The academy was shifting. The air had grown dense, thick with unspoken pressure. Conversations that once carried laughter now held hushed whispers of theories, techniques, and last-minute revisions. The looming exams, now only days away, had transformed the halls into a battlefield of anxiety and preparation.
The first-year students, who once looked upon the graduating class with admiration, now regarded them with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The exams weren't just a test of skill—they were a defining moment, the final judgment before stepping into the wider world. Failure meant disgrace. Success meant opportunity.
Kalem, as always, remained an enigma.
While many students were frantic in their preparation, he maintained his usual composure. Not because he underestimated the trials ahead, but because his focus extended beyond the exams. The resonance blade had been refined further—each strike now carried a distinct hum, the energy coursing through the weapon resonating with near-perfect efficiency. Yet, this was only one of the many projects he had been working on.
He didn't speak much about the others, but Lyra had caught glimpses. Late nights in the workshop, strange reactions bubbling in alchemical flasks, calculations written hastily across notebooks. When she pressed him for details, he would only smirk.
"You wouldn't approve," he had said, eyes gleaming with amusement.
And she didn't.
Because when he did speak, it was about concepts that made even her hesitate. When Kalem spoke of mass production, of methods to replicate and amplify technology on a larger scale, it was with a confidence that sent chills down her spine. Not because she doubted his skill—but because she understood the implications.
"You're playing with dangerous ideas, Kalem," Lyra warned, arms crossed as she leaned against the workshop door.
He didn't look up from the metal he was engraving, carefully adjusting the intricate lines that guided the resonance effect.
"Dangerous is a matter of perspective," he replied smoothly.
"No, it's a matter of consequence," she countered. "You don't just make a tool. You make a shift in power. The moment you figure out how to mass-produce some of your work, someone will want to control it."
Kalem finally paused, setting down the tool in his hand. He turned to face her, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.
"I know."
It wasn't reassurance. It wasn't defiance. It was acceptance.
Lyra exhaled sharply but said nothing more. She had her own preparations to focus on—her research paper, a culmination of months of work. The alchemy division demanded innovation for its final test, not just knowledge. She would be presenting breakthroughs, but unlike Kalem, she had no interest in making hers dangerous.
Elsewhere, others struggled in their own ways.
Jhaeros had spent the past two days in the training grounds with Velka and Noir, attempting to synchronize their movements. It wasn't working.
Velka, the dire wolf, was swift and instinctive, attacking with calculated precision. Noir, the young beast he had taken in, was reckless, still relying on raw aggression rather than technique. Their instincts weren't aligning, and that was becoming a problem.
Jhaeros sighed, watching as the two creatures circled each other. He had thought training them together would help them find balance, but it seemed like the opposite was happening. He needed a different approach.
Isolde, meanwhile, was isolating herself.
She had become almost ghost-like, her presence growing colder—both literally and figuratively. The frost magic she had spent years honing was reaching new heights, but at a visible cost. Her skin had grown pale, her hands trembling after extended use. It wasn't just exertion—it was drain.
Yet, she refused to stop.
Every morning, she would step into the academy's frozen chamber, standing alone against the raging cold, pushing her limits further.
"You're going to break yourself before the exams even begin," Nara had told her, arms folded as she watched Isolde create an intricate frost construct, her breath coming out in ragged puffs.
Isolde only spared her a glance.
"Better to break now than during the exam."
Nara clicked her tongue but said nothing further. She had her own struggles.
Her elemental body transformation had improved—she could now sustain the shift longer—but it wasn't stable. She could feel the fire burning too fast, her mana expenditure wildly inefficient. It was strong, but unreliable. The exam would demand perfection, not just potential.
She clenched her fists, flames briefly flickering across her arms before she forced them down. She didn't just want to pass. She wanted to dominate.
Garrick, in contrast, had no flames or resonance blades to refine. His battles were fought in words, in knowledge.
The history department's final exam wasn't a display of magic or combat—it was a debate. He had spent the past week sitting in with senior historians, challenging their interpretations, engaging in heated discussions over historical perspectives.
And he had realized something.
History wasn't just facts. It was power.
Because the way history was told, the way it was remembered—it could shape nations. It could justify wars, it could rewrite identities.
It wasn't about who was right. It was about who convinced others they were right.
The weight of that understanding lingered in his mind as he prepared. He didn't just want to prove his knowledge. He wanted to win.
Then, the rumor began to spread.
At first, it was only whispers—half-formed speculations shared in the dim corners of the academy halls. Then, it became something more.
"An external group is coming to watch the exams."
Not just any group—recruiters. People from outside the academy, watching, evaluating, scouting potential candidates.
For what, no one knew.
Some believed it was noble houses, looking to claim the best graduates before they could choose their own paths. Others speculated military factions, seeking to enlist the most promising talents.
A few murmured something more ominous.
That this wasn't just about recruitment. That whoever was coming wasn't just interested in hiring. They were looking for something specific.
And suddenly, the exams weren't just a test anymore.
They were a stage.
A performance where the strongest, the smartest, the most valuable would be noticed.
Kalem listened to the rumors with mild interest, his mind already considering possibilities. He had never been particularly drawn to serving under anyone, but the idea that powerful figures were watching was... intriguing.
His fingers traced absentmindedly over his blade, the resonance humming softly.
Whatever the outcome, one thing was certain.
These exams were more than just a graduation requirement.
They were the first step into something much larger.