Sylas didn't sleep that night.
He stared at the cracked ceiling of his dormitory, tracing the patterns like they'd suddenly reveal ancient wisdom or maybe just a blueprint for how not to lose his mind.
Unfortunately, neither showed up.
The Oracle's words spun in his head like cursed poetry: You are the gate… the prison… the choice.
He was still chewing on the existential horror of that when someone knocked on his door.
Not gently.
Vivienne entered without waiting for permission. As usual.
"We have a problem," she said, all business, her dark cloak still soaked from the rain.
"Wow, I'm shocked," Sylas muttered. "I thought today might be apocalypse-free."
"You're being assigned a group project," she said.
Sylas paled. "I take it back. I'll face the end of the world instead."
The project wasn't academic, which somehow made it worse. It was part of the Academy's Magical Interdisciplinary Tactical Initiative—also known as "how to make students suffer under the illusion of unity."
Four names were scrawled across the parchment pinned to the board:
Sylas Vermund
Vivienne Asterin
Damien Solgrieve
Liora Varn
"Okay," Sylas said, reading it. "So just me, a trained assassin, the guy who probably sleeps with a dagger under his pillow, and the girl who once melted a door because someone called her short."
Vivienne sighed. "It's a combat strategy simulation."
"Simulated murder. Fantastic."
"And you're team leader."
Sylas blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you just say I'm in charge of this disaster?"
"You scored highest in last week's conflict de-escalation module."
"Oh my gods, that was sarcasm! I de-escalated by jumping out the window!"
"Exactly. Minimal casualties."
They met that evening in the open dueling arena—stone floor slick from the rain, wards buzzing faintly in the air.
Damien Solgrieve was already there, arms crossed, blond hair wet and annoyingly perfect.
"I don't take orders," he said by way of greeting.
Sylas smiled. "Cool. I don't give useful ones. This will be great."
Liora Varn arrived next—barefoot, floating two inches off the ground, her braid glowing faintly blue.
"I brought snacks," she said. "They're cursed, though."
Sylas blinked. "...I have so many questions."
"I will not answer any of them."
The simulation began the moment the Academy bell tolled.
Four students. One magical beast. Objective: work together to survive and subdue it.
A crack in the air. A shimmer of green and red.
And then the beast arrived.
It looked like someone had mixed a basilisk with a war crime. Too many teeth. Not enough eyes. And it was fast.
Damien leapt forward, sword glowing black.
Vivienne went left, daggers already drawn.
Liora summoned a storm of ice from the sky.
Sylas stood in the middle, blinking.
"Oh good," he muttered. "Team Chaos, assemble."
It was messy.
Damien refused to follow orders.
Liora tried to hex the floor, the sky, and accidentally Sylas.
Vivienne fought like she was auditioning for a different, much bloodier story.
And Sylas—well, Sylas just tried not to die.
But slowly, something strange happened.
When Damien went too far ahead, Vivienne covered his flank without a word.
When Liora's spell almost backfired, Sylas countered it instinctively.
When the beast lunged for Sylas, Damien shoved him out of the way.
They weren't perfect. Or even functional.
But for one breathless moment—they worked.
And that was enough.
The simulation ended with the beast frozen mid-lunge, illusion shattering into mist.
Sylas collapsed onto the cold stone.
"Remind me," he gasped, "why I agreed to this school instead of just dying in chapter one."
Vivienne handed him a flask. "Because you're stubborn. And something worse is coming."
Damien sat down a few feet away, panting. "You fight like a man who's been stabbed before."
"I have. By my own door."
Liora floated down beside them. "This was fun. Let's not do it again."
Sylas closed his eyes, heart still thudding.
Beneath the chaos, beneath the exhaustion, something settled.
Not peace.
But progress.
And for once, that felt like a win.