A week.
That's all the time Thalos had left before the Academy Trial.
One week to turn everything he'd learned—sparring, blood core cultivation, mana control—into something more than theory.
And theory didn't cut it outside the city walls.
"Today," Relin said, tightening the straps on his armguards, "you meet the real world."
They stood at the Duskhaven outer gate, where crimson banners hung limp in the still dusk air. Beyond it stretched the Shrouded Fields—a mist-laced expanse of rolling terrain dotted with ruins and wild beasts. Dangerous, yes, but regulated. Vampiric scouting teams kept the deadliest threats culled.
Mostly.
Thalos swallowed the knot in his throat as the gate creaked open.
"Your goal's simple," Relin continued. "Survive, observe, kill what needs killing, and learn. I'll be nearby—but not holding your hand."
Thalos nodded.
No more wooden swords. No rubber practice blades.
Today he wore leather armor, and at his hip hung a steel-edged shortsword—a real one. It felt heavier, colder. Real.
He stepped into the field.
The first day tested everything.
The beasts in the Shrouded Fields weren't mindless monsters. Most were half-spawned creatures—twisted things, born from leftover mana storms or ancestral curses. They stalked low and silent. Fast. Cunning.
The first he encountered was a Spinejack—a feline-like predator with spined shoulders and thick, bristling fur that rippled with shadow.
Thalos barely saw it coming.
But he heard it.
A crack of branch. A hiss.
He dodged just as it lunged, drawing his blade mid-roll. He activated Blood Empowerment for a split-second boost and slashed across its flank. The blade bit in. The creature screeched and bolted into the mist.
"Don't chase it," Relin's voice called from the trees.
"I wasn't going to!" Thalos shouted back, panting.
Relin stepped into view, grinning. "Good instincts. You're not a hunter yet—but you're no prey either."
By the third day, exhaustion took hold.
Between blood expenditure, constant vigilance, and lack of rest, Thalos felt like his skin was stretched too thin. His blood core ached—an abstract, internal pressure that pulsed with strain after every activation.
He fought more.
A Stonebeak Vultrox near the cliff edge. A Swarmwight nest hidden in the hollow of a tree. A group of lesser Blood Mites that tried to suck mana through his skin.
None of them killed him.
But they left their marks.
Cuts. Bruises. Burns. Scars.
And lessons.
He began to move differently. Fewer wasted steps. More sidesteps than lunges. He learned when to run. When to bait. When to activate his core not for power—but for precision.
On the fifth night, they made camp in the ruins of an old watchtower. Relin handed him dried meat and marrow tea. Neither spoke for a while.
Then Relin said, "Two more days. After that, you rest. No combat. No sparring. Just food, sleep, and breath."
Thalos blinked. "You think I'm ready?"
Relin smirked. "I think you'll live."
"Not exactly a glowing review."
"It's the only one that matters."
The next day was the hardest.
Relin gave him no instructions.
No direction.
Just dropped him at a clearing with five marked points across a sprawling ravine—each holding a trial to test his speed, endurance, and tactical combat.
"Your time starts now," Relin said.
Thalos ran.
He crossed thorn-laced ravines. Solved blood-lock glyphs. Battled two spawnlings back to back while half-blinded by their shriek aura. And somewhere in the madness, something clicked.
He wasn't thinking about surviving anymore.
He was just moving.
Responding.
He wasn't the strongest. Not the fastest. But his blood burned cleaner now. He could activate empowerment and choose how it enhanced him—muscle, reflex, vision.
He still collapsed at the finish.
Still gasped for air and nearly vomited.
But he finished.
And when Relin pulled him upright, he clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You're ready, Thalos."
The last day, they returned to the outskirts of Duskhaven.
Thalos stared at the city's glowing sigils with a mix of relief and longing. He missed the warmth of home. The softness of Mira's marrow stew. Even Keral's silent, brooding glances.
Relin walked beside him, slower now.
"No one expects you to win," his brother said. "Not in the entrance. Not in the first year. You're not a prodigy."
"I know."
"But if you keep fighting like this—learning like this—you'll pass them. One by one. Year by year."
Thalos nodded slowly. "And if I don't?"
Relin smiled. "Then you'll die slower than the rest."
"Comforting."
"I try."
That night, back in his room, Thalos sat at his desk, bruises aching, heart steady.
He looked at the journal where he tracked his progress, then added a new line.
"The field doesn't lie. It doesn't care who you are. Only what you do.I'm not strong enough yet. But I've bled now. And I'm still standing."
Duskhaven shimmered like a dream under the glow of the ever-dusk. The sigil-lamps floated between iron-laced balconies, casting gentle red light over the cobbled walkways. The city was never silent, but tonight its noise felt softer—less like a hum of vigilance, more like the steady breath of something alive.
Thalos walked with his family through the Lower Veil Promenade, nestled in the heart of the Outer District. His bruises still ached, but the pace was slow, comfortable, almost peaceful. The stress of the past month—of training, sparring, bleeding, surviving—unwound with each step.
It felt... good.
He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been wound until now.
"I can't believe you still limp like that," Mira teased from behind him. "You act like you fought a bone dragon."
"I felt like I did," Thalos muttered, cracking a tired smile.
Relin chuckled. "He's earned the limp. He took a tuskbeast hit to the shoulder and kept going."
"That was barely a tuskbeast," Keral added, arms crossed. "It was young."
"It was taller than me."
"Everything is taller than you, runt."
Thalos grinned. The insults didn't bite tonight. They were familiar. Comforting. For once, they weren't part of a lesson or test.
They passed a glowing fountain where children played in magically warmed mist. Near its base, an old merchant sold crimson-glazed sweets on skewers. Thalos's younger sister, Elira, tugged at Mira's robe and pointed.
"Can we get some? Pleaaaase?"
Mira gave a long sigh. "Fine. But only two each. I'm not dealing with sugar frenzy."
"Yesss," Elira hissed with victory, dashing ahead.
Thalos leaned down beside her. "Two's enough to bribe you into silence for an hour?"
She stuck her tongue out. "I can scream with candy in my mouth."
"That's honestly impressive."
They sat at a circular bench beside a moonvine trellis, the leaves glowing faint blue in the dusklight. The family nibbled quietly, chewing contentedly on the tart-sweet snacks. For the first time in what felt like ages, Thalos just watched.
Elira was already talking animatedly to her twin brother, Calen, about a dream she'd had where she turned into a bat and flew into a bakery. Mira listened with practiced patience. Dregan stood a few feet off, silently sipping a flask and watching the crowd with old-guard vigilance.
And across from him sat Saela, the middle sister.
Thalos blinked. Right.
He hadn't spoken more than three sentences to her in a month. She was a year younger, too old to still be considered a kid like the twins, but not old enough to join combat training.
She caught his glance and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing." He shifted uncomfortably. "Just realizing we haven't talked in… a while."
She shrugged. "You've been busy. Bleeding. Screaming. Stumbling home."
"You watched?"
"Only when you made those weird pain noises in your sleep."
Thalos flushed. "Those are training-induced expressions."
"They sound like dying pigeons."
He laughed. "Okay, fair."
She chewed her candy quietly for a moment, then looked down. "It's weird not having you around."
Thalos blinked. "You missed me?"
She didn't look at him. "The house gets quieter. That's all."
"Right."
"Also, Elira kept trying to get me to sneak sweets from the top shelf."
"That is a problem."
"I'm not tall enough for that betrayal."
Thalos smiled and leaned back. "Well, I'm here now. For one night, at least."
Saela looked up at him, and for a moment, the teasing faded.
"You're really going to join the Academy."
He nodded.
"I thought you were just… regular."
"I am regular," he said. "I just fight a little smarter than most."
She smiled faintly. "Then come back smarter. Or I'll really miss you next time."
They wandered further through the promenade.
Relin bought spiced blood sausage from a vendor. Calen found a glowing beetle and tried to convince Mira to let him keep it as a pet. Dregan scolded a pickpocket just by looking at him.
Saela and Thalos talked more—about their neighbors, her training with the choir instructors, the storybook she was writing on scraps of parchment. He hadn't realized she wrote stories. She hadn't realized he journaled.
Somehow, those details mattered more than their lineage.
More than blood cores.
They made him feel human again.
Later, as the family sat together under a canopy of rune-lanterns shaped like bats and blossoms, Elira leaned against Thalos's side, half asleep.
He looked down at her.
"Hey," he whispered. "You'll miss me?"
"Mmhm," she mumbled. "But if you die, I get your boots."
Thalos laughed. "Deal."
As they walked home, Mira fell into step beside him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then softened.
"You needed this."
He nodded. "I didn't know how much."
"You've changed."
He tilted his head. "Better or worse?"
"More you. But heavier. The kind of weight that doesn't go away."
"I'll carry it."
"I know you will," she said quietly. "But don't forget to put it down sometimes."
He glanced at the others ahead—Calen chasing shadows, Saela humming, Dregan carrying Elira like she weighed nothing, Relin casually twirling a dagger behind his back.
"I think I needed to see this before the test."
Mira gave a small nod. "And we needed to see you. Not the fighter. Just you."
Thalos swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
He'd bled in the fields. Endured trial after trial. Sharpened his body and will.
But this… this made him feel anchored.
Like no matter how far he climbed, he had somewhere to fall back to.