The halls of the academy were no longer filled with idle chatter.
The announcement of the graduation exams had shifted the atmosphere into something far more focused—almost dangerous.
Students whispered in corners, discussed theories, traded favors, and formed training groups. Those who had once been confident now looked uncertain, while others thrived under the newfound pressure.
Kalem walked through the academy grounds, observing.
The elementalists had taken over one of the larger training fields, attempting to push their bodies past their limits. Some had already started the first phases of transformation, their bodies flickering between flesh and energy. Fire casters burned at their fingertips, earth manipulators hardened their skin to stone, and wind adepts grew lighter, faster.
Further down, spellcasters were testing their instant-casting abilities, frustration clear on their faces. Without incantations or formulas, spells became unstable, their structures flawed. More than a few ended in explosions.
The history students had isolated themselves, hunched over books, revising historical events with an intensity that suggested they were preparing for war rather than debate.
Meanwhile, beast study students sharpened their weapons and refined their tracking techniques, while alchemists mixed volatile solutions behind sealed doors.
Kalem wasn't in a rush.
He knew the trials would be difficult, but he also knew his own limits. There was no point in rushing blindly.
Instead, he had other priorities.
He found his way to one of the less-used laboratories in the academy—a quiet, dimly lit space, filled with old equipment and half-finished projects from past students.
Lyra was already there, scribbling notes on a parchment covered in chemical formulas and reaction sequences.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
Kalem smirked. "I wasn't aware we had a schedule."
She rolled her eyes. "We do now."
He walked past her, toward a table where several pieces of strange metal alloys lay arranged in a careful order. Some were experimental, others salvaged from past projects.
His focus, however, was on a particular crystalline structure—a fragment from the resonance crystal he had acquired at the cultural festival.
It hummed softly as he ran a gloved finger over its surface.
Lyra glanced up. "Are you still refining the blade?"
"Yes," he said, but then added, "Among other things."
She raised an eyebrow. "Other things?"
Kalem exhaled. "Mass production."
Lyra froze, her quill hovering just above her notes.
"Mass production?" she repeated slowly.
Kalem nodded. "The resonance effect is powerful, but unstable. If I can stabilize it, and find a way to reproduce it efficiently, then…"
Lyra's expression shifted from curiosity to concern.
"You do realize how dangerous that sounds, right?" she said carefully. "A weapon that can cut through almost anything, mass-produced?"
Kalem's smirk didn't fade.
"That depends on how it's controlled."
Lyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Kalem, you do realize that if certain people find out about this, they'll either try to buy you out or eliminate you, right?"
He shrugged. "That's why I'm not sharing it yet."
She gave him a long, measured look.
Then, with a resigned sigh, she muttered, "Just… don't blow up the academy, alright?"
As the days passed, preparations intensified.
Every student had begun pushing their limits, refining their techniques, and making last-minute adjustments to their strategies.
Kalem spent his time studying—not just his blade, but the materials, energy distribution, and practical applications of resonance mechanics.
He also made observations.
He watched the elementalists struggle with full-body transformations, their forms flickering between flesh and raw elemental energy. He took note of who was succeeding and who was failing.
He analyzed spellcasters, noting how some students could conjure arcane symbols faster than others—how Isolde, in particular, had already achieved near-perfect silent casting with her ice magic.
He studied the beast study students, predicting which ones would dominate the hunt and which ones would be outmatched.
For Kalem, this was just another calculation—another puzzle to unravel.
But for many, this was everything.
One evening, Kalem found himself at the tavern stable, sitting on a wooden crate beside Onyx.
The massive black bull exhaled, his breath forming faint wisps in the cold air.
Kalem idly ran a hand over the creature's thick fur, deep in thought.
His projects were progressing, but something still bothered him.
The graduation exams weren't just about passing—they were about positioning.
Those who succeeded brilliantly would attract attention. The academy, noble factions, external organizations—all of them would be watching.
And Kalem had already made enemies in certain circles.
Would it be smarter to hold back? To fail intentionally, just enough to pass without drawing too much notice?
Or should he go all in, no matter the consequences?
His fingers tightened around the resonance crystal fragment in his pocket.
Onyx snorted, nudging him slightly.
Kalem exhaled.
No. Holding back wasn't his style.
He would win, but on his own terms.
He just had to be smarter than everyone else.
By the end of the week, the academy had become a battleground of preparation.
The training fields were filled day and night, spellcasters had exhausted themselves attempting to reduce their casting times, and elementalists had begun showing signs of permanent changes from overuse of their transformations.
Even history students had started challenging each other to practice debates, their voices rising in heated discussions that often lasted hours.
Kalem found himself navigating between all of it, offering observations, occasionally giving advice, and in some cases, simply listening.
He wasn't the strongest.
He wasn't the most powerful.
But he had something most students didn't—a broad understanding of everything.
And that was what would give him the edge he needed.
Two months.
It was going to be interesting.