The training yard looked like a battlefield after the gods had gotten bored: cadets were sprawled across the sand at angles that definitely weren’t in the handbook, groaning like ghosts who regretted returning to the living.

  More than half the division had awakened their Veins today.

  Rian lay unconscious in a shallow crater of compacted earth, his body still humming with a strange new firmness; his skin was faintly textured, like polished stone. Calen was draped over a fence post, his hair floating unnaturally in a gentle, localized breeze as if the wind couldn't decide whether to support him or drop him on his head.

  Three other students—fire, wind, earth—glowed with the soft, flickering light of newborn elemental resonance. It was incredible. It was inspiring. It was—

  “—completely unfair,” Ray muttered into the dirt.

  Because Ray Melborne, the destined main character of his own imagination, still had nothing. No fire. No smoke. No heat. Not even a dramatic, cinematic spark. Just pain. An incredible, all-encompassing amount of pain.

  Beside him, Harel groaned into the sand. “…I hate this place.”

  On Ray’s other side, Rowen spat blood and snarled at the sky. “Why isn’t my power activating?! I’m better than these clowns!”

  Ray raised a weak, trembling finger. “I, too… am better than these clowns.”

  “You’re literally eating sand, Melborne,” a passing cadet moaned.

  Ray realized his mouth was indeed half-buried. He spat out a clump of grit. “Dignity is a mindset,” he wheezed.

  Around them, the healers scrambled to keep up. Celestine stumbled from cadet to cadet, her face pale and drenched in sweat, desperately mending fractures, burns, and what she suspected was deep-seated emotional trauma.

  Captain Draevin surveyed the carnage with absolute satisfaction. “GOOD PROGRESS TODAY!” he boomed, stepping over a pair of unconscious mages.

  A chorus of pained, miserable groans was his only answer.

  Ray rolled onto his back, staring up at the blazing afternoon sun. “…Rowen,” he croaked.

  “What,” Rowen growled, clutching his ribs.

  “When are we going to awaken?”

  Rowen hesitated. For a second, the arrogance vanished, replaced by a raw, naked frustration. “I don’t know,” he admitted through clenched teeth.

  Ray swallowed. Neither did he. Neither did Harel. Everyone else was moving forward, unlocking power and touching the true potential of their Veins. Ray was supposed to be the protagonist, but right now, he felt like a background extra who kept getting punched out of the frame.

  He shut his eyes. “…Maybe tomorrow.”

  The sun blazed down upon the three of them—the only cadets left completely, frustratingly ordinary.

  Morning came with the sound of someone snoring directly into Ray's ear. It might’ve been Harel. It might’ve been Rowen. It might’ve been a stray dog. He didn't have the energy to check.

  He pried himself off the ground, his joints cracking like dry firewood. He blinked toward the rising sun and froze.

  Towering above the entrance, suspended by thick iron chains, was that monstrous wooden sign again. The morning light caught the freshly painted letters, making them glow with an ominous radiance:

  GRAND HALL — BREAKFAST TIME (Attendance Mandatory)

  Ray shivered. It wasn't the morning chill; it was pure, unadulterated PTSD. “Every morning…?” he whispered.

  Calen crawled past him like a dying crab. “Yes,” he muttered hoarsely. “Until we stop looking like corpses.”

  Harel sat up, his eyes half-closed. “Or until the mages overthrow the Academy and liberate the proletariat.”

  Rian rolled over with a grunt. “Please don’t say things that give me hope.”

  Ray forced himself to his feet. If Captain Draevin said attendance was mandatory, then absence was likely a creative form of suicide. They dragged themselves toward the hall like wounded animals migrating toward a watering hole, their groans synchronized in a perfect, miserable harmony.

  As they reached the heavy oak doors, they paused. They steeled their souls. They knew what was waiting on the other side: the laughter, the pointing, the crushing weight of senior mockery.

  Ray inhaled a shaky breath. “Alright, men. Prepare yourselves.”

  Calen's nod was grim. “Spiritually braced.”

  Harel made the sign of the sun god over his chest. “If I die, bury me with a bowl of soup.”

  Rian muttered, “We’re just walking into our own funeral.”

  Ray reached out and pushed the doors open.

  Silence.

  Not complete silence—of course not. But the roar of laughter, the mockery, and the hooting from two days before? Gone.

  Upperclassmen, mages, and scholars were simply going about their breakfast—eating, chatting, and passing plates of eggs. A few glanced over. Some snickered into their sleeves. One pointed and whispered to a friend. But the eruption of hysterical laughter that had shaken the rafters two days ago was missing.

  The cadets blinked. Ray blinked harder. “…Huh. This is… surprisingly normal.”

  Calen scratched his bruised cheek, looking suspicious. “Are they… bored already?”

  Harel shrugged. “Maybe the novelty wore off. There’s only so long you can laugh at a bruised teenager before it gets old.”

  Rian limped forward, his stiff leg dragging in the sand. “Praise the gods. My pride can live another day.”

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  Ray straightened his posture, relief washing through him like warm sunlight. “No humiliation today,” he murmured triumphantly. He stepped forward with a renewed swagger, his chin held high. “Well then—let’s ea—”

  A spoon clattered. A stifled laugh escaped from a nearby table. Then another. A mage cadet coughed into her hand, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. A scholar nearly spat tea into his notes.

  As Rowen walked past, a senior mage said loudly, “Hey everyone, look—the zombies learned to walk!”

  The hall exploded into fresh snickers. Ray froze, his left eye twitching. “…I spoke too soon.”

  Still, this "snicker-fest" was nothing compared to the massive spectacle of Day One. Ray would take scattered giggles over an academy-wide roar any day. He and his fellow Knight cadets slumped into their seats, barely holding themselves together as they began to eat.

  Ray turned to Rian and Calen, his eyes wide and desperate. “How did you guys do it?” He couldn't hold it in anymore. He was dying to know the secret to the spark.

  Rian and Calen exchanged a look. Then, in perfect, infuriating unison, they shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” they both said.

  Ray nearly dropped his spoon into his porridge. “What do you mean you don’t know?!”

  Rian scratched his cheek. “Exactly that. The earth was just… calling to me. One moment I was getting pummeled, and then… something clicked. From there, I just knew how to pull the power out.”

  Calen nodded. “Same here. I was being kicked around like a ragdoll, and I knew I had to move—fast. So I just… let the wind take me. And it did.”

  Ray stared at them like they had both personally betrayed his entire bloodline. “Are you kidding me?” he whispered. “You awakened by accident. By accident.”

  Ray looked around desperately for anyone who might offer a better explanation—and his gaze landed on Rowen. The bully was currently leaning over his own roommates, gripping one by the collar.

  “How did you do it?!” Rowen demanded, his voice cracking with barely hidden frustration.

  His roommates exchanged helpless looks. “Uh… we don’t really know.” “It just… happened?”

  Ray stared. Rowen’s right eye was twitching. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth might snap. He looked exactly how Ray felt: equally confused, equally annoyed, and equally betrayed by the universe.

  Ray whispered to himself, “…He’s suffering, too.” For a brief, fleeting moment, Ray felt a tiny spark of solidarity with his mortal enemy.

  Then Rowen slammed his hands on the table and yelled, “This is BULLSHIT!”

  Solidarity over. Ray winced and muttered into his bowl, “Okay yeah, he still deserves all his black eyes.”

  Captain Draevin burst into the Grand Hall like a walking natural disaster, his laughter booming off the stone walls. “MORNING, CADETS! I see you all had a wonderful start to your day!”

  A collective groan rippled through the Knight Division. Draevin clasped his hands behind his back, surveying them like a proud farmer admiring a field of freshly beaten crops. Then his gaze locked onto Rian.

  “Rian! Front and center!”

  Rian jolted upright, his face turning a spectacular shade of beet-red as every head in the hall turned. He stood—awkwardly, stiffly—like a man unsure if he was about to be promoted or executed.

  Draevin grinned wide. “Congratulations. You were the first proper cadet this year to pull out your power. You may sit.”

  Rian sat down so fast he nearly missed the bench. Draevin surveyed the rest of the cadets, his grin growing wider by the second. “Now, I know some of you have been desperately interrogating your newly awakened classmates… asking them how they did it.”

  A few guilty heads turned away.

  “WELL—AS YOU HAVE PAINFULLY DISCOVERED—THEY. DON’T. KNOW. ANYTHING! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

  Ray considered climbing under the table and staying there forever. Draevin wiped a tear of laughter from his scarred cheek.

  “And when YOUR time comes, you won’t know either! Because power doesn’t appear with thinking. Or wishing. Or whining. Pain is your teacher. Instinct is your guide. And the more you drag your feet—the MORE lessons your bodies will have to endure!”

  He clapped once—a sound like a thunderclap. “SO HOP TO IT, MAGGOTS!”

  Ray buried his face in his hands. Why is this man allowed to teach children?

  Draevin stepped onto the raised platform again. “NOW—before any of you idiots get clever ideas—LISTEN UP!”

  Every cadet froze.

  “I know some of you are itching to jump back into the frying pan. To punch, kick, and continue whatever savage ritual you discovered,” Draevin barked. “BUT THAT… IS BANNED.”

  Confused murmurs rippled through the room.

  “Another two days of rest are required.”

  A collective groan rose from the unawakened cadets—Ray included. Draevin’s eyes snapped to them. “NO WHINING! This is all part of the process. Your Veins will not awaken if your bodies are broken sacks of meat. You need rest. Food. Reflection. And maybe a brain.”

  He clapped his hands again, the sound echoing like a hammer striking iron. “Back to your bunks! Recover well. Because two days from now…” He spread his arms like a prophet announcing a beautiful doom. “…I expect MORE results.”

  Ray dragged himself to his feet, his heart pounding. Two days. Just two days until hell arrived again. And once more… he still had nothing.

  Back at the barracks, Ray dropped onto the nearest mattress with a groan that sounded like a tectonic plate shifting. Harel flopped down beside him like a corpse returning to its native dirt.

  Ray lifted his head, his eyes narrowed. “Rian. Show us.”

  Rian blinked, looking startled. “Show you… what?”

  Harel pointed a trembling finger. “You know what. Do the rock thing.”

  Rian sighed—a long, weary sound—but he stood up. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Before their eyes, his skin began to shift. It wasn't grotesque or sickly; it was like watching stone being born beneath his pores. Flat, hardened plates pushed up across his arms, shoulders, and torso—subtle and natural. The patterns mimicked riverbed stones smoothed by centuries, fitting together in quiet, earthy perfection.

  Ray’s jaw dropped. Harel whispered, “Holy… that’s actually badass.”

  Ray reached out instinctively, his fingers curling into a fist. “Hold still. I wanna punch it.”

  Rian immediately scrambled back, his stone-plated arms raised defensively. “NO.”

  Ray pouted. “But you’re sturdy now! You're basically a wall!”

  “Sturdy doesn’t mean painless!” Rian protested, hugging himself protectively. “I can take a hit, but it still hurts, Ray!”

  Ray squinted, leaning in. “…Define ‘hurts.’”

  “RAY, NO.”

  Harel buried his face in his hands. “Gods above, we’re all idiots. We’re going to die in this room.”

  Before Ray could chase Rian around the barracks demanding test-punches, a sudden gust of wind brushed past him, smelling of ozone and fresh air.

  FWUMP.

  Calen Merris floated gracefully onto Ray’s top bunk like a smug cloud drifting into its rightful sky. He stretched out like a king returning to his throne, a faint, swirling draft ruffling his hair.

  “Today,” Calen declared with a self-satisfied grin, “I am taking the top bunk.”

  Ray frowned up at him, hands on his hips. “Hey—! That’s my spot! I fought for that in the first chapter!”

  Calen dangled one foot over the edge, kicking it lazily. “Oh? Then climb up and fight me for it. I’ve got the literal high ground, Ray.”

  Ray stared at the ladder. His sore muscles screamed just by looking at the wooden rungs. He pictured himself falling and Rian having to catch him with stone arms.

  “…Fine,” he muttered, defeated. “Enjoy your stupid cloud bed.”

  He limped toward the bottom bunk like a man accepting a death sentence. Harel snorted. “Ray, you never stood a chance. He’s Aer-aspected now. He owns the verticality.”

  Ray flopped down, groaning into the thin pillow. “Next time,” he mumbled into the fabric, “I’m awakening a power specifically designed to reclaim my bunk. It’ll be the Anti-Calen Technique.”

  Above him, Calen laughed softly, the wind rustling around his shoulders in a comforting hum. Rian sat on his own mattress, still stone-skinned and nervous, watching the door as if Draevin might burst through it at any second.

  In that cramped, dusty barracks room—surrounded by bruises, petty banter, and the lingering sting of his own failure—Ray felt something warm. It wasn't the Ash Circuit. It wasn't progress. It was camaraderie.

  And for tonight… that was enough.