The air in the room vibrated with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The announcement of the groups for the Eldanor expedition had fallen like a stone into a quiet lake, and the ripples were still spreading among the students. Sitting in a circle on the soft sofas surrounding the unlit fireplace, Logan and his closest friends shared the news, their voices a murmur against the general hum of the hall.
"Group seventeen," Logan said. He slowly turned his family ring on his finger, a habit that resurfaced in moments of discomfort.
"Eight," Darian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Seems like a balanced group."
Blake, next to Nyx, let out a humorless laugh. "Thirteen. Luck seems to have an ironic sense of humor. And guess who's with Nyx and me? The troglodyte from Eryndark. The one who attacked Kassia."
"That is unacceptable!" Lyra exclaimed, her usually gentle eyes flashing with indignation. "They shouldn't put an aggressor in the same group as his potential victims! You should complain to the Director!"
Nyx shook her head. "It wouldn't do any good, Lyra. The Academy's rules are clear. The groups are formed based on a complex analysis of skills, temperaments, and probably to force cooperation between kingdoms. Complaining would only make us look weak or incapable of handling the situation."
"She's right," Blake agreed, his tone somber. "We'll have to deal with him. And rest assured, the first opportunity he gives us, there will be no mercy."
"We got fifteen," Elian said, trying to ease the tension. "Kassia and I, at least, are together. That's already a relief. The others are from Etheria; they seem calm."
"And I'm in fourteen," Lyra added, forcing a smile. "A mixed group. No one I know well, but also no one who causes me trouble."
The general feeling was one of disappointment. They had spent the last few months training together, forging bonds that went beyond simple friendship. They were a unit, a team that understood each other with a glance. Now, they were being fragmented, scattered into heterogeneous groups, forced to create new synergies with strangers, and in some cases, with declared enemies.
"This changes nothing," Logan said, his firm voice cutting through the heavy air. Everyone turned to him. "The groups are for the mission, for the exam. But our training, our alliance... that continues. We will keep training together, every day. We will prepare as if we were going to fight side by side, because, in the end, that is exactly what might happen."
He leaned forward, picking up one of the scrolls the Academy had distributed. It was the support material about Eldanor.
"It's right here," he said, pointing to a specific passage. "In situations of extreme danger, or upon encountering beasts of superior classification, it is permitted and even recommended that multiple groups join forces. The survival and success of the collective mission prevail over the individual evaluation of a single group."
A new spirit seemed to run through the group. The idea that they could still fight together, that their combined strength wouldn't be wasted, was a balm for their frustration.
"He's right," Darian agreed, a genuine smile appearing on his face. "Let's become so efficient that the other groups will beg to join us."
"And before we leave, we need to go to the city," Lyra added, already entering planning mode. "Buy potions, antidotes, maybe some support scrolls. We can't rely only on what the Academy provides."
"Agreed," Logan said. "But first, we need to understand exactly what we are going to face." He turned the page of the scroll, his expression becoming serious again. "There is something here about the beasts of Eldanor that has me... worried."
He began to read aloud, his voice echoing the gravity of the words on the paper.
"The ruins of Eldanor, especially in their deeper levels, present an anomalous arcane ecosystem. The beasts found in these depths, although descendants of known magical lineages, have evolved along a perverse and isolated path. They have lost the intrinsic connection to the flow of mana of the arcane world. Unlike any living creature we know, they are incapable of regenerating their mana through rest or meditation. Their only source of arcane energy replacement is the consumption of other life forms, preferably those with high mana concentration."
Logan paused, letting the information sink in. The horror of that reality was palpable.
"They are like parasites," Kassia whispered, her face pale.
"Worse," Logan continued, reading the last part. "This exclusive dependence on their internal mana limits their magical repertoire. They cannot conjure spells that require the manipulation of ambient mana, focusing instead on brutal physical attacks, enhanced innate abilities, and a desperate ferocity driven by constant hunger. They do not fight merely to kill; they fight to feed on our very energy."
The silence that followed was broken only by the imaginary crackling of the fireplace. The image of creatures driven by an insatiable hunger for mana was much more terrifying than that of simple monsters. They wouldn't just be hunted; they would be devoured, their very vital essence serving as fuel for their predators.
"This... this changes everything," Blake said, his jaw tight. "Fighting them will be a test of endurance. Whoever runs out of mana first becomes the prey."
"Exactly," Logan concluded, closing the scroll. "That is why our training is more important than ever. We need to be efficient, fast, and lethal. And we need to be ready to help each other, no matter what group we are in." He stood up, his gaze sweeping over each of his friends. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go meet my new... team."
The way he said the word "team" made his feelings clear. There was a name on his list that transformed the task from a simple formality into an exercise in self-control: Marcus Steelheart, of Eryndark. The simple mention of the name brought to the surface the latent rivalry between Sky Reaper and the shadow kingdom, an animosity Logan felt in his bones.
With a nod to his friends, he turned and walked toward the exit of the room, every step echoing the uncertainty of what awaited him.
Logan walked with purpose, but his mind was a whirlwind. He reviewed the names of his group. Asher Thorgan and Ragnar Kragg, both from Etheria, the mountainous kingdom famous for its warriors and knowledge of beasts. Elara Valerion, from Emberath, the desert kingdom known for its mastery of fire magic and enchantments. And finally, Marcus Steelheart, from Eryndark, the kingdom wrapped in shadows and mystery, whose people were known for their affinity with dark magic and their ruthless ambition.
As he approached the courtyard, a vast open space surrounded by stone stands and marked with combat circles, he spotted a small group gathered near the center. There were three figures, and even from a distance, the tension between them was almost palpable.
From a different direction, coming from the opposite side of the courtyard, another figure approached. It was a tall, slender girl, with long black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin had a copper tone, and her eyes, even from afar, seemed to shine with an inner light. She moved with fluid grace, almost like a dancer. It was Elara Valerion. Their paths converged, and they reached the group at almost the same time.
"Looks like we're the last ones," Elara said, her voice soft but with a clear, confident timbre. She looked at Logan with a slight smile, a gesture of camaraderie amidst the strangeness of the situation.
Marcus Steelheart had his back turned, talking to one of the boys. His dark hair, cut short on the sides and a little longer on top, contrasted with pale skin marked by severe features. The Academy uniform looked more like armor on him than simple clothing—not so much because of the fabric, but because of the way he wore it: impeccable, without a crease out of place. An Eryndark brooch, black with crimson details, pinned his short cape to his shoulder.
Before Logan could respond, Marcus Steelheart moved. He had been leaning against one of the stone pillars, observing with an impenetrable expression. He was the classic image of an Eryndark noble: tall, with sharp, aristocratic features, hair as black as night, and stormy gray eyes that seemed to analyze and calculate everything around him. His armor, polished black with silver details, seemed to absorb the light. He approached with precise movements, his military posture flawless.
"Black," Marcus said, his voice neutral and controlled. There was no sarcasm, only cold statement of fact. "Valerion." A nod to Elara. "Finally."
Logan recognized the pattern: Marcus was assessing, measuring, and testing. It was the behavior of someone who didn't waste energy.
A stout young man, with a braided red beard and eyes as green as the forest, stepped forward. He was huge, both in height and width, and his leather and metal armor seemed made for a giant. He carried a two-handed axe on his back that looked too heavy for an ordinary man.
"Ragnar Kragg, of Etheria," he said, his voice a deep, resonant thunder. He extended a hand the size of a dinner plate to Logan, and his expression was genuinely friendly. "It's good to meet you."
Logan shook Ragnar's hand, feeling the strength contained in his grip. "Logan Black, of Sky Reaper."
The other young man from Etheria, standing beside Ragnar, was almost his opposite. He was leaner, with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His armor was lighter, and he carried a longbow and a quiver of arrows. There was an aura of calm and focus around him.
"Asher Thorgan," he said with a genuine smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet all of you."
"Elara Valerion," said the girl from Emberath, her voice bringing a welcome warmth to the coldness of the moment.
Marcus nodded, a minimalist gesture. He didn't smile, but he didn't show displeasure either. It was simply a confirmation of recognition.
"Now that introductions have been made," Marcus said, his voice still neutral, "we need to establish how we will proceed. The Academy provided information about Eldanor, but there are significant gaps. We need a structured plan."
"You're right," Logan agreed, appreciating the direct approach. "Asher, Ragnar, you know the terrain. What can we expect?"
Ragnar and Asher glanced at each other, and Ragnar began to speak.
"We never went down to the lower levels," Ragnar said, his deep voice echoing through the courtyard. "That is forbidden. But the surface, the ruined city... that has been our training ground since we were children. We've faced some of the beasts that make their home there. They are different from the ones you know."
"Different how?" asked Elara, her eyes shining with curiosity.
"Wilder. More desperate," Asher explained. "The Academy's explanation about their mana hunger is accurate. They don't have the cunning or strategy of other arcane beasts. They are pure brute force and survival instinct. They attack without hesitation and don't retreat unless forced."
Marcus nodded, processing the information. He didn't ask any more questions, just absorbed the data.
"And the rumors?" asked Logan. "They say there is something else down there. Something the Academy didn't tell us."
Ragnar and Asher looked at each other, a shadow passing over their faces.
"The rumors are many," Ragnar said, lowering his voice. "They say the lower floors aren't just ruins, but a prison. That Eldanor didn't fall, it was sealed. And that what is sealed down there is the reason the beasts evolved that way. A corrupting influence that leaks slowly, poisoning everything."
"Our elders speak of an ancient power, an entity that feeds on mana much more efficiently and terrifyingly than the surface beasts," Asher added. "They call it 'The Hungering Heart.' That is why the descent is forbidden. No one who went deep enough to investigate ever returned."
A shiver ran down Logan's spine. The Hungering Heart. The name echoed the description of the beasts but on a much larger and more sinister scale. The expedition was becoming increasingly dangerous.
Marcus remained silent for a moment, processing the information. When he finally spoke, his voice was even colder than before.
"So, besides creatures that depend exclusively on internal mana, we have the possibility of an even more dangerous entity in the lower levels." He paused. "The Academy sent us here knowing this?"
"Probably," Asher replied. "But they can't tell us everything. It's part of the test."
Marcus nodded slowly. There was no frustration in his expression, only a cold acceptance of reality. He turned to Logan, his gray eyes meeting the other's golden ones.
"We need a structured plan," Marcus said. "We cannot rely on improvisation. Every decision must be based on information, not emotional reaction."
Logan felt the weight of those words. Marcus was laying down the terms of how he would operate. And, surprisingly, Logan agreed.
"Agreed," Logan replied. "We need to train together. Learn how each person functions. Understand our strengths and weaknesses."
"Every day," Marcus added. "We start tomorrow at dawn. Here."
There was no arrogance in his voice, only cold determination. It was the voice of someone who understood that survival was the only metric that mattered.
Asher was the first to agree. "Fine by me. Tomorrow at dawn. We'll be here."
"Count me in," said Ragnar, punching a massive fist into his other palm, the sound echoing like cracking stone.
Elara nodded, her bright eyes fixed on Logan. "It's the correct approach. The only way we survive is to become a cohesive unit."
"Well," said Marcus, his voice still controlled. "Then we have an agreement."
He turned and began to walk away, disappearing into the growing darkness of the late afternoon.
The relief in the group was palpable, but in a different way. It wasn't the relief of avoiding a dramatic confrontation, but the relief of having established a clear understanding. Marcus wasn't an adversary seeking unnecessary conflict.
"He is... different from what I expected," Elara said, watching Marcus disappear.
"Cold," Ragnar agreed. "But that's good. It means he won't let emotion cloud his judgment in Eldanor."
"It means he's a professional," Asher corrected. "And professionalism is exactly what we need."
Logan just nodded, still processing the encounter. Marcus hadn't been what he expected; he had been calculating, strategic, and above all, focused on the group's survival. It was a version of Marcus that Logan hadn't anticipated, but one that, somehow, was more terrifying than any provocation would have been.
The conversation then shifted to a more practical and collaborative tone. Asher and Ragnar described the types of terrain they would encounter: dense, dark forests on the surface, unstable rocky passages, and the labyrinthine corridors of the ruins.
As the sun set completely, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Group 17, forged not in the fire of dramatic mistrust but in the coldness of necessity and professionalism, began to take shape. It wasn't a group of friends, nor allies by choice. They were five warriors from different kingdoms, with distinct histories and loyalties, united by a single and brutal purpose: to survive Eldanor.
When they finally parted ways, promising to meet the next morning, Logan felt exhausted but with a new sense of determination.
As he walked back to his quarters under the starry sky, Logan thought of his friends, scattered across their own groups, facing their own challenges. He hoped they were also finding a way to turn uncertainty into strength.
He touched his mark of Fenrir, feeling the familiar heat emanating from it. It was a constant reminder of his legacy, his power, and the responsibility that came with it.
With that thought, he opened the door to his room, the silence of the chamber a stark contrast to the storm of emotions of the day.
The expedition to Eldanor had not yet begun, but the battle for survival was already in full swing.