Define 'different.'"

  Lami handed over the paper—ink neat, stamped with the Fivefold seal.

  Ayla unfolded it slowly.

  RANKING WEEK — PRELIMINARY NOTICE

  ? Students will be placed into mandatory teams of four

  ? Teams will remain together for the entire evaluation

  ? Trial events will include:

  ? endurance course

  ? elemental response exam

  ? team strategy simulation

  ? live field exercise beyond Academy walls

  ? Students may NOT request teammate changes

  ? Team ranking = individual ranking

  Ren exhaled. "Team-based? They've never done that for first-years."

  Lami nodded, pale. "Group B is panicking. People are already trying to guess who they'll get."

  Ayla's eyes scanned the page again.

  Team ranking equals individual ranking.

  Which meant—

  Someone weaker could drag others down.

  Someone stronger could carry the rest.

  Someone unlucky could drown without doing anything wrong.

  Alya folded the paper. "When do teams get assigned?"

  Lami hesitated. "Tonight."

  Ren groaned. "So no sleep for anyone."

  Ayla looked between them. "Are you worried?"

  Lami picked at her sleeve. "I'm fire-root, but not strong enough to carry three people. If I end up with students who can't fight or think—"

  "You won't," Ren said immediately. "You're competent."

  "Competent isn't always enough," Lami whispered.

  Ayla understood that too well.

  Silence settled—soft, heavy.

  Then Ren clapped her hands. "Well. If we end up on the same team, everyone else should be terrified."

  Lami snorted despite herself.

  Ayla's lips curved. "Let's wait before we plan world domination."

  Ren flopped back dramatically. "Fine. But I already have outfits."

  Ayla shook her head—warmth pushing away tension for a moment.

  Lami didn't leave immediately. Instead, she glanced at Ayla—small, uncertain.

  "People are talking," she said quietly. "About your test. About today. Some think you're pretending to be weak."

  Ayla blinked. "Why?"

  "Because you don't react the way they want you to," Lami said. "You don't get embarrassed. You don't defend yourself. You just... wait. That scares people."

  Ren pointed. "Yes. Exactly. Terrifying."

  Ayla didn't feel terrifying—just tired of giving strangers her feelings for free.

  She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you for telling me."

  Lami exhaled, relieved. "Just—be careful, okay?"

  "I am," Ayla promised. "Always."

  Lami nodded, offered a small smile, then slipped out the door.

  Ren whistled. "Well. Congratulations. You're officially interesting."

  Ayla sat back on her bed. "I didn't want to be."

  "That's why you are," Ren said. "People here chase attention. You ignore it. Makes them suspicious."

  Ayla considered that.

  Ren stretched again. "Anyway, if we're on the same team, we'll survive. If not, I'll break into your training sessions and heckle you."

  Ayla snorted. "Encouraging."

  Ren winked. "I try."

  Evening settled slowly, painting the window gold, then purple. The Academy quieted—but only on the surface. Beneath, anticipation vibrated like a held breath.

  Teams assigned tonight.

  Fate shuffled in ink and lists.

  Ayla sat cross-legged again, closing her eyes—not meditating, not reaching inward, just listening.

  Wind outside. Footsteps in hallways. Distant clangs from training grounds. A thousand beating hearts in the same stone fortress, all wanting something.

  A life. A future. A chance.

  She didn't need to win ranking week.

  She just needed to endure it without letting anyone decide she didn't belong.

  Quiet steps approached—then stopped outside the door.

  A soft sliding sound—paper slipped through the gap beneath it.

  Ren sat up. "Oh no. It's here."

  Ayla rose, heartbeat steady—not fast, not slow—just ready.

  She picked up the folded paper.

  Unsealed. Handwritten.

  TEAM 47

  Ayla Whitlock

  Ren Kallin

  Lami Redfern

  Cael Darion

  Ren stared.

  Lami gasped—from somewhere down the hallway.

  And Ayla...

  Ayla let out one slow exhale.

  Not relief.

  Not dread.

  Acceptance.

  "So," Ren said softly, "we're either going to win—"

  "—or die spectacularly," Lami finished from the doorway.

  Cael leaned against the wall farther down the hall—expression unreadable, eyes already calculating.

  Ayla folded the paper again.

  "No," she said. "We're going to learn."

  And quietly, beneath everything else—beneath fear, beneath pressure, beneath expectation—something inside her shifted.

  Not loudly.

  Not brightly.

  Just enough.

  Ranking week hadn't started yet.

  But the mountain was already watching.

  ??