The day the exam results were to be posted felt like a ticking clock, each second dragging longer than the last. Whispers of nervous anticipation rippled through the academy, especially in the commoners’ quarters. That morning, the usual laughter and chatter over breakfast had been replaced by hushed conversations and darting glances. It wasn’t just about passing—it was about proving we belonged in this academy despite the odds stacked against us.

I barely touched my food, my stomach too tied in knots to eat. Across the table, Lorian was no better, his usual playful smirk replaced by a rare moment of quiet. He poked at his porridge, glancing up at me now and then, as if searching for reassurance I couldn’t give.

“You think we’ll make it?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“We’ve done everything we could,” I replied, though my voice was steadier than I felt. “It’s out of our hands now.”

The walk to the results board was like stepping into a battlefield. The nobles exuded an air of confidence, striding through the hallways as if their success was a foregone conclusion. Their laughter echoed around us, their polished boots clicking against the stone floors with an irritating rhythm.

“Another easy victory for the nobles,” one of them said loudly, just within earshot.

“Of course,” his friend replied with a smug chuckle. “What chance do commoners have when it comes to actual academics?”

Lorian shot me a look, his brow furrowed, but I shook my head subtly. It wasn’t worth engaging them—not yet, anyway. Let them gloat for now. They’d have to face the truth soon enough.

As we approached the central hall where the results board was mounted, the crowd thickened. Students jostled for position, craning their necks to see over one another. The tension was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break.

Lorian nudged me. “You ready for this?”

I gave him a faint smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The nobles were already at the front of the crowd, standing tall and confident. They joked among themselves, exchanging bets about who would rank where. None of them seemed to doubt they’d dominate the rankings.

We hung back, waiting for the results to be posted. Time seemed to stretch, the murmurs of the crowd growing louder with each passing moment. Finally, an academy staff member appeared, carrying the long-awaited list. They stepped up to the board, pinning the results in place with deliberate precision.

And then, chaos erupted. Students surged forward, eager to see where they stood. Lorian and I exchanged a look before diving into the fray, weaving through the mass of bodies toward the board.

My heart pounded as we reached the first-year section. This was it. Everything we had worked for came down to this moment. My eyes scanned the list, searching for my name. When I found it, my breath hitched.

Illiad – Rank 5.

I stared at the number, disbelief and pride warring within me. Fifth. I had made it into the Top 5. It felt surreal, like some distant dream I hadn’t dared to believe could come true.

“Fifth?” I muttered to myself, my voice lost in the noise around me. “I actually did it.”

Next to me, Lorian let out a low whistle. “Seventh,” he said, a grin breaking through his earlier nerves. “Not bad, huh?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding through me. “Not bad at all.”

As more commoners found their names on the list, the initial murmurs of surprise turned into triumphant cheers. The Top 30 was filled with names I recognized—friends and allies who had been part of our study group. Even the Top 50 was dominated by commoners, a result that no one had expected.

The nobles’ smug confidence began to crack as the realization sank in. This wasn’t their victory—it was ours. For the first time, we had proven that hard work and determination could rival privilege and resources.

The sound of commoner cheers echoed through the hallways, a triumphant anthem of resilience. And for the first time since I had set foot in this academy, I felt like we were truly seen.

**

Veylor’s Fury

The celebrations of the commoners were short-lived as the harsh voice of Veylor Rithane cut through the noise, silencing the hall. He stood at the center of the crowd, surrounded by a tight cluster of nobles who shared his incredulity. His jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white.

“How is this possible?” he roared, eyes darting across the hall. His gaze swept over the sea of students, but it landed on me, narrowed with seething contempt. “Commoners, taking the top spots? It’s an insult to this academy, to the legacy of the Rithane family!”

I felt the weight of his stare, sharp and heavy. The smugness that had defined his demeanor for so long was now replaced by something dark and volatile. The air grew tense, a palpable charge of hostility.

“Did you hear that?” Lorian whispered, his voice edged with alarm. I didn’t respond; I was too busy holding Veylor’s gaze, my heart thudding like a war drum. His mouth twisted into a sneer as he stepped forward, the crowd parting around him like water before a stone.

The nobles behind him muttered in agreement, their voices a mixture of disbelief and disdain. “Impossible,” one of them said, eyeing me with suspicion. “They must have cheated. There’s no way they could have pulled this off without some sort of trick.”

Veylor’s voice rose again, cutting through the dissonant murmurs. “I will not stand for this mockery. Commoners, I demand an explanation. You think you can simply outsmart those born to inherit their place? You will pay for this humiliation.”

I felt my fists clench, muscles tightening with the urge to retort, to defend what we’d achieved with nothing but our own resolve. But I held my ground, refusing to show the anger simmering beneath my skin. Instead, I met Veylor’s eyes, unwavering and calm.

“If you have any evidence of wrongdoing, I suggest you present it,” I said, my voice steady but loud enough to be heard across the hall. The shock that flitted across Veylor’s face was quickly replaced by renewed fury.

“There’s no need for evidence when the facts are plain as day!” he spat. “Commoners don’t belong here, not at the top, not in this academy. This is just the beginning. You will see—”

Before he could continue, a voice cut through, deep and authoritative. Lt. Garven stepped into the clearing, his presence commanding attention. The murmurs stilled, and the nobles recoiled slightly, their respect for the officer palpable.

“Enough,” Garven’s voice resonated like a thunderclap, silencing even Veylor’s indignation. He turned to face the crowd, eyes scanning the sea of students, landing on me. “I’ve seen firsthand the effort that these commoners have put in,” he said, the words heavy with conviction. “There’s no room for accusations without merit. I’ll vouch for their integrity.”

Veylor’s rage sputtered, his chest rising and falling as he tried to suppress it. The nobles exchanged nervous glances, the tide of their earlier arrogance ebbing.

“This isn’t over,” Veylor hissed, his voice low but seething. He took a step back, the sneer never leaving his face as he glared at me, his eyes promising that this was only the beginning.

The hallway buzzed again with hushed voices, but there was a new edge to them. A realization that things were changing. That Veylor’s power, and House Rithane’s influence, could be challenged. For now, though, the storm had passed, and it was time to prepare for what was to come.

**

Veylor’s Fury

The celebrations of the commoners were short-lived as the harsh voice of Veylor Rithane cut through the noise, silencing the hall. He stood at the center of the crowd, surrounded by a tight cluster of nobles who shared his incredulity. His jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white.

“How is this possible?” he roared, eyes darting across the hall. His gaze swept over the sea of students, but it landed on me, narrowed with seething contempt. “Commoners, taking the top spots? It’s an insult to this academy, to the legacy of the Rithane family!”

I felt the weight of his stare, sharp and heavy. The smugness that had defined his demeanor for so long was now replaced by something dark and volatile. The air grew tense, a palpable charge of hostility.

“Did you hear that?” Lorian whispered, his voice edged with alarm. I didn’t respond; I was too busy holding Veylor’s gaze, my heart thudding like a war drum. His mouth twisted into a sneer as he stepped forward, the crowd parting around him like water before a stone.

The nobles behind him muttered in agreement, their voices a mixture of disbelief and disdain. “Impossible,” one of them said, eyeing me with suspicion. “They must have cheated. There’s no way they could have pulled this off without some sort of trick.”

Veylor’s voice rose again, cutting through the dissonant murmurs. “I will not stand for this mockery. Commoners, I demand an explanation. You think you can simply outsmart those born to inherit their place? You will pay for this humiliation.”

I felt my fists clench, muscles tightening with the urge to retort, to defend what we’d achieved with nothing but our own resolve. But I held my ground, refusing to show the anger simmering beneath my skin. Instead, I met Veylor’s eyes, unwavering and calm.

“If you have any evidence of wrongdoing, I suggest you present it,” I said, my voice steady but loud enough to be heard across the hall. The shock that flitted across Veylor’s face was quickly replaced by renewed fury.

“There’s no need for evidence when the facts are plain as day!” he spat. “Commoners don’t belong here, not at the top, not in this academy. This is just the beginning. You will see—”

Before he could continue, a voice cut through, deep and authoritative. Lt. Garven stepped into the clearing, his presence commanding attention. The murmurs stilled, and the nobles recoiled slightly, their respect for the officer palpable.

“Enough,” Garven’s voice resonated like a thunderclap, silencing even Veylor’s indignation. He turned to face the crowd, eyes scanning the sea of students, landing on me. “I’ve seen firsthand the effort that these commoners have put in,” he said, the words heavy with conviction. “There’s no room for accusations without merit. I’ll vouch for their integrity.”

Veylor’s rage sputtered, his chest rising and falling as he tried to suppress it. The nobles exchanged nervous glances, the tide of their earlier arrogance ebbing.

“This isn’t over,” Veylor hissed, his voice low but seething. He took a step back, the sneer never leaving his face as he glared at me, his eyes promising that this was only the beginning.

The hallway buzzed again with hushed voices, but there was a new edge to them. A realization that things were changing. That Veylor’s power, and House Rithane’s influence, could be challenged. For now, though, the storm had passed, and it was time to prepare for what was to come.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

**

Brewing Tensions

The academy was no longer the same. Since the written exam results, a palpable divide had split the first-year students into two camps: the nobles and the commoners. The air itself seemed heavier, charged with silent accusations and simmering resentments.

For the commoners, the results were a beacon of hope. The scores weren’t just numbers—they were proof that they could compete, that they deserved to be here despite the odds stacked against them. The camaraderie in the commoners’ quarters had grown stronger. Every shared meal, every whispered joke, felt like a tiny rebellion against the system that sought to suppress us.

But for the nobles, the results were an unforgivable insult. Their confidence had been shaken, their pride wounded. They weren’t used to being challenged, least of all by the people they deemed beneath them. The scornful glances and sneers that had once been casual were now sharper, laden with venom.

They started with underhanded tricks—small inconveniences designed to humiliate us. One morning, the training equipment reserved for commoners mysteriously vanished. Later, the practice dummies were found slashed and unusable. In the dining hall, nobles made a show of loudly claiming tables, forcing commoners to stand or huddle in corners.

It didn’t stop there.

Petty pranks became routine. Ink spilled "accidentally" on study notes, boots misplaced before drills, bedsheets soaked in water overnight. None of it caused serious harm, but it was enough to stoke the flames of frustration.

“Keep your heads down,” I told the others during one of our evening gatherings. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension. “They’re trying to provoke us. Don’t give them what they want.”

Lorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Easy for you to say,” he said lightly, though his voice carried an edge. “You’re fifth on the board. They wouldn’t dare come at you directly. The rest of us? We’re fair game.”

I couldn’t argue with him. I had my share of glares and muttered insults, but it was true—no one dared confront me openly. Whether it was my ranking or the growing reputation of our study group, something held them back.

The same couldn’t be said for the others. Lethan, one of the younger students, had taken the brunt of the harassment lately. His boots had been stolen three times, and he’d arrived late to drills more than once because of it. The instructors had reprimanded him without much sympathy.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” I said, my voice low but firm. “But we can’t let them distract us. Focus on the training, the classes—on proving them wrong.”

Lorian gave a wry smile. “You make it sound simple.”

“It’s not,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “But if we lose our cool, we lose everything we’ve worked for.”

Despite my words, I could feel the unease settling deeper. The commoners were proud, but pride could only withstand so much. The nobles were bitter, and bitterness could quickly turn into something dangerous.

The academy felt like a powder keg, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before someone lit the fuse.

**

The Breaking Point

It happened during the midday break, when the academy's courtyard was at its busiest. The sun hung high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the cobblestones as groups of students milled about, eating, chatting, or reviewing notes before the next round of drills. The tension in the air was undeniable, but we’d all been doing our best to ignore it.

Until that moment.

A shrill cry cut through the hum of conversation, drawing all eyes to the center of the courtyard. A group of noble students stood in a loose circle, their faces twisted in sneering amusement. At their feet was Davin, one of the smaller commoner students. His face was flushed, his hands gripping the straps of his satchel tightly as if it were a lifeline.

“I said, hand it over,” one of the nobles demanded, his voice dripping with mockery. His name was Arwen Coppelion, a minor noble with a loud mouth and an inflated sense of importance. He reached for Davin’s satchel, but the boy jerked it back.

“No,” Davin said, his voice shaking but resolute. “These are my notes. I worked hard for them.”

Arwen’s smile turned cold. “Oh, so you’re saying we didn’t work hard enough?” he sneered. “Typical of you lot. Always so ungrateful for the opportunity to even set foot here.”

Another noble chimed in, laughing. “Maybe we should help him learn his place.”

It all happened so quickly. Arwen grabbed Davin’s satchel and yanked it from his grip, scattering papers across the courtyard. The commoner students nearby froze, their expressions torn between fear and fury. Davin scrambled to collect his notes, but Arwen kicked one of the papers away, his boot scraping loudly against the stone.

“That’s enough!” a voice rang out.

It was Lorian. He pushed his way through the growing crowd, his usually playful demeanor replaced with a simmering anger. “Give it back,” he said, his tone low and dangerous.

Arwen laughed, tossing the satchel to one of his friends. “What’s this? Another little commoner stepping up to play hero?”

Lorian didn’t flinch. “You think this makes you powerful? Bullying someone half your size? Pathetic.”

I was already moving, weaving through the crowd to stand by Lorian’s side. My presence seemed to ripple through the commoners gathered around us, their fear giving way to determination.

“Enough,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. I locked eyes with Arwen. “Give him his things back. Now.”

Arwen hesitated, his bravado faltering for a moment before his sneer returned. “And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

Before I could answer, another noble stepped forward—a tall, broad-shouldered boy with an arrogant smirk. “You commoners are getting far too comfortable,” he said. “Maybe it’s time someone reminded you where you stand.”

The tension snapped like a taut wire. A shove turned into a scuffle, and within seconds, the courtyard erupted into chaos. Nobles and commoners clashed, shouting and grappling as the crowd surged around them.

The courtyard was a battlefield. Shouts and scuffles echoed against the academy’s towering stone walls, mingling with the sound of books and papers hitting the ground. I ducked as a stray satchel went flying past my head, its contents spilling out like shrapnel. What had started as a tense standoff had devolved into full-blown chaos.

Commoners and nobles were at each other’s throats, driven by weeks of resentment that had finally boiled over. A noble shoved a commoner against the stone wall, only to be tackled by two others in retaliation. Another commoner swung a punch that landed squarely on a noble’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

I tried to make sense of the chaos, my mind racing. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a declaration. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks had erupted, and there was no turning back now.

“Lorian!” I shouted, spotting him locked in a grappling match with one of Arwen’s lackeys. He twisted out of the noble’s grip with surprising agility, landing a sharp jab to the ribs before retreating to my side.

“This is getting out of hand!” Lorian said, panting. His face was flushed, his usual composure replaced by fiery determination.

“No kidding,” I muttered, scanning the crowd. My gaze landed on Davin, who was still on the ground, desperately trying to shield his scattered notes from a group of jeering nobles. Rage flared in my chest, but I forced myself to stay focused. Reacting blindly wouldn’t help anyone.

“We need to stop this,” I said, grabbing Lorian’s arm.

“And how do you propose we do that?” he shot back. “They’re not exactly in the mood to listen.”

He had a point. The nobles were out for blood, and the commoners weren’t backing down. Every shove and shout seemed to fuel the fire.

**

Chaos Reigns

Then, above the cacophony, I heard a sharp whistle.

The sound cut through the chaos like a blade, drawing the attention of the crowd. The academy guards had arrived, their imposing figures pushing their way through the throng of students. They barked orders, their deep voices carrying an authority that made even the most defiant freeze in their tracks.

“Enough!” one of the guards roared, stepping into the center of the fray. His armor gleamed in the sunlight, a stark reminder of the discipline this academy was supposed to uphold.

The fighting didn’t stop immediately. A few more punches were thrown, and a noble tried to shove a commoner aside, but the presence of the guards was impossible to ignore. One by one, the students pulled back, leaving a wide, tense circle around the scattered debris of their conflict.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my heart still pounding in my chest. The guards began separating the groups, their expressions hard and unyielding. One of them approached me and Lorian, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

Before I could answer, Arwen stepped forward, brushing off his rumpled uniform. “The commoners attacked us,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with false indignation. “We were just defending ourselves.”

Lorian let out a sharp laugh, disbelief etched across his face. “That’s a lie, and you know it!”

The guard raised a hand, silencing him. “I’ll hear both sides,” he said curtly.

But before anyone could speak, the crowd parted, and Lieutenant Garven strode into the courtyard. His expression was thunderous, his gaze sweeping over the scene like a storm.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice cold and cutting.

The courtyard fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of those who had been in the thick of the fight. I stepped forward, straightening my back despite the ache in my shoulder.

“They started it,” I said, nodding toward Arwen and his group. “They were harassing one of the commoners. We were defending ourselves.”

Arwen’s face twisted in anger, but before he could retort, Garven held up a hand. His gaze locked onto the noble, sharp as a blade.

“I’ll determine what happened here,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “All of you—nobles and commoners alike—will come with me. We’ll sort this out properly.”

As the guards began herding us toward the main building, the tension in the courtyard didn’t dissipate—it thickened. I caught a glimpse of Veylor standing at the edge of the crowd, his arms crossed and a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

He hadn’t been directly involved, but it was clear this chaos had played right into his hands. My gut churned with the knowledge that this was far from over.

The battle lines had been drawn, and the fragile balance of the academy had shattered. Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain: this was only the beginning.

**

Consequences and Warnings

The guards escorted us through the hallways, their presence casting an oppressive silence over our group. The nobles maintained a façade of righteous indignation, while the commoners wore expressions ranging from frustration to defiance. My own thoughts churned with a mixture of anger and unease.

As we entered one of the academy’s disciplinary halls, the oppressive atmosphere deepened. Lieutenant Garven stood at the head of the room, his piercing gaze sweeping over the assembled students. He wasn’t the type to tolerate excuses, and the weight of his authority hung heavy in the air.

"Line up," Garven ordered, his tone sharp and commanding.

We formed two lines—commoners on one side, nobles on the other. The divide felt stark, a physical representation of the tension that had led to the brawl.

“Now,” Garven began, his voice low but laced with steel, “I don’t care who started it. This behavior is unacceptable for cadets of this academy. You’re here to train as future leaders, not to indulge in petty squabbles. Yet here you are, turning the courtyard into a battlefield.”

A murmur rippled through the group, but Garven’s sharp glare silenced it.

“You,” he said, pointing at Arwen Coppelion. “Step forward.”

Arwen straightened his uniform, a smug look plastered across his face as he complied.

“I’ve been told you instigated this,” Garven said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Arwen didn’t miss a beat. “I was defending myself, sir,” he said smoothly. “The commoners were the aggressors. They’ve been acting out ever since they scored higher than us on the written exams. Clearly, they’ve let their small victory go to their heads.”

A ripple of anger surged through the commoners’ line, and Lorian let out a scoff loud enough to draw Garven’s attention.

“You disagree?” Garven asked, fixing Lorian with a sharp gaze.

“Strongly,” Lorian said, stepping forward. His tone was measured but firm. “Arwen and his lackeys were harassing one of our own. We tried to defuse the situation, but they escalated it. The commoners weren’t the aggressors—we were defending ourselves.”

Garven’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of consideration in his eyes as he turned to me.

“Is this true, Illiad?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, sir. They cornered Davin and started tearing up his notes. When we tried to step in, it got out of hand.”

Arwen’s face darkened, but before he could retort, Garven raised a hand to silence him. “I’ll determine the truth after speaking to witnesses,” he said. “For now, all of you will be placed under observation. There will be no further incidents—do I make myself clear?”

The room responded with a collective, subdued, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Garven’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, then shifted to Arwen. “Understand this: I don’t care about your titles or your bloodlines. If I catch wind of anyone escalating this further, you’ll answer directly to me. Dismissed.”

We filed out of the hall under the watchful eyes of the guards. The tension between the nobles and commoners was palpable, but no one dared to speak until we were clear of the disciplinary hall.

Lorian exhaled sharply as we walked down the corridor. “That could’ve gone worse,” he muttered.

“It’s not over,” I said quietly, glancing back to see Arwen whispering furiously with his group. “They’ll come at us again. It’s just a matter of time.”

Lorian frowned but nodded. “So, what do we do?”

“For now, we stay alert,” I said. “We’ve already proven we can stand our ground. If they push, we’ll push back—but smartly.”

As we returned to the commoners’ quarters, a small crowd had gathered to hear what had happened. The relief on their faces when we explained the outcome was short-lived, replaced by grim determination.

“We can’t let them intimidate us,” one student said, earning murmurs of agreement.

“We won’t,” I said firmly, meeting each of their gazes. “But we need to be careful. If we lose control again, they’ll use it against us. So we fight smarter—not harder.”

The group nodded, their resolve renewed. But as I lay awake that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much larger.

The fragile balance at the academy had shattered, and Veylor—always watching from the shadows—wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. The next move was his, but I’d be ready.