The daily rhythm of the Academy had become predictable. Mornings were a flurry of theoretical lessons, long hours in the classroom as instructors droned on about arcane history, elemental forces, and the intricacies of magic. The afternoons were where things shifted—sparring in the arenas, honing combat skills, or practicing the delicate art of controlling one's magic under intense pressure. It was a routine that felt both draining and grounding, a delicate balance between the mind and body.
Eryx was beginning to find his rhythm in this environment, though his mind remained far from settled. He had grown used to the weight of his sword at his side, the tension in his shoulders from hours of wielding it, the ache in his hands from conjuring his magic again and again. It was physical, yes, but there was something else—a deeper current pulling at him, something beneath the surface of his daily life that he couldn't quite grasp. The whispers of the trial were growing louder, but they weren't the only thing that had begun to nag at his thoughts.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
It wasn't paranoia. It was an instinct, a sense that lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind. There were moments, small moments, when he would catch someone's gaze—too long, too intense—and quickly look away. It was always the same students: those with quiet, calculating expressions, their eyes sharp as blades. Eryx didn't know if they were merely curious or if something more sinister was at play. He had yet to approach them directly, but the feeling gnawed at him all the same.
One afternoon, after a particularly grueling lesson in elemental control, Eryx found himself walking alone near the edge of the Academy's grounds. The courtyard was mostly empty, save for a few students who were either practicing magic or speaking in low voices in the corners. Eryx's footsteps echoed in the stillness, the sound sharp and hollow.
As he passed the edge of the fountain, a voice called out to him from behind. "You've been quiet, Eryx."
Eryx turned to see Liora approaching, her expression as unreadable as ever. Her gaze seemed to pierce right through him, as if she could sense the turmoil within.
"I'm not much for small talk," he replied, his tone dry but not unkind.
Liora studied him for a long moment before her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I figured. But that doesn't mean I can't try to get you to talk anyway."
Eryx couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, though it didn't last long. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling the weight of his exhaustion. His body ached, but it was his mind that felt heavier. The trial loomed, but it was the unknowns—the quiet conspiracies and unspoken tensions—that kept him up at night.
"Something's wrong here," he said, his voice quieter now. "The more I stay here, the more I feel like there's something… off about this place. It's not just the trial. It's everything else. The way people look at each other, the whispers, the games they play. I'm not sure I'm ready for whatever is coming."
Liora's eyes softened, and she stepped closer, her tone serious. "You're not wrong. There are things about the Academy that most students don't understand, things they're not meant to. You're not just here to learn magic, Eryx. You're here because this place is more than just an Academy. It's a battlefield."
Eryx turned his head to meet her gaze, his brow furrowed. "A battlefield?"
She nodded, her eyes flickering with something he couldn't quite place—either a warning or an invitation to something deeper. "Yes. You'll find that everyone here has a reason for being here. Some want power, others want prestige, and some are simply trying to survive. But in the end, it's all the same. You'll need to play the game if you want to stay on top."
Eryx absorbed her words, the weight of them settling heavily on his shoulders. "And what happens if I don't want to play?"
Liora's gaze softened, almost regretful. "Then you'll be swallowed by the currents, Eryx. This place doesn't allow weakness. You can't afford to hesitate. It doesn't matter how much power you have if you can't use it when it counts."
The silence that followed stretched between them, heavy and thick with unspoken truths. Eryx let the words sink in, the implications of her statement hanging in the air like an invisible weight.
"I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this," Eryx admitted quietly.
Liora gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. "You're more than cut out for it. You just have to believe it."
Before he could respond, a loud shout echoed from across the courtyard, breaking the moment. A group of students had gathered near one of the practice arenas, and from the sounds of it, something was happening. Liora turned toward the noise, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Looks like the competition is heating up," she murmured. "We should check it out."
Eryx followed her without question, his mind still replaying her words. They approached the gathering crowd, and Eryx found himself at the edge of the group, where he could see what was happening. In the center of the circle stood a student he hadn't seen before—a boy with wild, untamed hair and a fierce, confident grin plastered across his face. He was holding a large, shimmering blade that glowed faintly in the fading light.
"He's one of the upperclassmen," Liora muttered under her breath, her eyes flicking to the crowd. "A real troublemaker, if you ask me."
The boy in the center of the ring was clearly demonstrating something—perhaps showing off for the younger students. His sword movements were fluid, controlled, and expertly executed, each strike a demonstration of raw power. The crowd around him cheered, watching with admiration as he moved like a force of nature.
Eryx stood a little farther back, his arms crossed over his chest. There was something about the display that didn't sit right with him, as if it were more about the boy's desire for attention than any real skill. And yet, he couldn't deny the effectiveness of his movements.
Liora, sensing his hesitation, leaned in slightly. "You'll see a lot of this. The older students love to make an impression, show off how much stronger they are. But it's not just about power, Eryx. It's about control. Remember that."
Eryx nodded, his gaze still fixed on the boy at the center of the circle. The crowd's excitement was palpable, but the further Eryx watched, the more he could sense the underlying tension, the hunger for recognition in every cheer.
This wasn't just a demonstration of strength—it was a subtle reminder of the hierarchy at play. The upperclassmen weren't just older or more experienced; they were the ones who held the power, the ones who dictated the flow of things.
And Eryx, despite his talent and skill, was still far from the top.