The northern wall looked taller up close.

  Ayla had walked past it dozens of times, but always at a distance—where it was just another boundary, solid and inevitable. Today, standing beneath its shadow, she could feel the weight of it. Not just stone.

  Intention.

  Teams gathered in tight clusters at the base of the wall. The wind biting off the ridge tasted sharper, thinner, flavored with pine and something metallic.

  Ren tightened the strap of her pack. "Okay, ground rules. If we see anything with more teeth than sense, we run, yes?"

  "Depends whose teeth," Cael said.

  Lami adjusted the knot on her flag, fingers fumbling. "What if we get separated?"

  "We won't," Ayla said.

  Ren eyed her. "Your confidence is doing a lot of work."

  Ayla didn't argue.

  An opening shimmered into existence in the wall—an archway woven from light and runes. Beyond it, Ayla could see trees. Real ones this time. No illusion sheen, no controlled glow.

  Just forest.

  Instructor Thalen stood beside the opening, arms folded. Hale and Seris flanked him. Master Orrin watched from further back, expression calm, eyes too knowing.

  Between them, a stone pedestal jutted from the ground. On it lay stacks of folded parchment—objectives, neatly rolled and bound with dark string.

  Thalen's voice carried easily. "Trial Three: external field exercise."

  Ren whispered, "I hate how he makes it sound like a picnic."

  "You will be given a task," Thalen said. "Complete it and return through this gate. Time, efficiency, and condition upon return will affect your ranking."

  "Condition?" Lami echoed under her breath. "So... don't crawl back."

  "Correct," Cael murmured.

  Thalen gestured to the parchments. "Each team receives one objective. They are not interchangeable. They are not negotiable."

  Ayla's mind snagged on Eris's warning.

  Don't trust the objective they give you.

  "Outside the boundary," Thalen continued, "you may encounter wild creatures, unstable terrain, and remnants from past Academy exercises. Use them or avoid them. The Academy assumes no responsibility for your discomfort."

  Ren muttered, "He enjoys saying that."

  Thalen added, almost as an afterthought, "Instructors will be observing. Do not assume rescue."

  That landed like a stone in everyone's stomach.

  He stepped away from the pedestal. "Teams will approach in order. Take your task and go."

  Teams One and Two moved first. Team 2—currently in first place—walked like the world already belonged to them. Eris Valenne stood near the front of their line, not carrying the objective, but clearly orbiting it.

  When their turn came, her hand brushed the parchment briefly.

  The rune flare that followed was subtle.

  Ayla still saw it.

  One by one, teams took their scrolls and disappeared into the archway.

  Thalen called, "Team Forty-Seven."

  Ren exhaled. "Here we go. Into doom."

  "Not doom," Ayla said. "Education."

  Ren groaned. "Worse."

  They approached the pedestal.

  Up close, the parchments looked identical—same paper, same string.

  Ayla watched the runes etched faintly into the stone underneath. Some glowed when certain teams stepped near. Some didn't.

  For them, the runes pulsed once.

  Neutral. Expectant.

  No guidance. No warning.

  Good.

  Cael reached for a scroll.

  Ayla spoke before he could touch it. "Wait."

  All three looked at her.

  She didn't take her eyes off the stack. "Let me."

  Cael hesitated—then pulled his hand back.

  Ren blinked. "Any particular reason we're letting the smallest person pick our fate?"

  "Yes," Ayla said.

  Eris's voice echoed in her memory. Don't trust the objective.

  Ayla placed her fingertips lightly on the string of the top scroll.

  Nothing.

  She touched the second.

  A faint tingle raced up her fingers—almost like static. Not pain. Not push.

  Recognition.

  Earth, humming under the stone.

  Air, shifting at the edge of her awareness.

  Faint traces of fire, long cooled.

  Metal in the ink.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Wood in the paper.

  All five.

  Not unusual.

  But the second scroll felt... heavier. Not physically. Intentionally.

  She moved to the third.

  No response.

  Fourth.

  Nothing.

  She returned to the second.

  The weight settled again.

  Not a trap.

  Just... focused.

  "We take this one," Ayla said.

  Cael didn't argue. He lifted the second scroll, tucking it into his vest.

  Thalen's gaze flicked from Ayla's hands to her face—quick, assessing.

  Then he nodded toward the archway. "Go."

  They stepped through.

  Light passed over them, warm and cold at the same time—scanning, measuring, recording. Then the Academy wall vanished behind them.

  The forest swallowed everything else.

  ?

  The air outside the boundary felt different.

  Cleaner. Wilder. Less interested in human schedules.

  Trees rose tall and dense—trunks wide enough that three of them together couldn't wrap around one. Moss coated stones in shifting shades of green. The ground beneath their boots was uneven, soft in some places, treacherously slick in others.

  Ren turned in a slow circle. "I love this. If we don't die, we should live here."

  "No," Cael said.

  Lami fiddled with the flag. "Open it," she whispered. "Before the wind eats it."

  Cael unrolled the parchment.

  A single line of ink in crisp, careful script:

  Locate and retrieve a sky-iron shard from Beacon Hill. Return within three hours.

  Ren squinted. "That's it? No map? No helpful drawings? No 'mind the wolves'?"

  "Beacon Hill," Cael said. "North ridge. It should be a marked rise."

  "Sky-iron," Lami echoed. "Fallen metal? From old storms?"

  "Valuable and dangerous," Cael said. "Conducts energy well."

  "Don't trust the objective," Ayla murmured.

  Ren flopped her hands. "Right, mysterious rival warning. Does that mean we ignore the metal quest and go pick flowers instead?"

  "Maybe the place is wrong," Lami said. "Or the object is."

  "Or it's exactly what it says," Cael said, "and the trap is how we treat it."

  Ayla let the words settle.

  "Either way," she said, "standing here won't help."

  They moved.

  The forest didn't welcome or resist them. It simply existed, indifferent to their ranking, their fears, their politics. Birds called from somewhere above. Underbrush crackled underfoot. Once, something large moved in the distance—branches creaking under weight—but it didn't come closer.

  "Do you think other teams got the same objective?" Lami asked.

  "No," Cael said. "The Academy loves variety. And unfairness."

  "Some might be meant to fail," Ayla added.

  Ren sighed. "Knew I should've bribed someone."

  They climbed gradually—ground sloping upward, rocks jutting from soil like broken teeth. The trees thinned. Light brightened.

  Ren hopped onto a rock and scanned ahead. "I see a big lump that could be a hill or a very judgmental cloud."

  "Beacon Hill," Cael said. "Likely."

  Lami hesitated. "If the objective is a trap... do we still go?"

  "Yes," Ayla said. "But not blindly."

  They approached the base of Beacon Hill slowly. It wasn't tall, but it was steep—covered in loose stones, patches of dry grass, and scattered white markers carved with Academy runes.

  Ren nudged one with her boot. "So many warning signs. I am encouraged."

  Cael examined a marker. "Boundary wards. Probably to define the trial perimeter."

  "Or to keep something in," Lami whispered.

  Ayla listened—not to them, but to the space.

  Wind moved differently here—less random, more circular, like it was being pulled toward something above. The earth under her boots felt... tired. Like it had been asked for energy too many times and was starting to resent it.

  She placed her palm on one of the boundary stones.

  Five sensations hit at once—not loud, not painful. Just present.

  A faint warmth—old fire.

  Cool echo—water, recently used.

  Thin ringing—metal, leftover.

  Soft vibration—wood, struggling to regrow.

  Heavy ache—earth, bearing everything.

  She pulled her hand back.

  "What?" Ren asked.

  "This place has been used a lot," Ayla said. "Not just for us."

  Cael nodded. "Perfect for sky-iron tests."

  "Or for something worse," Ayla thought.

  Out loud, she said, "We go up. But slowly. Look for what doesn't fit."

  Ren cracked her neck. "Careful is boring. Necessary, but boring."

  They climbed.

  Loose stones slid underfoot. Ren nearly fell twice and swore creatively each time. Lami panted, unused to extended uphill work. Cael moved with measured strides, conserving energy.

  Ayla took the rear—not because she was weakest, but because catching falling people was easier from behind.

  Halfway up, she paused.

  The wind hummed.

  Ahead, near the crest, a faint metallic glint caught her eye—something embedded in a cracked stone boulder, half-buried, glimmering dully.

  "Shard," Cael said. "Probably."

  "Too easy," Ayla said.

  Ren squinted. "You say that like you want it to be harder."

  "No," Ayla said. "I want it to be honest."

  They approached carefully.

  Up close, the shard looked wrong.

  Sky-iron was usually smooth, heavy, and dark. This metal was almost... too clean. Too perfectly angled. Like it had been placed there, not fallen.

  Lami frowned. "Is that... humming?"

  It was.

  Soft.

  Barely there.

  But energy vibrated around it, tingling across Ayla's skin.

  Not just one element.

  All of them.

  Her fingertips buzzed.

  "Don't touch it," she said reflexively, just as Ren reached forward.

  Ren froze. "You have incredibly rude timing."

  "Later you'll thank her," Cael said.

  He stepped closer, squinting. "It's reacting."

  "How?" Lami whispered.

  "Wrong," Cael said.

  The hum grew.

  Ayla's chest tightened.

  The buzz in her fingers flared—not comfortable, not painful. Familiar.

  Fire warmed her palms.

  Air sharpened her breath.

  Water settled in her veins.

  Wood stretched behind her eyes.

  Earth anchored her feet.

  The shard pulsed—once.

  A low, thrumming thud rolled through the ground like a giant heartbeat.

  Ren swayed. "Okay. Hate that."

  "This isn't just sky-iron," Cael said. "It's attuned to something."

  "Or someone," Ayla thought.

  Another pulse.

  The runes on the boundary markers flickered.

  "That's not good," Lami whispered.

  "Step back," Ayla said.

  For once, no one argued.

  They retreated a few paces. The hum dimmed, but didn't vanish.

  "We have to bring back a shard," Cael said. "Objective is objective."

  "Eris said don't trust it," Ayla replied. "If we pick that up and it's part of a trigger..."

  Ren shivered. "We could set off something designed for people stronger than us."

  "Or something designed to remove people stronger than us," Cael said quietly.

  Lami hugged herself. "So what do we do?"

  Ayla looked around.

  This trial wasn't about brute strength.

  It was about judgment.

  The Academy wanted to see who grabbed power without thinking—and who didn't.

  "We don't touch that one," Ayla said.

  Ren gaped. "So we fail?"

  "No," Ayla said. "We look for another shard."

  Lami blinked. "But the scroll—"

  "Didn't say where to find it," Ayla said. "Just what to retrieve."

  Cael's eyes widened slightly.

  "Alternate path," he murmured. "Higher risk. Higher clarity."

  He studied her face.

  Then nodded.

  "Ren, scan the slope," Cael said. "Lower half. Lami, check near the markers. I'll circle the side."

  "What about you?" Lami asked Ayla.

  Ayla stepped away from the pulsing shard—fingers buzzing, senses wide open.

  "I'll listen," she said.

  Ren muttered, "Creepy. Love it."

  They spread out.

  Alya kept her distance from the false shard, letting the hum dull to a faint annoyance instead of a shout. She closed her eyes briefly, letting wind, soil, and stone brush against her awareness.

  Sky-iron would bend elements around it.

  That one warped them.

  So she looked for places where sound, wind, and feeling didn't twist—

  Just stilled.

  There.

  A patch of stone farther down, half-hidden by a fallen log, felt... quiet. Not empty. Just centered.

  She knelt, scraping away dirt.

  A flash of dark metal emerged—smaller than the other shard, rougher, not cut.

  Fallen.

  Real.

  She splayed her fingers near it.

  No hum.

  No pulse.

  Just weight.

  "Ayla?" Ren called. "Find a boyfriend for the cursed rock yet?"

  "Here," Ayla said.

  They regrouped.

  Cael crouched beside her. "That one?"

  She nodded. "This one."

  He didn't ask why.

  He trusted her.

  That felt heavier than the metal.

  "Lami," Cael said, "small flame."

  Lami summoned a thin thread of heat along her fingers, letting it brush the shard.

  It warmed.

  Didn't pulse.

  Didn't ripple the boundary runes.

  Ren frowned at the bigger shard above. "So what happens if some other team grabs that instead?"

  Ayla stood. "Then we'll find out when we hear the explosion."

  Lami winced. "That's dark."

  "Realistic," Cael said.

  He wrapped the smaller shard in cloth, placing it carefully in his pack.

  "We move," Ayla said.

  They descended Beacon Hill together.

  Behind them, the false shard pulsed again.

  Far away, faint but unmistakable, a distant boom rolled across the trees.

  Ren stopped. "Oh."

  Cael exhaled. "Someone trusted the objective."

  Alya tightened her hands at her sides—not in victory, not in gloating.

  In understanding.

  The Academy hadn't just tested power today.

  It had tested obedience.

  And Team 47 had quietly chosen something else.

  ??