The week slipped by in a blur, each day marching closer to the tournament.

  Dusk grew more comfortable on my shoulder, her small talons adjusting to me as if I had always been her perch. At night, she would tuck her head beneath her wing and sleep against me, and though she still snapped at my fingers when she felt like reminding me who was in charge, our bond had begun to root itself in ways I had not expected.

  The academy itself changed before my eyes as the nations arrived. What had seemed vast on the first day swelled beyond measure. Doors opened into spaces that defied reason, halls that stretched into grand dining chambers or training grounds large enough to hold entire armies.

  The walls of the academy remained the same from the outside, yet within, it unfolded like a world unto itself. It was the same kind of magic Asher used on the door to Elderbough, only these led to specific enlarged spaces and unique environments tailor-made for the academy.

  With every sunrise the chaos grew. Caravans rolled in, banners of foreign courts snapping in the wind. Elves with their flowing grace. Dwarves with their heavy steps and heavier weapons. Halfling scholars carrying more piles of books. From the deserts came bronze-skinned nomads with curved blades gleaming at their sides.

  From the northern tundra, broad-shouldered warriors with pale hair braided in intricate patterns. From the coastlines, sailors and tidecallers whose speech carried the rhythm of the sea. Even scaled folk from the southern marshes appeared, their eyes unblinking and sharp as they studied every corner of the academy.

  And yet I could not help but notice who was not there. No deep gnomes. No stone-marked dwarves from the caverns. No dark elves. None of the races from beneath the earth had come, or at least none that I saw. Their absence felt important, but I didn’t know why.

  Everyone was given temporary rooms in the new dormitories that would be reassigned following the tournament placements; somehow, there was plenty of room to hold everyone, which was still hard to grapple with. This aetheric door magic was still taking time to get used to.

  Around me, voices clashed in the courtyards as languages overlapped, arguments broke out, and the reality of change set in.

  I kept to myself. I had not met many people, though I observed as much as I could. My tremor sense gave me more than ears or eyes alone, painting the room with details others missed. But I decided early that I would wait to grow close to anyone until after the tournament. The results would decide our parties, our rooms, even our classmates. I realized it didn’t make much sense to put my efforts there when it could just change after this week.

  I tried to master the Concords, but that proved harder than I imagined. The language was full of twists and words I could repeat but not fully grasp. Orphanage lessons had taught me little of law or the jargon of nobles. My attempt to memorize it word for word fell apart when I realized I could not explain even half of it, even if I knew the words. I set it aside, telling myself my time was better spent elsewhere, but I know this would probably come back to bite me at some point.

  What steadied me was training. Each evening I returned to the familiar rhythm of blades in my hands. The flip of steel through the air. The sting of a knife striking true. The weight of the bracers, as if they were part of me now.

  I managed to avoid Luceran. My senses always told me when he was near. Each time I felt that sickly undertone in the air, I chose another hall, another stairwell, another path.

  And now the waiting was over. The week was gone, the hours dwindling. The tournament began in only a short while. I had not slept long, though I did not need much rest with my regeneration. I lay awake, forcing my thoughts to focus on what I could control, pushing away the fear of what I could not. The dawn of tournament day was here, and with it a fire where everything would be tested.

  We were told that our uniforms would serve as our armor. Each set was crafted with aetheric wards woven into the fabric, designed to trigger a protective bubble when struck by a blow that would otherwise be fatal or crippling. If we chose to wear personal armor, it would be at our own risk.

  With my regeneration, I felt secure enough taking my astral raptor bracers over the combat uniforms.

  I stood before the mirror on the inside of the closet door, pulling the pieces on one by one. The combat uniforms came in light, medium, and heavy variations. I chose the light set, wanting speed and flexibility over protection. Injuries would not trouble me the way they would others.

  We had been told that once the tournament was complete, and as the years progressed, our uniforms could be altered to suit our fighting styles. Physical growth, combat experience, and even aetheric augmentations would all shape what armor became ours. That right, however, had to be earned.

  I lifted Dusk onto my shoulder and left the dorm. She nipped at my ear once as if reminding me she had not approved of being disturbed, but settled quickly. My first destination was the cafeteria. I intended to eat as much as I could manage, knowing the fuel would feed my regeneration.

  Over the last few days, I had also been experimenting with my dimensional space. I discovered it only functioned through touch and intent. I needed to have a hand on an object and direct it mentally for it to vanish into storage.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The space was finite, and some items resisted, as if demanding more effort or energy to push inside. No time seemed to pass for the things within. I had not tested its limits yet, but I had begun to slip food into it where possible. If I needed strength quickly in the trials ahead, I would have it waiting.

  The cafeteria was crowded even in the early hours. Many of the foreign students were still adjusting to the time differences, and others simply required less sleep than humans. Weapons rested across their backs or belts, many I had never seen before.

  The anticipation in the room was palpable.

  As the minutes passed, the crowd began to thin. Groups trickled out, following hall prefects who carried the authority to open the aetheric doors. I still did not fully understand how the doorways worked, only that they could be opened with specific phrases or keys that altered their destinations.

  Prefects adjusted them on schedule, so that a dozen doors across the academy might all lead to the same place at once. It was efficient, allowing thousands of us to converge without chaos.

  I followed, my pulse quickening as we drew closer to the grounds where the tournament would begin.

  The colosseum rose like a mountain of stone, its seats packed with students, nobles, and visiting dignitaries from across the nations. I found my place in the first-year section, sliding onto the bench between two dwarves with thick braids of iron-threaded hair and a pair of humans whose accents marked them as foreigners to Velmine.

  The floor below stretched wide, so vast it was difficult to comprehend its full scale. High above, an aetheric mirror shimmered in the sky, magnifying whatever happened on the sands so no one would miss a moment.

  The arena had been divided into dozens of marked circles, each set for combat. Healers and referees stood ready at every ring, their wards humming faintly in my tremor sense. They were drawn from every race to prevent bias. Each circle felt like its own battlefield, but together they created a storm of coming violence.

  The rules had been made clear. Every student would fight a minimum of five times today, and those matches would determine the five fights tomorrow. The process would repeat each day until the finals at week’s end.

  Early matches were bound to a five-minute time limit, forcing quick decisions and constant motion so the sheer number of students could be managed. Later in the week, the rules would change to favor endurance, tactics, and skill among those who proved themselves.

  They were also not allowing companions or pets to fight in these stages. The goal was to see how students stood on their own. Wealth and power could acquire more unique and powerful beast companions, which would tip the scales in a way that was outside the desire of the academy.

  Many would not last even the first day. Those who failed to meet the standards set by the Academy would be sent home before the week was done.

  I studied the divisions, trying to picture myself in one of those circles. My fingers itched for my knives.

  The order was set: third years first, then second years, then finally us. The veterans would show us what was expected. Their matches would set the tone, demonstrating what the Academy of Ascension now demanded. Only after that would the rest of us be measured against the same fire.

  I didn’t know how students from other nations fit into the three-year system. Their academies did not follow the same structure, yet somehow, they had been woven into ours as though the threads had always been meant to align. I guessed a change of this magnitude could not have come from Stovall and Aurelia alone. The headmasters of other nations, probably even their rulers, must have helped shape this vision together.

  The third years entered first. Cloaked in confidence, their weapons gleaming with years of polish and training.

  The opening bout began with a roar of fire. A girl with ember-red hair flung gouts of flame across her circle, her opponent answering with walls of hardened stone that cracked under the heat. The match ended when the fire lashed past his guard and the aetheric ward flared, shielding him from what would have been a fatal strike.

  The next ring erupted with a thunderclap. A hulking dwarf swung a hammer that shook the ground, but the elf across from him moved like flowing water, slipping between arcs of stone-crushing force. She darted close, staff sweeping, and the dwarf fell back, his ward igniting as she pressed the blow to his chest.

  Every circle flared with combat. Blades sparred with spears, spells clashed in showers of light. A halfling vanished in shadow only to reappear behind his foe, dagger to their throat, and the referee ended the bout. A towering orc bellowed as he broke through a shield wall conjured from pure aether, only to be ensnared by vines that dragged him down before he could strike again.

  Match after match ended with wards blazing, with combatants hurled from the circle, with gasps and cheers from the crowd.

  Then the second years took their places. The difference was stark. Their movements carried less certainty, less grace. Where the third years fought with mastery, the seconds fought with raw strength and urgency.

  One tried to weave lightning into his sword but lost control. The strike rebounded, knocking him flat before his opponent landed the finishing blow. Another charged with brute force, only to be trapped in a net of shimmering air and toppled like a tangled beast. Some held their ground better, driving their foes back with grit and clever maneuvers, but the gaps showed.

  As I watched, anticipation coiled tighter in my chest. The spectacle was dizzying, yet a thought pressed clearer with every clash: I could stand in those circles. I could hold my own.

  In truth, many of the second years fought no better than I had already faced in training with Sirius or Thorn. Their mistakes were plain to me, their footwork too slow, their defenses wide open. Even among the third years, there were moments — a lunge overextended, a shield raised too late — where I knew my knives could have ended the fight.

  I was no fool. I had seen brilliance on that field, power that dwarfed my own. But I had also seen enough weakness to set a quiet flame of confidence alight in me.

  The crowd roared as another match ended, wards flashing bright as a boy crumpled under a spear’s thrust.

  It wasn’t until the first calls rang out that I realized we would not be allowed to watch our peers fight.

  The third and second years had all left at the same time and couldn’t watch the fights of those in the same year as them. By the time it reached us, the stadium was nearly empty, with most second and third-year students caring little for the skirmishes of the first years.

  I had hoped to study my opponents, to map their strengths and flaws the way I always did. I wanted to catch glimpses of who I might face in the days ahead. That opportunity was taken from all of us.