Akari’s second break flew by, and the Cloak portion began.

The Missile and Construct tests had come with progressively harder rounds, and those rounds kept on coming until you failed. They were sort of like an arcade game in that sense, and no one but Master could ever reach the end.

Meanwhile, the Cloak portion only had ten rounds, but the rounds themselves got harder. Failure was inevitable every time. The only question was how long you would last.

Each round had you face a mana replica of yourself. Like the testing opponents, these replicas had no hair, clothing, or faces. They did, however, share the test-taker’s exact body dimensions.

In theory, this would even the playing field against someone like Zukan. All that muscle didn’t matter if his opponent was the same size.

Unfortunately, Cloak techniques were far more complicated than they seemed. You could cycle your mana for an instant power boost, but that would only take you so far. For example, Round One had you assume a wall plank position and push against your opponent with all your might. Cloaking your whole body might work at first, but your opponent got smarter as the round went on. The chest, shoulders, and triceps all played a bigger role in pushing. And if you focused more mana to these muscles, you would gain an advantage over someone with a full-body Cloak.

But you couldn’t just reinforce those muscles and hope for the best. You still needed your upper back, your abs, and your legs. If you put all your mana into the first three groups, you'd earn yourself a ticket to Snap City. Then there was the matter of timing, and the differences between fast twitch and slow twitch muscle fibers . . .

Needless to say, it took years of practice to get everything right.

Akari spent the next few minutes pushing her body past its limits. Literally. She rarely lost to her opponents, but the rounds ended whenever the chamber detected unsafe cycling patterns. Her limbs felt like jelly by the end, and sweat covered every inch of her skin.

She ended her Cloak portion with 120 points. That was still a huge improvement, but how would it stack up against her classmates?

Instead of showering after the test, Akari ran straight for the lobby where they’d posted the scores on several massive monitors. New students’ scores were technically private until they’d accepted their spots in the program, but that wasn’t the case for current students. Anyone could see these, including the general public.

Half a dozen others had crowded around the wall-mounted screens, and they made room for Akari as she approached. She drew in a sharp breath and focused on the left column.

Zukan Kortez held the top spot with 468 points. That much, they’d all expected. Aspects mattered on a test like this, and Zukan’s aspect had the perfect amount of precision and raw power. What’s more, some people were genetically gifted, and comparing yourself to them was an easy path to madness.

Elise Moonfire followed with 431 points. After that was Tori Raizen with 418, and Kalden Trengsen with 417.

Several strangers came next: Levi Skyfall with 405, Dario Santano with 401, and Lyra Manastrike with 400.

Finally, in the number eight spot, she found her own name: Akari Zeller, with 398 points.

~~~

“This wasn’t a competition,” Kalden told her that night.

Akari just stared down at her open laptop where the Artegium had posted the results online.“I mean—it kind of was. Everyone sees our scores, and the school rewards the top students.”

“Top students,” Kalden said, stressing the plural sound. “You’re already in the top ten. No one cares who holds the number one spot.”

“The Solidors might care.”

“Not this again,” he muttered.

Akari spun in her chair to face him. “I only get one chance to impress them. If we advance without becoming Aeons—”

“I know.” He held up a hand. “I know what’s at stake here, but you can’t do this by yourself.”

“It sucks, but I’m the one they want.”

“You’re stressing over variables you can’t control.”

Akari slumped her shoulders and stared back at the screen. “It’s just—I’m sick of this. Sick of always being at the bottom.”

“You’re not at the bottom.” Kalden shut the laptop and took her hand in his. “You made it to the top ten.”

“I know.” Akari squeezed his hand back, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “But I had the lowest score on our team except for Arturo.”

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“Would you feel better on a weaker team?”

“Of course not.”A part of her wanted to cry, and another part wanted to yell at herself for acting entitled. Logically, she knew these tests were arbitrary. At this level, even a badly timed blink or breath could mean all the difference.

“It still sucks,” she said after a short pause. “We’re trying to become Mystics someday . . .” Akari couldn’t make herself say the rest. She felt like a failure, but that sounded too stupid to say out loud. Regardless, it was the truth.

She’d gotten into the Artegium at a young age, but so had dozens of others, including Kalden and Arturo. And they’d done it without cheating.

She’d invented a new aspect, but her parents had done most of the work. They’d handed her the keys to long-term success, and she’d spent her childhood actively sabotaging them. Even now, after unlocking all her memories, she still didn’t understand her past self’s anger or desperation.

And then Elend had made her the team captain, but she hadn’t earned that, either. She wouldn’t even be on this team if not for Kalden and Relia.

“Look at all the Mystics on record,” Kalden’s voice brought her back. “How many were at the top of their class in terms of test scores?”

“A lot.”

“What percentage?” he pressed.

“Less than twenty percent,” she finally admitted. They’d both researched this, of course. Most Mystics followed unconventional paths to power. If you could learn the right skills in school, then half the world would be Mystics by now.

“So forget about the test scores,” Kalden said. “It’s over, and we can only move forward.”

“You’re right.” Akari drew in a sharp breath, adjusted her glasses, and got to her feet. “Enough moping around. We need to train harder.”

Concern flashed in Kalden’s eyes, but she ignored it as she headed for the door. How many hours had she wasted over Midwinter break? Was all that resting really necessary? For every hour she rested, someone else was training.

“Stop.” Kalden got to his feet and blocked her path. In that moment, everything about him changed. His posture straightened, his voice went deeper, and his eyes got that look. The look that said he’d pursue victory at all costs.

Some primal part of her liked it when Kalden got like this. A fire kindled inside her chest, and she almost thought about staying here with him. But no . . . this was too important. If she didn’t become an Aeon this year, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

Kalden drew in a deep breath. “Last semester, I overtrained and shut you out. Tell me how this is different.”

“I’m doing this for both of us,” she said. “And for everyone we left behind. That Mystic is still out there.” She stretched out an arm and gestured toward the southeast. “My dad’s still on that island. So is your mom, and your two best friends. They’ll die there if we wait forever.”

She lowered her voice to a ragged whisper. “Or that Mystic will find—send us back. Then all of this will be for nothing.” Her body shook harder, and tears threatened to form in her eyes.

Kalden’s own face softened, and he pulled her against his chest. “I get it,” he said. “But there’s more than one way to reach our goal. Elend never told you to overtrain like this. Didn’t he tell you the exact opposite?”

She squeezed Kalden’s lower back, and they stood like that for several heartbeats. She tilted her head upward, and her lips met his. It would be so easy to kiss a little faster. A little deeper. Maybe even a little rougher. For the second time that night, she thought about going to bed with him rather than training.

But then that stupid list flashed in her mind’s eye. The numbers didn’t really matter. And yet . . . they did. Those numbers were proof. Proof that she wasn’t as strong or impressive as she thought. Proof that the Solidors were right to question her.

“This isn’t forever,” she told him when their lips finally pulled parted. “I promise.”

“There will always be more training,” Kalden said. “More milestones and more deadlines. And this won’t be the last time we’re behind. We’ll have to start at the bottom every time we advance.”

Her brow furrowed. “We’ve been training hard like this all break.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “You practically lived in the alchemy lab for a whole week.”

“That was important.”

“So is this.”

“Relia had a much tighter deadline,” he said. “And I eased off once the soulshine was done. Relia’s been more relaxed, too. You’re the only one pushing forward at full throttle. You’re running from your problems. But getting stronger won’t solve everything.”

“What problems?”

There was a short pause while Kalden chose his next words. “Don’t forget—I knew you back on Arkala. Longer than anyone else here. I know you’ve been through some bad things. Stuff we’ve never talked about.”

“Like how my mom was killed? We have talked about that.”

Kalden shook his head. “There’s more.”

Akari glared at him. “Did your aspect tell you that?”

Kalden hesitated, and that was all the answer she needed. Still, Akari didn’t argue. That would only bring her farther down a road she’d rather forget. Instead, she took a few deep breaths and met his eyes again.

“I promise I’ll ease up once we advance again. But this is important. Even Elend hasn’t told me to stop training.”

“I know,” Kalden said. “Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”

“What?”

“This is Elend’s teaching style. He gives us just enough mana to trip ourselves. Remember last semester? He almost let me become a Blade Artist, even though it would have been the wrong choice. What if he’s doing the same thing here?”

Akari considered that. “Okay. So what’s the big lesson?”

“He made you the captain. What if he wants you to focus more on your teammates?”

She grinned despite Kalden’s serious tone, and her gaze flicked to the bed behind him. “Focus more on my teammates, huh?”

His own lips curled up at the edges, but he shook his head. “I was being serious. I’ve heard your theories about Elend’s plan, but being a leader isn’t about shining brighter yourself. It’s about making your team shine brighter, too.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “No wonder I’m a shitty captain.”

“That’s not true.”

Akari gave him a frank look. “Now you’re blowing mana up my—”

“I’m not,” Kalden cut in.

“Admit it—you wanted to be captain. You were pissed when Elend dumped this on me.”

“Yeah,” he said without missing a beat. “I didn’t get his reasoning at first. But you were the first to react in Vordica. You got us down from that mountain. You pulled me out of the air, and you sacrificed yourself to do it. That’s what a good leader does.”

She shrugged. “You’d still take the job if Elend gave it to you.”

“I would,” Kalden said. “I want to lead someday. But Elend knows what he’s doing right now. I think this is more than a ploy to impress some immortal Aeons.”

“Okay. I’ll put more effort into my captain role. Promise. You can help me this weekend. Maybe teach me your military knowledge?”

“I guess that’s a start,” Kalden said.

“But I’m still gonna train tonight,” Akari said as she pulled away. “Too wound up to sleep right now, anyway.” And with that, she slipped on her boots, pulled open the pool house’s front door, and stepped out into the night.