The training yard at the heart of the Academy grounds had been transformed into a proving ground. The heat from the midday sun baked the flagstones, making the air shimmer above the platforms. The distant clang of steel from other training yards bled into the square, but here, the noise was dominated by the labored grunts of those attempting the trial. Sunlight poured over rows of stone platforms, each set with massive blocks of granite and iron—some carved into spheres, others into awkward shapes meant to strain the grip. The air was thick with the scent of dust and oiled metal, and every so often the dull thud of a dropped weight echoed across the square.
A ring of spectators—students who had already taken the test, instructors, and a scattering of curious onlookers—stood at a careful distance. They murmured among themselves, the low buzz of conversation swelling each time a candidate stepped forward to face the measure of their strength.
Eleres stood in line, the black cord-wrapped dagger hidden beneath his cloak a silent reminder of the tools he trusted most. His eyes drifted over the heavy stones, the levered bars, the squat iron pillars used for the test. He knew this would never be where he shone. But that knowledge did not bring fear—it brought focus. Strength was not his weapon; precision was. Even so, to pass through to the next trial, he had to cross this hurdle.
Ahead, a broad-shouldered youth in gleaming armor hoisted the granite sphere with a grunt, his polished gauntlets flashing in the sun. The watching crowd erupted in approving shouts as the boy set the weight down well past the mark carved into the platform.
"Impressive," someone said nearby. "That's the sort who will make it to the finals."
"Unlike some," another voice added with a pointed glance toward Eleres. "I hear he's only here because of Cedric. Won't last past the first test."
The words slid past him like water over stone. He didn't so much as shift his stance. If anything, the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth—an expression invisible to those who weren't looking closely. He had no need to defend himself here. This was only the beginning.
"Next," called the proctor, a lean man with a voice that cut clean through the noise.
When Eleres's name was called, the reaction was different. Heads turned, curiosity mingled with condescension.
"Cedric's stray, isn't he?"
"Looks more scholar than soldier."
"Bet he doesn't get it halfway."
He didn't acknowledge them. The dagger at his side, hidden beneath his cloak, pressed a familiar weight into his hip — a quiet reminder of why he was here.
Eleres stepped forward into the sunlight, boots whispering over the packed earth. He stopped before the granite sphere resting on a waist-high pedestal. Carved into the stone floor beside it was a faint groove—his target. Lift the weight, carry it across, set it down beyond the line. That was all.
He crouched beside the stone, feeling the sun-warmed surface beneath his fingers. It was smooth but unyielding, every ounce of its mass waiting to resist him. He wrapped his hands around it, set his feet, and drew in a slow breath. The square fell quieter, the onlookers watching for the moment his effort began.
With a sharp exhale, he heaved upward. The stone rose reluctantly, his muscles straining, the cords in his forearms standing out in sharp relief. For an instant it felt as though it would slip free of his grasp, but he adjusted his grip, locking his elbows and driving forward in small, measured steps.
The distance to the groove seemed to stretch with each step, every heartbeat magnified. The weight pulled at his shoulders, tested the steadiness of his knees. Somewhere to the side, he heard a low chuckle.
"Not even halfway," the voice murmured. Weeks of recovery had mended the worst of his wounds, but the deep ache in his muscles and the stiffness in his joints told him his strength had yet to return. Every step felt heavier than it should, every breath shorter than he remembered.
Eleres didn't look up. The noise was nothing. The weight was everything—each step deliberate, each breath timed to the slow rhythm of progress. And then, only a foot from the mark, his grip faltered.
For a heartbeat, the sphere dipped dangerously toward the ground. A collective murmur rippled through the crowd—anticipation of failure.
But Eleres's mind was already ahead of his body. He shifted his stance, dropping his center of gravity, drawing on that last reserve of power coiled in his core. With a low growl, he surged forward the final step and let the sphere drop squarely beyond the line.
The impact sent a dull boom through the platform. Silence followed, then a few scattered claps from the instructors' section. Most of the spectators said nothing, their interest already drifting to the next candidate.
Eleres straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders once before stepping away from the platform. The proctor gave a curt nod. "Pass. Wait with the others."
As he moved to the shaded edge of the yard, he caught sight of Cedric watching from the sidelines. The man's expression was unreadable, but there was the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes.
He leaned against a post, the sunlight warming the side of his face. Around him, the crowd continued to chatter, already judging the next competitor. Their dismissal didn't touch him. The strength test had been a gate, nothing more, and he had stepped through it.
"The first gate's open," he thought, eyes half-lidded. "Now the real work begins."
Somewhere beyond the next trial yard lay the speed course, a place where he could start speaking in his own language—movement, precision, and the art of striking when others least expected.
For now, he let the noise of the square fade to a dull hum, his breathing steady, his heartbeat calm. He was ready.
Let them think he was weak—the less they expected, the easier it would be to take them by surprise.