The girl from the archway had a name.

  Ayla learned it at breakfast the next morning, when the dining hall buzzed with a different kind of tension—less fear, more speculation.

  "...she's back from external missions—"

  "—top of Gold rank last year—"

  "—they say she broke a construct with her bare hands—"

  "—no, with pure energy—"

  Ren leaned over the table, eyes bright with gossip and lack of sleep. "Okay, who are we mad at today?"

  Cael answered without looking up from his plate. "Eris Valenne."

  Lami choked on her porridge. "That's a real name? Sounds like a sword."

  "It might as well be," Cael said. "Valenne family donated half of East Hall's renovation costs."

  Ren whistled. "Ah. Rich. Dangerous. Beautiful. Terrible combination."

  Ayla stirred her food, expression unreadable. "She told us to stay fifth."

  "Which is hilarious," Ren said. "We couldn't hit fourth on purpose if we tried."

  Cael finally looked up. "Yes. We could."

  Ren blinked. "Right. Forgot I was sitting with ambition incarnate."

  Lami's fingers worried the edge of her bowl. "Do you think she's... dangerous?"

  "All strong mages are dangerous," Cael said.

  "No," Lami said quietly. "I mean politically."

  That made Cael pause.

  "Yes," he admitted.

  Ren jabbed her spoon toward Ayla. "She was looking at you specifically. That's targeted main character energy."

  "I'd like to unsubscribe," Ayla said.

  Ren grinned. "Not allowed."

  Before they could speculate more, a bell rang—short, sharp, arrhythmic.

  Not a class bell.

  A summons.

  An instructor's voice echoed through the hall.

  "Ranking Week — Trial Two begins in thirty minutes. All first-years report to the northern training fields. Teams stay grouped."

  Ren groaned. "They don't even let us digest."

  "Good," Cael said. "Hunger keeps you sharp."

  Ren stared. "That's the most villain thing you've ever said."

  Lami wiped her hands quickly, eyes wide. "What kind of trial this time?"

  Ayla set down her spoon.

  "Something less honest than yesterday," she said.

  And she was right.

  ?

  The northern training fields were narrower than the southern ones, bounded by high stone walls etched with layered runes. Platforms of varying heights jutted from the ground like broken teeth. Crates, barriers, and low walls turned the entire area into a maze of half-cover and open kill zones.

  Ren surveyed it approvingly. "Excellent. Many places to hide and/or be dramatically injured."

  Cael's gaze swept the field. "This is a strategy map."

  Lami hugged her elbows. "That's not comforting."

  Instructor Thalen stood at the far end, hands clasped behind him. To his left, Hale. To his right, Seris. Behind them, higher on the wall, Master Orrin and several faculty Ayla didn't know—one of them wearing gold-trimmed robes.

  Eris Valenne stood near that figure, arms crossed, expression bored.

  Gold-rank uniform, cut sharper than most. Blonde hair tied back in a practical knot. Eyes like polished amber—warm color, cold temperature.

  She didn't look at Team 47.

  Which meant she knew exactly where they were.

  Thalen raised his voice. "Trial Two—control and conflict."

  Ren muttered, "Two of my least favorite words."

  "You will be placed into the field in waves," Thalen continued. "You will be given a flag. Keep it."

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  "Other teams may take it," Thalen went on. "If they do, your score drops. If you take theirs, your score rises. You may defend, attack, bargain, or hide. Lethal strikes remain forbidden." He paused. "Severe harm is still accepted."

  Hale nodded once, as if he approved of that clarification.

  Seris did not react.

  "Success today," Thalen said, "is not about talent. It is about judgment."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Ren muttered, "We're doomed."

  Cael's jaw set. "No. We're prepared."

  "Teams will be split into four groups and released at the corners," Thalen said. "Fight. Or don't. But choose correctly."

  An assistant walked along the line of teams, handing each a strip of cloth and a metal clasp. Team 47 received a dark grey flag, just long enough to be visible when raised.

  Ren tied it to her arm immediately. "Dibs."

  "No," Cael said. "You're the most likely to charge off."

  Ren gasped. "How dare you be correct."

  "Lami," Ayla said quietly. "You take it."

  Lami jerked. "Me? Why me?"

  "They'll expect Cael or Ren to hold it," Ayla said. "You're less obvious. And you panic toward the team, not away from it."

  Cael considered that—then nodded. "She's right."

  Lami inhaled. "Okay. I'll try not to drop it."

  "You won't," Ayla said.

  Lami tied the flag around her upper arm. It looked too big on her.

  It looked right anyway.

  ?

  They started in the northeast corner—low platforms, a stacked crate cluster, shadows from the wall.

  "Options?" Cael asked immediately.

  "Hide and let idiots fight first," Ren suggested.

  "Direct assault is dangerous," Lami said. "We're not the strongest."

  "Defending in a static position is worse," Cael said. "They'll converge."

  Ayla scanned the field. "Some teams will rush center. Some will stay at edges. Some will hunt weak targets."

  "And us?" Ren asked.

  Ayla watched the movement of instructors on the wall. They weren't just observing—they were repositioning something with small gestures and runes.

  Changing zones, adjusting obstacles.

  "Unpredictable," Ayla said. "We move. A lot."

  Cael nodded. "Agreed."

  A horn sounded—short, sharp.

  Trial began.

  They moved immediately—no sprint, no freeze—just a steady, coordinated jog between cover points, never staying visible for more than a heartbeat. Ren had to restrain herself from climbing every structure. Lami stayed close, hand hovering over her flag like she could shield it physically.

  "Left," Ayla said quietly, tugging them away from a corridor that looked tempting.

  "Why?" Ren whispered.

  "It's too obvious," Ayla replied. "Pinch point. Ambush territory."

  Cael didn't argue.

  Shouts echoed from deeper in the field—fire flaring, water cracking against stone, someone yelping as a barrier spell misfired.

  "Someone's already fighting," Lami said.

  "Good," Cael said. "Let them waste strength."

  They cut through a narrow alley of stone, ducking under a half-collapsed arch. A crate stack loomed ahead, just tall enough to hide behind.

  A flash of movement—

  "Stop," Ayla snapped.

  They froze.

  An elemental blast scorched through the space where Ren's head would have been.

  She blinked. "Rude."

  A team emerged from behind cover—three Iron-rank, one Stone. The smirking Silver boy from days before stood at the front, hands still crackling faintly with leftover energy.

  "Oh look," Ren said. "Fungus learned to throw sparks."

  He sneered. "Fifth place. Cute. I'll fix that for you."

  Cael stepped half in front of Lami. "We don't need a fight."

  "You don't get to choose," the Silver boy snapped. "Hand over the flag."

  Ren flexed her fingers. "Or what? You'll light up more air?"

  He fired again—this time at the ground, kicking up a small dust cloud. It wasn't powerful, but it was coordinated; his teammates used the distraction to surge forward.

  "Back," Cael ordered.

  Ren obeyed—shockingly—pulling Lami with her.

  Ayla darted sideways instead of back, breaking their expected formation. The Silver boy turned, tracking her—assuming she was going for a flank.

  She wasn't.

  She was watching his feet.

  He favored his right side. He overcommitted on release. His energy dipped slightly after each blast.

  "Three shots," Ayla murmured.

  "Explain," Cael said.

  "He can only throw three in quick succession before his aim drops," Ayla said. "He'll go for the flag then."

  Lami squeaked. "How do you know?"

  "Patterns," Ayla said. "And ego."

  Right on cue, the boy launched another bolt—sloppier. Ren dodged easily, laughing.

  "Fourth shot will be desperate," Ayla said. "Dodge backward, not sideways."

  Cael nodded. "Got it."

  The Silver boy gathered energy again—more than before, clearly pushing himself. "You're nothing but ground rats wearing borrowed rank."

  He hurled the blast.

  Ren leaned sideways—

  "No," Ayla said sharply. "Back!"

  Ren obeyed on instinct, dropping into a crouch.

  The blast curved—not toward where Ren had been, but toward where she could have gone.

  A trap.

  It sailed overhead and clipped the edge of a crate instead, sending harmless shards flying.

  Their opponents blinked—thrown off.

  Cael moved.

  Water shot out—not as an attack, but as a slick sheet across the ground under the other team's feet.

  The front two slipped, crashed into each other, and fell hard. Ren lunged, vines snapping from the dirt to wrap the Silver boy's ankles just enough to stagger him.

  Lami's fire flared—a small, controlled burst at their feet.

  They jumped back, startled by heat.

  "Flag," the Stone-rank girl yelled. "Get the flag!"

  "No," Ayla said softly.

  She stepped between them and Lami—not a barrier of magic, just presence and stance. Focused. Calm.

  Something in her stillness made them hesitate.

  Just enough.

  "Time," a voice called from above.

  The ground under the other team glowed briefly. Their flag strip tingled—and disappeared, reappearing on the edge of the field, marked on the instructor's slate.

  Thalen's voice carried over the maze. "Engagement logged. Team Forty-Seven retains flag. Team Twenty-One loses points."

  Ren blinked. "We... we won that?"

  "Barely," Cael said.

  "Gracefully," Ren corrected.

  Lami sagged with relief. "I almost dropped it. Twice."

  "You didn't," Ayla said. "That's what matters."

  The Silver boy pushed himself up, glaring. "This isn't over."

  "No," Ayla agreed. "Trial's still running."

  She turned away.

  That infuriated him more than gloating ever could.

  ?

  They avoided direct fights after that—choosing movement, cover, and occasional confusion over full confrontation. Twice they slipped away before stronger teams noticed them. Once they traded a feint for three seconds of breathing space.

  The field shifted subtly as time passed—walls rotating, platforms rising or dropping. The Academy refused to let anyone grow comfortable.

  When the final horn sounded, Ayla's lungs burned pleasantly, legs aching. Lami's sleeve was singed. Ren had a bruise forming on her cheek. Cael had dirt on his usually immaculate uniform.

  They still had their flag.

  Back in the courtyard, teams assembled again—sweaty, bruised, some visibly angry, others quietly proud.

  Ren pressed her forehead to Lami's shoulder. "If we're still fifth, I'll scream."

  "If we dropped, I'll vomit," Lami said.

  "Please do neither," Cael muttered.

  A new parchment went up.

  Students surged toward it.

  Cael didn't move.

  Neither did Ayla.

  Ren and Lami crashed into the crowd, then re-emerged a moment later—both wearing identical stunned expressions.

  "Well?" Cael asked.

  Ren opened her mouth.

  Closed it.

  Lami whispered, "We're... fourth."

  Ren grabbed Ayla's hand and shook it wildly. "FOURTH. We are illegally powerful."

  Ayla's chest tightened.

  Not with joy.

  With confirmation.

  Warning ignored becomes consequence.

  Cael exhaled. "Eris won't like that."

  As if summoned, a murmuring ripple moved through the courtyard.

  Eris Valenne walked toward the board—people stepping aside without being asked. She scanned the rankings, expression carefully neutral.

  First place—Team 2.

  Second—Team 9.

  Third—Team 5.

  Fourth—Team 47.

  Her eyes lingered on the fourth line.

  Then she looked up.

  Directly at Ayla.

  Not at Cael.

  Not at the flag on Lami's arm.

  At Ayla.

  Her lips curved—barely.

  Not a smile.

  A calculation.

  Then she turned to the gold-trimmed instructor beside her and said something too quiet to hear.

  But Ayla didn't need to.

  She already understood the message Eris had given last night.

  Stay fifth.

  They hadn't.

  Ren leaned in. "So. Do we apologize or double down?"

  "Neither," Ayla said.

  Cael's gaze stayed on Eris. "This just became political."

  Lami's voice trembled. "What does that mean for us?"

  Ayla watched Eris walk away—back straight, steps sure.

  "It means," she said quietly, "winning isn't our only problem anymore."

  And for the first time since she arrived at the Academy—

  she understood that surviving the trials

  might be easier than surviving

  the people who watched them.

  ??