The process that followed was a simple one.

The examinees, or at least those still standing, were gathered back into one group. The battlefield, once a chaotic sea of blood, violence, and screams, was now cleared, and the silence in the aftermath felt unsettling.

Bodies had been removed, whether dead or simply too injured to stand, and what remained of the contestants were herded like cattle into a single formation. Apparently, “fighting until there’s ten left” had meant ten survivors from each group. Now, fifty of us stood where countless others had once fought. I hadn’t paid attention to how many groups we were divided into initially, but I was sure it wasn’t five. I guess it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that I was still here.

As the last of the blood was washed from the cobblestones and the stench of sweat and iron began to fade, the old woman from before returned. Her frail figure, hunched yet somehow regal, took its place on the podium once again. The smile she wore was far from comforting. It stretched across her wrinkled face like a scar, a grin that carried no warmth or empathy.

“I know many of you may have... complaints about how this year’s exam was conducted,” she began, her voice raspy yet sharp enough to cut through the quiet courtyard. “But I will not be offering any further explanations. If you truly feel the need to discuss it, you may find me later. We can have a little... chat.” Her voice dripped with venom as she emphasized that last word, sending a chill through the air. It wasn’t hard to imagine that anyone who sought her out might not return.

A ripple of unease spread through the crowd, but no one spoke. No one dared.

Her eyes scanned us, and when she seemed satisfied with the silence, she continued. “Now, congratulations to all of you. Your hard work and determination have earned you a place among the greatest Azenci this world has seen—or will ever see. But don’t think this is the end of your trials. No, this is just the beginning. You’ve survived today, but survival is only the first step.” Her words, though congratulatory on the surface, carried an underlying threat, a promise of greater challenges ahead. “I’m sure you’re all tired. Exhausted, even. So, rest well tonight. Freshman orientation will be held at nine sharp tomorrow. Do not be late.”

Her final command hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Then, just as before, she vanished as if she had never been there at all.

I furrowed my brow. “Nine sharp? In the morning, or at night?” I muttered to myself, though I was sure I wouldn’t get an answer.

Moments after the old woman disappeared, another group stepped forward to take her place. This time, a dozen figures dressed in flowing white robes ascended the podium, led by a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard. His expression was far less menacing, but there was still a hard edge to his gaze.

“For those of you from battlefields one and two,” he began, his voice steady and practiced, “please follow the instructors to my left.” He gestured toward two women who waved silently. “For those from battlefields three to five, follow the instructors to my right.” He extended his arm toward another pair of instructors. “You will be escorted to your dormitories, where you will be assigned your rooms and partners for the duration of your time here. Choose your partner wisely, as you will not be allowed to switch roommates, except under extreme circumstances.”

I blinked, trying to remember which battlefield I’d been on. My eyes darted around, finally landing on Kentaro, who was already moving toward the group on the left. I jogged after him, making sure to keep some distance. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, not yet. Besides, I wanted to take in the sights of the academy without distraction.

The architecture around us was a curious blend of ancient and futuristic. We passed towering stone walls etched with arcane runes, their surfaces gleaming faintly as we walked by. Every step seemed to pulse with the weight of history. The instructors leading us pointed out various landmarks as we moved through the academy grounds, their voices a constant drone of information.

“And here,” said one of the instructors, a tall woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, “is the Garden of Swords.” She gestured toward a lush, open space filled with vibrant greenery, though curiously devoid of any actual swords.

Seeing my confusion, she elaborated. “The swords aren’t here now, of course. They’ve been moved to the academy’s museum for preservation. But this garden has been here since the academy’s founding. It was the personal garden of Tellemanus Torn, our founder. He spent his last days here, tending to the plants until his death. He requested to be buried in this very garden, with only his sword to mark his grave. Since then, each dean has followed his example, leaving their weapons behind as their legacy.”

I gazed at the garden, feeling an odd sense of peace wash over me. The idea of being buried in a place you cherished, with only your weapon to mark your passing, was strangely poetic. It conveyed something about the person without the need for words, a silent testament to their life.

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We continued on, the explanations of the academy’s landmarks becoming more of a background hum as I allowed myself to absorb the atmosphere. The academy was vast, larger than I could have imagined, and every corner seemed to pulse with an energy that blurred the line between magic and technology.

Eventually, we arrived at the dormitory. If the rest of the academy had been impressive, the dormitory was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

The entrance was marked by two massive metal doors, engraved with intricate swirling runes. They slid open silently, revealing an atrium that was a breathtaking fusion of magic and technology. Floating orbs of pale blue light hovered above, casting a soft glow over the gleaming marble floors. These floors were veined with silver threads that seemed to pulse with every step, guiding us deeper into the hall.

The atrium was immense, its ceilings stretching far above us, draped with banners that told the story of the academy’s ancient history. Each banner represented a different era, each with its own legacy. Around the edges of the atrium, floating holographic displays shimmered in the air, projecting maps, event schedules, and personalized messages for each student. The displays flickered between languages, some I didn’t recognize, all part of the academy’s attempt to welcome its newest recruits.

The dormitory columns themselves were spiraling towers, with rooms stacked one atop the other in a seemingly endless array. Platforms floated between the towers, allowing students to move between levels. Hundreds of doors, each unique in design, lined the spirals, some glowing faintly with protective wards, others framed by shifting vines or sleek metal.

"Partner up and come to us when you’re ready," one of the instructors announced as we entered the dormitory hall. Her voice echoed off the high walls, carrying a sense of authority. "Just to reiterate, whoever you choose will be your roommate for the entirety of your stay at the academy. There will be no switching, except in extreme cases."

I glanced over at Kentaro, considering whether to partner with him. We had fought together, survived together, and it would have made sense to continue that alliance. But as I took a step toward him, a hand gripped my shoulder.

Startled, I turned to see a small, battered-looking boy standing behind me. His hand dropped as soon as I turned, and he looked as if he regretted even touching me. His body shook slightly, his eyes wide with nervous energy.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice calm but curious.

“I-I... I don’t know anyone,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would you... would you be my roommate?”

I blinked. My first instinct was to refuse. I barely knew the kid, and he looked like he wouldn’t last a day in this place. But then, as I glanced over at Kentaro, who was already deep in conversation with someone else, I reconsidered.

This could actually work in my favor. Having a timid, quiet roommate like this kid would give me the freedom to move about without drawing too much attention.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “I’m Jai. Jai Boone.”

The boy seemed to relax immediately, his tense posture easing as a faint smile spread across his face. “I’m Ben. Ben Ficks.”

I extended my hand, and he shook it eagerly. “Nice to meet you, Ben.”

We walked together to the instructors, who were now distributing room assignments. Most of the other students were still sorting themselves into pairs, so there was no line when we approached. One of the instructors, a tall woman with sharp features and a stern expression, looked us over before asking, “Names?”

“Jai Boone,” I replied.

“Benjamin Fitzgerald Ficks,” Ben muttered, clearly embarrassed by his full name.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Fitzgerald? Really?

The instructor didn’t seem to notice, or care, as she handed us two small glass tokens with the number thirty-four engraved on them. “Press your thumb against the number for five seconds,” she instructed. “Once the token is bonded to you, only your thumbprint will work. Use it to enter and exit your dorm. When you leave the dorm, you will be transported back to the spot where you first entered.”

We both nodded, and after bonding the tokens, I pressed my thumb against mine again, eager to see the dorm. In an instant, my body began to dematerialize, the sensation both unsettling and exhilarating. It felt like being broken apart, molecule by molecule, before reassembling in a new space.

When I arrived, the room took my breath away.

It wasn’t just a dorm—it felt like something alive, something that responded to my very presence. The bed, sleek and floating, adjusted its height and firmness as I approached, sensing my preferences. The walls, made of a strange, malleable material, shifted and changed with every movement I made, revealing hidden compartments and shelves that expanded when needed. There was a hearth in the corner, flickering with both fire and electricity, a strange blend of warmth and energy that pulsed through the room.

And then there was the window—a massive floor-to-ceiling pane of glass that offered a panoramic view of the landscape beyond. Rolling hills, dense forests, and distant mountains stretched out before me, all bathed in a soft, otherworldly light.

I barely had time to take it all in before a loud knock sounded at the door.

“Must be Ben,” I muttered, moving to open it.

Was the dorm room actually two rooms that were connected? Or did he just wind up being teleported outside of the room. There was a lot I had to learn about this place.

But when I did, the last thing I expected was for a furious voice to erupt from the hallway.

“You bastard! No calls! No texts! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Before I could react, a woman, about my age, stormed into the room, her face flushed with anger. She shoved past me without so much as a glance, her fury palpable.

“Do I know you?” I asked, backing up instinctively, trying to create some space between us.

“Do you know me?” she shouted, her voice rising with each word. “DO YOU KNOW ME?!”

I had no idea what I had just walked into.