The academy is a damn maze.

Stone corridors stretch in every direction, twisting and turning in ways that make no sense. His boots slam against the polished floors, breath slightly ragged as he mutters to himself.

"Left. Out the door. Another left. Straight past the courtyard. Don’t screw this up—"

The moment he bursts outside, fresh air hits his face.

Obinai tightens his grip on his books.

This place is insane.

And yet… the energy is intoxicating.

This is where I’m supposed to be.

His feet pound against the stone path as he pushes forward. His mind won’t shut up.

What if I mess up?

What if I’m not strong enough?

What if I make a fool of myself?

His fingers dig into the leather of his books. Shut up. Doesn’t matter. I’m doing this.

The path leads him to a massive building with an open entrance.

Obinai stops just outside the doorway.

He takes a deep breath.

This is it.

He steps inside...

Obinai approaches a sign-up table near the entrance, manned by an older student with a clipboard. "Excuse me," Obinai says, "is it too late to sign up for the magic combat test?"

The student sitting behind the desk looks up, raising an eyebrow. "Cutting it close, aren’t… you?"

His eyes flicker over Obinai.

Great. Here we go again.

The student leans back slightly, expression guarded. “A human…” he mutters. "To think the nobles weren’t lying…"

Obinai fights the urge to roll his eyes. I don’t have time for this.

“Name?”

"Obinai," he replies, keeping his voice even.

The student scribbles it down, then shoves a form toward him. "Fill this out quickly and get to the prep area. They’ll call everyone when it’s time."

Obinai takes the form and moves to the side, his fingers tightening slightly around the quill as he starts writing. His name, age, combat specialty—standard stuff. But he can still feel eyes on him.

Whispers.

Small glances that turn into outright stares.

It’s not subtle. Some students pause mid-stretch, their gazes lingering on him before turning to murmur to whoever is next to them. Others don’t even bother hiding it, whispering openly as he walks by.

What the hell is their problem?

He exhales sharply through his nose, trying to ignore it. Focus on the test. That’s what matters.

As he scans the prep area, his eyes land on a familiar figure—Erion.

The elf is off to the side, practicing spells with a sharpness to his movements that makes it clear he’s frustrated. His long blonde hair sways as he steps into another casting stance, fingers twitching as he mutters an incantation. Blue energy crackles at his fingertips… only to fizzle out into nothing.

Erion curses under his breath, jaw clenching.

Obinai watches for a second before sighing. Guy looks like he’s about to explode.

Against his better judgment, he steps forward. "Hey, man… How’s it going? You ready for the test?"

Erion’s shoulders stiffen at his voice. Slowly, he turns—his eyes locking onto Obinai’s. But then his gaze flickers past him, scanning the room.

And that’s when Obinai notices them too.

A group of elves—mostly the ones who’d been with Seraphina at lunch—watching closely. A few smirks, some whispering behind hands. One of them raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Oh, great. An audience.

Erion looks back at him, his expression twisting into disgust.

"...To think that you would be close to my dwellings… insult me… then try to strike up a casual conversation." His tone is dripping with disdain. "What do you want, human?"

Obinai resists the urge to sigh. Of course. Should’ve seen this coming.

"Look, that was in the past, man," he says. "I just thought I’d say hi. You seem a bit tense."

Erion’s expression hardens.

"I don’t need your sympathy or your small talk, human. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"

The laughter from the elves behind him is instant, like they were waiting for it.

Obinai clenches his jaw. Alright, asshole.

He exhales, forcing himself to relax as he tilts his head slightly. Then, with a smirk, he shrugs.

"Hey, if you fail the test, at least you’ve got a future in drama. That was impressive."

Erion’s eye twitches...

Obinai grins, flashing him a middle finger as he turns away. "See you in the arena, buddy."

Erion’s glare practically burns into his back, but Obinai doesn’t look back. Not worth my time.

He finds an empty spot near the wall and sits down, exhaling slowly. He needs to calm down—shake off the tension.

He mutters to himself, "I just need to focus. I can do it."

But the whispers still crawl under his skin. The looks.

His fingers curl slightly.

Before he can dwell on it, a loud voice cuts through the room, echoing off the walls.

"Everyone, file into the arena!"

The room shifts instantly. Conversations die, stretching stops. Students start moving, the energy in the air crackling with anticipation.

Obinai takes a deep breath, pushing himself to his feet.

...

As the students file in, the arena opens up before them—a massive space carved from stone, its high walls stretching toward the sky. The center of the battlefield is wide and open, the floor smooth but worn. Above, tiered seating lines the walls, though most seats remain empty. A few older students lounge in the stands, some watching with mild interest, others conversing amongst themselves. Professors sit together in a reserved section, their gazes sharp and measuring.

Among them, scattered groups of spectators murmur, a mix of relatives, sponsors, and those simply curious to witness the last selection test.

Obinai scans the crowd, his gaze flickering over each cluster of students until it lands on a peculiar sight.

A student sits alone, separated from the others by a few empty seats. His short, messy silver hair catches the light, but that’s not what holds Obinai’s attention. It’s his left eye.

Polyocoria. Multiple pupils within the same iris.

That’s something…

The moment stretches. The student meets Obinai’s stare and, instead of looking away, offers a small, almost amused smile. Then, in a motion so casual it feels deliberate, he raises a hand in greeting.

Obinai blinks, caught off guard. His fingers twitch, half a second from returning the wave—

"Welcome, everyone."

A familiar voice echoes through the arena, smooth yet edged with something lazy.

Obinai snaps his attention forward as Lyth, the headmaster, floats above them, his white hair streaked with black patches that he keeps scratching absentmindedly.

"I’m proud of all of you for coming," Lyth continues, stifling a yawn as he shifts position midair, crossing his legs as if he were lounging on an invisible chair. "You all know I conduct different tests each year to determine who’s qualified for my magic combat class. Because, as you’ve hopefully realized by now, knowledge alone will only take you so far."

He scratches his head again, eyes half-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that seems almost theatrical.

"The most important part of this test is thinking quickly on your feet. Adaptability is everything in magical combat. Therefore"—he claps his hands together—"you will all need to partner up. Your partner will be your opponent, and your final marks will be based on how well you perform against them."

A wave of murmurs ripples through the students. Some glance at their friends, already forming silent agreements. Others shift uneasily, scanning the crowd for a potential match.

Obinai exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders. He needs to find a partner. Fast.

Lyth, still floating, continues, "Your performance will be judged on strategy, creativity, and execution. It’s not just about brute force or who can throw the biggest spell. Show me how you can outthink and outmaneuver your opponent."

Obinai’s stomach tightens. Alright. I can do this. Just find someone competent. Preferably someone who doesn’t want me dead.

His gaze sweeps across the crowd until he spots Erion a few feet away, also searching.

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Could work.

Obinai steps forward—but before he can say a word, a figure smoothly blocks his path.

"Erion," a voice drawls, "partner up with me."

Obinai stiffens.

The speaker is an elf with spiky blonde hair, his expression effortlessly smug. Elrik. One of Seraphina’s people.

Erion looks at Obinai—briefly, just long enough for a smirk to curl at the corner of his mouth—before turning to Elrik.

"Sure thing," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "Let’s show these lessers how it’s done."

Lessers.

He feels something in his chest twist, but he shoves it down, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral.

Fine. Whatever. I didn’t want to team up with you anyway.

He scans the crowd again, faster now. Most students are pairing off, locking in their choices. His pulse kicks up a notch.

Okay. Think. Who’s left?

Then, a quiet snicker from behind sends a chill down his spine.

He knows that laugh.

Slowly, he turns.

Kaelen.

The dark elf stands there, arms crossed, locs adorned with beads that glint under the sun. His violet eyes gleam with something akin to amusement...

"Well, well," Kaelen muses, his lips curling into a lazy sneer. "If it isn’t the little human." He tilts his head. "Seems you’re in need of a partner."

Obinai exhales sharply through his nose.

Fantastic.

He runs a hand down his face. "Guess so," he mutters, already regretting his life choices.

Kaelen steps closer.

"This will be just so simple for you," he says, tilting his head slightly. "You should just lay down your life for me right now. It would be the greatest honor of your meaningless existence."

Obinai blinks.

Did he actually just say that?

For a moment, silence hangs between them. And then—

Obinai laughs.

Not just a chuckle. A full-bodied, uncontrollable, stomach-clutching kind of laugh. He doubles over, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, gasping for breath between wheezes.

Kaelen’s smirk falters.

"What’s so funny, human?" His voice hardens. "I asked if you would partner up or not."

Obinai tries to compose himself, but every time he looks at Kaelen’s increasingly annoyed expression, another wave of laughter overtakes him. He wipes at his eyes, shaking his head.

"You—you really talk like that? Like an actual villain in a bad stage play?" He exhales sharply, still grinning. "Gods, I needed that. Thanks."

Kaelen’s nostrils flare. His sneer returns, this time laced with irritation.

"You’re going to regret that."

Obinai straightens, his grin sharpening into something more dangerous. "Nah, what I regret is not getting front-row seats when Bram was about to wipe the floor with you. Oh, wait—he would have, if Grom hadn’t interfered."

Kaelen’s expression twists, his jaw clenching so hard Obinai half-expects to hear his teeth crack.

"Watch yourself, human," Kaelen growls. "By the end of this, you’ll be begging me to stop."

Obinai shrugs, unfazed. "Yeah? We’ll see."

Kaelen turns sharply on his heel, stalking off with his fists clenched, muttering curses in his native tongue. Obinai watches him go, feeling a mix of exhilaration and dread settle in his gut.

Well, that could’ve gone worse. Or better. But mostly worse.

Before he can dwell on it, Lyth’s voice carries over the arena.

"Everyone, attention!"

The headmaster floats above them, his posture relaxed, yet his presence commands instant silence. His white-streaked hair drifts slightly in the air, as if caught in an unseen current.

"It’s time to begin," he announces, stretching out lazily. "Partner up and move to your designated areas."

The students obey, some with eagerness, others with barely concealed dread. The nobles, of course, make a show of it—complaining about the pairing process, ensuring that they’re seen with the ‘right’ partners.

Elrik runs his hand through his hair back with an exaggerated sigh. "Honestly, the indignity of it all. One would think there’d be a system to prevent us from being forced to duel with the unrefined elements."

A girl beside him, another noble, sniffs disdainfully. "It is truly unforgivable. Perhaps this is all some grand test of patience instead. The suffering we endure simply by being here…"

Erion smirks at their dramatics but says nothing.

Obinai, meanwhile, walks toward his designated area, exhaling through his nose.

Across from him, Kaelen is already waiting, his stance aggressive, his arms crossed.

"You’re really going through with an actual fight?" the dark elf says. "This is your last chance to walk away before you humiliate yourself, human."

Obinai rolls his shoulders, keeping his expression even. "Tempting, but I think I’ll stick around."

Kaelen exhales sharply through his nose. "You don’t belong here," he says. "The only reason you made it this far is because the selection process wasn’t thorough due to signing up days after the others. But don’t worry—this test will take care of that."

Obinai meets his gaze, unflinching. "You sure do talk a lot."

Kaelen’s eyes darken. "Enjoy this moment while you can, human. Because when I’m done with you, you’ll understand exactly how miserable your time here is going to be."

Obinai smirks.

"Can’t wait."

Alright... again, I did something I said I wouldn’t do. But to hell with it.

Obinai exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as he settles into his stance. His fingers flex instinctively, feeling the raw energy pulsing beneath his skin.

What did Vale say about this? Preparation is key, right?

Lyth floats above the arena. The faint hum of magic radiates from him, distorting the air around his floating form. His hands clap together, the sound echoing through the vast space.

"Remember, students," Lyth announces. "This is not just about raw power. Show us your strategy, creativity, and adaptability." His gaze sweeps over them before he finally declares—

"Begin!"

The moment the words leave Lyth’s lips, Kaelen moves.

"[Ignis]!"

A roaring fireball hurtles toward Obinai, its light reflecting in Kaelen’s violet eyes.

Obinai barely has time to curse before instinct takes over. He throws himself to the side, feeling the heat lick at his skin as the fireball explodes behind him. The impact sends a rush of hot air past his face, and the ground where he stood moments ago is now a blackened crater.

Damn it, he’s already using Third Circle spells? Shit.

Kaelen doesn’t let up.

"Running already, human?" he taunts, striding forward with a sneer.

Obinai grits his teeth. His body is still adjusting, but he can feel it—his reflexes, his endurance, even his strength—it’s different. Faster. Stronger.

I am so glad that Essence changed my body… or I’d be dead already.

Instead of answering Kaelen’s taunt, he mutters under his breath.

"[Shield]."

A faint shimmer flickers around him. It won’t hold up to a direct hit, but it’ll buy him time.

Kaelen’s fingers twitch, already gathering energy for his next spell.

I need to change the rhythm of this fight.

Obinai exhales and whispers, "[Grease]."

A barely visible slick coats his boots. His balance shifts as he skates slightly over the dirt—good. This would either work perfectly or backfire horribly.

Kaelen smirks, raising his hand. "Let's see how long you can dance, human. [Fire Bolt]!"

Obinai moves.

Not just dodging—sliding. He twists, angling his body as the bolt of fire rips past him, narrowly missing his shoulder. The moment his foot touches solid ground again, he angles his arm downward, magic already forming at his fingertips.

Maybe if I condense it…

He funnels the energy, reshaping it—no longer a simple missile, but an elongated, three-dimensional oval. A prolate spheroid, sleek and compact.

A deep breath. A sharp exhale.

He fires.

The force launches him backward like a slingshot, sending him skimming low across the ground with a burst of speed.

Kaelen’s eyes widen for half a second before he reacts.

"[Flame Strike]! [Shadow Spear]!"

The attacks come fast, sizzling through the air, but Obinai is already weaving, twisting in mid-air, his trajectory chaotic but controlled. His pulse pounds in his ears, but his body moves almost on instinct.

A jagged rock juts out ahead of him.

Perfect.

He plants his foot against it at an angle and pushes off, launching himself higher. His body twists mid-air, but—

Oh, hell.

Too much momentum.

His stomach lurches as he over-rotates, barely managing to angle himself back into position before—

Kaelen is already waiting, smirking, his hands raised.

"[Dark Smite]."

Black lightning pulses from his fingertips, crackling like a living thing.

Obinai barely has time to react. He fires another magic missile downward, redirecting himself just in time to avoid the incoming strike. The sheer heat from the spell sizzles past his ear as he twists in mid-air.

Damn. I am way too close right now.

Obinai grits his teeth, pulling his focus back.

Fine. If I’m already here—

He shifts his hands forward, gathering energy.

"[Gale Surge]!"

A shockwave of wind explodes from his palms, surging forward in an unrelenting gust. The sheer force sends dust and debris flying in every direction.

Kaelen’s eyes widen slightly—just for a second—but it’s enough.

Obinai feels the briefest surge of triumph—until something slams into his chest.

What—

The impact is brutal, like being hit by a solid wall of force. The wind rushes from his lungs as he’s sent careening backward, his body crashing into the dirt with a bone-rattling thud.

Pain flares through his ribs. He gasps, coughing, vision blurring for a moment.

Through the haze, he sees Kaelen walking toward him.

"Did you really think you could beat me?" Kaelen’s voice is rich with amusement. "Pathetic."

Obinai forces himself to push up on his elbows, wheezing slightly.

Not over yet…

Kaelen lifts his hand, crackling with lightning. "Let’s end this properly. [Lightning Spea—]"

Before he can finish, a shadow moves behind him.

Lyth.

The headmaster’s grip closes around Kaelen’s wrist.

The air hums...

"That’s enough," Lyth says.

Kaelen whirls on him. "The fight isn’t over until I win!"

Lyth chuckles, shaking his head. "Kaelen… you did win." He gestures around them. "Look."

Kaelen’s gaze flickers to the rest of the arena. The other students have already stopped. Some are whispering, others watching with keen interest.

The realization settles over Kaelen’s face like a slow-moving storm. He yanks his hand free from Lyth’s grasp and turns away sharply.

"Fine," he mutters, striding away. "Hurry up and announce the results."

Obinai exhales slowly, still on the ground, staring up at the sky. His chest still aches, his limbs feel heavy, but despite everything, he finds himself smirking.

That… could’ve gone worse.

Obinai watches Kaelen stalk off. Lyth observes him for a moment, then murmurs something under his breath—too quiet for Obinai to catch.

Lyth turns back, extending a hand. "Come on, get up. It’s time to hear the results."

Obinai hesitates before grasping Lyth’s hand, wincing slightly as he rises to his feet. His ribs still ache from that last hit, and his limbs feel like lead, but he pushes through. No way he’s showing weakness in front of everyone.

The other students are already gathering, murmuring among themselves. Some are adjusting their uniforms. The noble kids, of course, wear theirs perfectly tailored, pristine as if they weren’t just throwing around fire and lightning. The rest of them? A little scuffed, a little dirtied—proof that they actually fought.

Lyth steps forward.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," he begins. "The following students have demonstrated the qualities we’re looking for: strategy, creativity, and adaptability. However," he pauses, scanning the crowd, "for those not picked—this is not the end. Learn. Improve. Show me something different next time from what you learn in the standard magical combat class."

The tension in the air thickens as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a scroll, unrolling it with a flick of his wrist.

Obinai exhales slowly. Alright… here we go.

"Erion, Elrik."

Erion immediately smirks, adjusting the silver chain at his collar. "As expected," he says. He glances at Elrik, who chuckles and throws an arm around his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Did you ever doubt it?" Elrik grins. "Honestly, I thought they’d say our names last."

"Or maybe they couldn't wait," Erion muses, barely glancing at the rest of the students.

Obinai rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. Gods, they're unbearable.

"Alara."

A tall elf with long, flowing emerald-green strands in her gold hair steps forward. She doesn’t react much—just a slight incline of her head, hands clasped behind her back. Composed. Unshaken.

"Darvin."

A stocky dwarf lets out a bark of laughter, punching his fist into his palm. "Ha! That’s what I’m talking about!" His uniform is slightly singed at the edges, but he wears it like a badge of honor.

"Thalia."

A petite elf with sharp features turns red, pressing her hands together in front of her mouth. She nods quickly, barely suppressing her smile.

"Rurik."

A towering orc steps forward, hesitantly at first, rubbing the back of his neck. His green skin darkens slightly as he glances around, unsure how to react to the scattered applause. Eventually, he offers a small, shy smile.

"Fiora."

A dark elf with silver hair and piercing violet eyes crosses her arms and exhales through her nose. If she’s pleased, she doesn’t show it.

"Tarin."

Obinai’s eyes flick to the tiefling at the edge of the group—the same one from the cart ride. Tarin barely reacts, only blinking once before stepping forward in silence. His tail flicks slightly, the only indication of any emotion.

"Zephyr."

A slim elf with silver streaks in his dark hair tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment, his expression calm. He doesn’t seem surprised.

"Amara."

A tall beastkin girl with feline features straightens, her ears twitching slightly. Her amber eyes gleam as she steps forward.

"Gideon."

A broad-shouldered dwarf with a jagged scar across his cheek grins, cracking his knuckles. "Heh. Knew it."

"Kara."

A tiefling girl with deep red skin and curved black horns twirls a dagger between her fingers, smirking. "Finally," she drawls. "Took you long enough."

"Sylas."

A dark elf with intricate tattoos spiraling down his arms bows his head slightly, his expression solemn.

"Isolde."

A graceful elf presses a hand to her chest, eyes shimmering with barely contained joy.

Obinai swallows. That’s a lot of names. A lot of people. And mine hasn’t been called yet.

His hands curl into fists. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

Then—

"Obinai."

What...