Gael opened his eyes.
His head throbbed as if it had been crushed by a millstone. The air reeked of sulfur and rotting flesh.
Lyre was a few meters away, doubled over and gasping. Her nails had lengthened, her skin turned ashen like cold ashes.
Gael wanted to speak... but his throat was parched. What he felt first wasn't fear—it was hunger.
Hunger so intense he wanted to chew his own tongue.
As they stood, they realized they were in a city—no, a graveyard made from kneeling buildings.
Each stone block shaped like a human form. The walls slouched as if bearing the weight of ancient guilt.
Above them, the moon bled. And in the wind came a whisper:
> "If you don't eat… you will be eaten."
"If you still have humanity… then you are prey."
---
Lyre stood frozen before a crumbling building.
From within stepped the corpse of her mother, the woman who'd been tortured and executed by the villagers in the town square.
She had no eyes—only two black sockets dripping blood. But her voice was softer than any memory.
"My little girl… Are you hungry? I've made something for you…"
Lyre stepped back.
No, this wasn't real.
She knew that.
But… why was her throat tight, as if waiting for a lullaby?
Why did she want to run forward—embrace that rotting body—and sink into the lie?
---
Meanwhile, Gael saw a familiar room.
A long dining table.
"Eat." – said the man.
On the table lay pieces of fresh red meat, disturbingly human-shaped, yet carrying an alluring aroma.
Gael trembled.
"Why are you here? I killed you."
This test required no strength.
It demanded survival when forced to kill, to eat, to confront one's true self.
---
They reunited in the square.
A long table of black stone.
Upon it, people were eating each other—without shame, without horror.
As if it were right.
As if it were… natural.
Another student—the brown-haired boy who had smiled at them the day before—was eating a copy of himself.
His mouth clenched shut, but tears streamed down, mixing with the blood.
"This is the test." – a voice echoed, from nowhere.
"Who eats, who kills, who endures. The one who survives is the one who chooses to become a monster."
---
Hour two.
Gael vomited blood.
He had tried to resist. Had turned his face away.
But the stench of flesh from the crowd of cannibals had turned sweet.
He hadn't killed anyone.
Hadn't eaten.
But… he couldn't stop himself from imagining what human flesh might taste like.
Lyre was silent.
She didn't tremble. Didn't cry.
Just stared at the blood moon rising above.
In her mind, her mother was singing a lullaby.
"You don't need anyone. You only need power. Kill the boy… He's about to betray you."
---
Gael began to change.
Bone spikes grew along his back. His eyes turned cloudy yellow. His breathing—heavy, beast-like.
But he still had tears.
And Lyre?
She was still human.
But inside, reason had gone quiet.
Only instinct remained—and a rage buried for years.
"Do you hear anything?" – Gael asked.
Lyre nodded.
"I hear the voices of the dead."
"…And you?"
Gael whispered:
"My own voice… screaming… begging for it to end."
---
Hour seven.
A bell tolled—but it wasn't a bell.
It was the cry of a thousand desperate souls, screaming in fire, in torn guts, in memories denied.
The ground melted.
The banquet vanished.
The city crumbled to dust.
They awoke on a cold stone floor—in the main Examination Chamber.
A voice spoke:
> "The one who survives isn't the stronger.
It's the one mad enough not to listen to the voice inside.
Or cold enough to kill it before it speaks."
---
Gael slumped to the floor, hands still shaking.
"Did you hear that voice, Lyre?"
Lyre didn't answer right away.
She turned away, whispering:
"…I didn't just hear it.
I've started… replying to it."
Gael bowed his head.
No one won.
No one lost.
As the light faded, neither Gael nor Lyre said a word.
They staggered out of the exam room like walking corpses.
There was no applause. No congratulations.
Only one thing remained on their tongues:
The taste of blood—and disgust with themselves.
They couldn't take it anymore.
Lyre grabbed Gael's arm, stopping him from collapsing, and they rushed to the nearest washroom.
The door slammed open, crashing against the wall like a silent cry for help.
Both dropped to their knees.
Vomit. Vomiting as if trying to expel everything they had just swallowed into their minds.
Gael threw up until his throat tore, tears mixing with dirty water.
Lyre didn't cry—but her eyes were empty, as if part of her soul had been buried in that exam.
---
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
A giggle.
A voice like silk—and sharp as a blade:
> "God… how pathetic. Like stray dogs crawling out of a sewer."
The door creaked open. A group of noble students stood there, uniforms stitched with gold thread, shoes spotless.
A silver-haired girl—the daughter of House Dahlverria—covered her nose and laughed:
> "This is why commoners shouldn't learn magic.
They pass the exam only to leave their humanity behind."
Another boy shrugged, his tone bored:
> "I just had to pass Trial One… Them? Three trials, each a different nightmare.
This academy is trying to kill them—just to see who survives and still has a soul."
The door closed with a quiet chuckle.
---
Lyre braced herself against the sink, panting, her gaze locked on the mirror.
In the mirror, her reflection smiled faintly—but she herself didn't smile.
Gael sat slumped on the floor, fists clenched.
> "They think they're noble… because they haven't been put into the right nightmare."
> "They might never be." – Lyre replied.
"They don't need to be strong.
They just need to be chosen to live."
They fell silent.
From this moment on, they understood:
The school doesn't train mages.
The school culls humanity.