The Great Hall carried the scent of old bricks and there was quiet tension. Eighty-six students out of the one-ninety-five that were at the gate the day before sat in orderly rows, posture stiff, eyes forward. Morning sunlight spilled through towering windows, older students lingered, half-shadowed and observant, in the alcoves.
Ethan masked his nerves well, though tension knotted in his gut. He had lived this before. That didn't make it easier, only heavier.
Mistress Denna stood at the front with an ease that commanded silence. "The Academy runs on a single principle," she said. "Excellence rises. Mediocrity sinks. Failure…"
She let the silence stretch, before continuing.
"Failure leaves."
Behind her, the ranking board lowered with a quiet click - not magic, just well-made mechanics hidden in the walls. Eighty-six wooden plaques dropped into view, each etched with a name that could be raised or lowered at will.
Ethan scanned until he found himself, thirtieth, higher than where he entered in his old life. But high enough to matter and low enough to avoid drawing eyes.
Further down -far too far - Kaleb Dal eightieth. With only six names from the bottom.
"Your rank defines your experience," Mistress Denna continued. "Which instructors invest their time in you. Dormitories reflect status but rankings reflect merit."
She strode across the front, heels tapping against stone. "The top twenty earn the best training. The middle forty receive standard instruction. The bottom twenty-six…"
She paused.
"…double the effort for half the gain."
Ethan's fists tightened under the table. He'd forgotten how brutal the structure was. How it disguised cruelty as discipline, just for the pleasure of training the futures'.
"Every year, the bottom ten undergo review," she added. "Some continue. Others are released. We train only those capable of rising."
She said it in a tone of finality, expected and look back to the crowd for any input.
A girl near the front lifted her hand. "How often do ranks change?"
"Minor adjustments occur weekly, while major shifts follow examinations also, your first examination is six weeks away."
Ethan located Maya on the board, fifty-fifth. Too close to the bottom.
The system didn't just reward competition - it thrived on pressure. Enough to make even good people desperate. Desperate enough to take help from dark corners.
"Your current positions reflect entrance performance," Mistress Denna went on. "Written scores, physical trials and behavioral observation. You may feel these placements are unfair."
Her gaze scanned the whole students.
"You'd be correct. Life is unfair. The Academy mirrors it from status, wealth, talent - none of it is equal. What matters is what you do with it."
Nice words. Empty ones, full of lies.
Ethan had believed them once. Back when he thought effort outweighed lineage, but he knew better now.
"The dining hall has three divisions," Denna continued. "Gold, Silver, Bronze."
Gold for the top twenty: fresh meals, spices, meats.
Which practically meant the nobles.
Silver - adequate and simple.
Bronze? She didn't bother explaining. Everyone understood.
Weapons and instruction followed the same breakdown. Gold students trained with enchanted arms, while Silver used standard gear. Yet Bronze?
"Use what's left," someone muttered.
"Exactly."
Ethan looked at Kaleb, whose expression had gone still. Eightieth meant poor meals, battered gear, and back-row seats in every lesson.
Maya's posture was stiff. Fifty-fifth put her in Silver but closer to Bronze. She placed fortieth in his old life as the shadow magic did not display itself during her duel then, but this was a new event, which meant everything changed.
He still could not judge if this favored him but one thing was sure, he had to work it towards that.
"Instructors are assigned by rank and availability," Mistress Denna said. "Master Donovan teaches all levels in tactics. His advanced sessions, however, are exclusive."
Of course they were.
"Master Thorne handles Advanced Magical theory for the top forty. Professor Blackwood trains elite combatants. Remedial help is provided to others."
Remedial - like failure was a flaw in the mind.
The orientation dragged on. Every new rule pressed the hierarchy deeper. Even class times favored the top. Mornings for the elite. Evenings for the rest. Nothing changed from his old life as that was how it had been then, no difference.
By the time they were dismissed, Ethan felt hollow. Not because it shocked him. But because it worked.
Someone like Kaleb - honest and good - would be buried under this. It wasn't just harsh. It was designed to break people and when they cracked…
That's when the demons whispered. Corrupted the minds and bred violence.
Outside the hall, students clustered again. Ranks had already started reshaping their behavior. Something that was obvious immediately the ranking result came out.
Ethan found Kaleb alone. His hands trembled.
"Eighty," he said. "That's almost the bottom."
"It's only the beginning," Ethan said.
"Doesn't feel like it."
Ethan didn't argue. He saw what Kaleb saw. How the system culled the weak - on purpose.
"We need a plan."
Kaleb blinked. "A plan?"
"Yes. Weekly shifts mean chances. Small ones. But they're there."
"For what?"
Ethan turned toward the now-empty hall. Somewhere inside, Donovan was likely analyzing the outlier who moved like a soldier. Raymond Blackthorn, likely gathering pawns. Prince Alexander, already battling a darkness unseen.
The system bred division. But perhaps it could be used to forge something else. Something tangible, helping the downtrodden like Kaleb.
"We're going to climb," Ethan said.