Cheers erupted in the wide courtyard of the Empire Academy's southern grounds. The once-nervous crowd of 65 cadets now brimmed with celebration, their laughter bouncing off the marble walls and echoing under the twilight sky. For many, the entrance exam had been a grueling ordeal—a test of endurance, spirit, and raw Acarna potential. But now it was over. They had made it.
Kael stood among them, surrounded by cheering voices, hearty slaps on the back, and the occasional warm hug from fellow cadets. He had passed. More than that, he'd survived what many called the toughest evaluation in the Empire's long-standing history.
A small fire crackled at the center of the courtyard, lit by one of the instructors as a symbol of the cadets' first victory. Tables had been brought out, laden with simple but warm food—bread, stew, grilled meat, and sweet fruit cider. It wasn't much, but after the week they'd had, it tasted like a royal feast.
Kael sat with Flynn, Nora, Jett, and Mirae, all exchanging stories of their trials. Flynn recounted how close he had come to collapsing during the endurance run, drawing laughter and playful jabs. Nora sipped her drink with a proud smile, eyes shining with confidence. Her fire-based Acarna had impressed even the senior evaluators.
But amidst the festivity, a different tension hung in the air.
"Have you decided?" Flynn asked, nudging Kael with his elbow. "About the 1v1 battles tomorrow?"
Kael looked up from his plate. "Yeah. I'm in."
Flynn grinned. "Thought so."
The optional duels were a tradition of the academy—held after the entrance exam and meant to highlight the best of the new cadets. Participation wasn't required, but the incentives were clear: glory, recognition, and a chance at being scouted early by senior ranks. The top three victors often received enhanced training resources, and in rare cases, personal attention from Commanders.
Still, many chose not to fight. For them, simply passing the entrance test and earning their spot in the academy was enough.
Ryn, the pride of his evaluation group, had opted out. "No need to fight for show," he'd said simply, walking away from the sign-up list.
But eighteen had chosen otherwise.
Kael.
Flynn.
Nora.
Jett.
Kellan.
Vale.
Mirae.
Zaya.
Griff.
Lisa.
Set.
Bryn.
Flora.
Vanessa.
Jake.
Steve.
Malek.
Reiner.
They had signed their names without hesitation.
As night deepened and stars blinked into view, a hush slowly replaced the celebration. The instructors returned, collecting names and announcing the match brackets would be posted by dawn. The 1v1 tournament would begin at first light in the training arena.
Kael leaned back, gazing at the sky.
"Tomorrow's going to be brutal," Nora said, standing up and stretching. "But I'm ready."
Jett smirked. "Let's hope we don't get matched first."
Kael nodded silently, fingers curled around the hilt of his training blade. The real battles were just beginning.
--
The sun rose with the weight of anticipation.
The academy grounds were transformed overnight. Once a bare open space, the training arena now brimmed with energy—banners fluttering with the Empire's crest, platforms erected for observers, and a single ring at the center, glowing faintly with containment glyphs etched deep into the stone. It would suppress fatal attacks, but not pain. Not effort. Not pride.
Out of sixty-five new cadets, only eighteen had chosen to fight.
For the others, passing the exam was enough. Their names were already recorded in the Empire's book of service. But for these few—the bold, the hungry, the wounded—it wasn't just about acceptance. It was about proving something. Maybe to others. Mostly to themselves.
Kael stood among them, the wooden sword on his back replaced with a steel one. His first real weapon. Its weight was different—more serious, less forgiving. Just like the arena he was about to enter.
He scanned the crowd and saw Flynn adjusting his gloves, calm and confident. Lisa, a few meters away, stood alone, stretching quietly, focused as ever.
They would all fight today.
And only one would win.
---
Kael's first match was against Jake, a tall, blunt-force brawler from Group Five. Known more for brute strength than precision, Jake's fists were as much a weapon as his sword.
But Kael had spent a week enduring his mother's torturous training. His body was faster. Leaner. Stronger. He'd adapted to pain, to pressure.
As the bell rang, Jake charged.
Kael didn't hesitate. He didn't backpedal. He stepped into the attack, slipping under a wild swing and striking Jake's exposed ribs with a sharp twist of his sword hilt. Then, with practiced breath, he swept Jake's legs and leveled the blade at his neck before Jake could rise.
The crowd gasped. It had taken less than a minute.
But Kael barely heard them. He looked down at Jake, who nodded silently. It wasn't personal.
It was war.
---
Flynn's opponent was Vanessa, a strategic fighter from Group Four who favored long-range elemental bursts. But Flynn didn't mind.
He'd been trained since he could walk.
Born to a family of Third-Rank Arcane Knights, Flynn was always the "lesser son"—the quiet one, the observer, the "good boy" who didn't make trouble. His older brother commanded troops. His sister led research divisions. Flynn? He was the boy in their shadow.
But not here.
Here, every move was his.
He danced past Vanessa's fire arcs like wind, weaving in and striking just when she thought he'd back away. Every step was intentional, every dodge rehearsed. By the time she burned out her reserves, Flynn was already behind her, blade poised at her shoulder.
"I yield," Vanessa whispered, defeated but smiling. She had expected a boy in his brother's shadow. She'd found something else entirely.
---
Lisa said little. She had always said little.
Orphaned during a border raid when she was six, Lisa was taken in by a retired soldier who taught her only one thing: "Make your sword your voice."
She did.
Her opponent was Malek, a towering cadet with a cleaver-sized blade and the arrogance to match. He mocked her silence before the fight. That stopped the moment her sword kissed his collarbone.
Fast. Brutal. Precise.
Lisa moved like water but struck like lightning. Every blow had the weight of a hundred unsaid words. Her blade struck true, and Malek—who'd never tasted defeat—collapsed with a single, stunned grunt.
She didn't gloat. She didn't smile. She just walked away, sword low, eyes forward.
---
By day's end, the first round had ended. Nine victors remained.
the girls who won their matches with frightening ease:
Nora, quiet and calm, seemed to anticipate her enemy's moves before they even made them.
Lisa, whose technique bordered on cruel precision.
Zaya, who unleashed bursts of ice from her feet, dancing across the battlefield like frost.
And yet… it was Lisa and Nora who stood out.
Kael didn't know why yet. But something told him… they weren't just fighting to win.
They were fighting to be seen.
To be remembered.
And to never be forgotten again.
---
Not every path to victory was straightforward.
Before the quarterfinal bracket could be finalized, one match remained unresolved. The list had an odd number—one cadet needed to face a final challenge to earn their rightful place among the top eight.
That cadet was Kael.
And his opponent was Zaya—a quiet girl with dusk-colored eyes and a battle style as fluid as shadow.
Zaya's weapon of choice was a ribbon blade—a long, flexible strand of steel reinforced with wind-based Acarna. It flowed through the air like a serpent, coiling and slicing with frightening speed.
The battle began under overcast skies.
Kael barely had time to react to Zaya's opening strike. The ribbon snapped toward him like a whip, and only his instinct—and the Core's faint pulse—saved him from a deep gash across his shoulder.
She was relentless.
Every time he tried to get close, the blade danced between them, keeping him at a distance. She moved like mist, every motion calculated but elegant, almost hypnotic.
Kael knew if he let her control the tempo, he'd lose.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, tuning into the rhythm of her breathing, the flow of her attacks—not with sight, but sensation.
Then, he moved with her, not against her.
He let her ribbon strike his left gauntlet, anchoring it momentarily, and surged forward in the same motion. His sword grazed her side—not enough to wound deeply, but enough to force her back.
Zaya stumbled. For the first time, her breath caught.
Kael didn't finish the blow. He stood, his sword low, waiting.
Zaya looked at him... then nodded.
"I yield," she whispered. "You read me better than most."
Kael exhaled, sweat dripping from his brow. "You nearly had me."
Their hands met in a silent handshake.
And with that, the bracket was complete—Kael was in the quarterfinals.
But he would not forget how close he came to falling short.