Chapter 3 - First Class
The Practical Combat Hall smelled like ozone and old leather. Fifty-three first-years sat in tiered seating that curved around a circular platform, where Instructor Velka paced like a caged predator. Her boots made no sound on the enchanted stone, but somehow every step echoed in my chest.
I'd made the mistake of sitting in the third row—close enough to see the scars webbing across Velka's hands, far enough back to pretend I belonged.
"Look around you," Velka said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried the kind of authority that made your spine straighten without permission. "Fifty-three eager faces. By semester's end, I expect to see forty."
A girl two seats down—Lydia something, I thought—went pale. The boy behind me muttered a prayer to the Seven Depths. I just gripped my stylus tighter and tried to look like someone who deserved to be here.
"The Thornwick Maze opens for you at dawn tomorrow." Velka stopped pacing and fixed us with eyes the color of storm clouds. "It's a Class-E dungeon. The magical equivalent of a paper cut—if you're competent. A death sentence if you're not."
She raised a hand. The air shimmered. A 3D map unfolded above the platform—twisting passages that seemed to shift when I looked away.
"The Maze reads your fears," Velka went on, her tone now casual—somehow more unnerving. "It feeds on doubt. Breeds hesitation. It will show you exactly what you expect to see—failure, mediocrity, the disappointed faces of everyone who believed in you."
My stomach dropped. Of course it would be fear-based.
"Your objective is simple." She zoomed the map to a glowing pedestal at the maze's center. "Retrieve the Resonance Stone. Return alive. Preferably in that order."
Marcus Holt—the fire-wielder people were already calling the next Archmage—raised his hand. "Instructor, what's our time limit?"
"Dawn to dusk. Twelve hours." Velka smiled—sharp as broken glass. "The Maze seals at sunset. Anyone still inside becomes part of the scenery. Permanently."
The room's temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Now," Velka continued, pacing again, "let's talk about what kills first-years. Overconfidence tops the list. Followed by poor prep, panic responses, and the touching belief that raw talent trumps experience."
Her gaze swept the room. Students stiffened around me like dominoes falling inward.
"The Maze will test four things: magical control, problem-solving, mental fortitude, and your ability to work with others when everything goes to hell." She paused. "Because something will go wrong. It always does."
My hand was cramping from how hard I gripped my stylus. I forced myself to breathe, to pretend this was just another theory lecture. But my mind kept circling those words: the disappointed faces of everyone who believed in you.
What if no one ever had?
"Teams of three," Velka announced. My heart lurched. "Choose wisely. Your partners' weaknesses become your weaknesses. Their fears become your fears."
Chairs scraped. Conversations sparked. Students leaned toward friends, bonded by talent or legacy or reputation. Marcus was surrounded instantly. The lightning girl—Kira—drew others like a flame.
I stayed seated, pretending to rearrange my notes while the buzz swirled around me.
"—heard she soloed the placement trial—"
"—Marcus's dad cleared a Class-A when he was our age—"
"—if we team with someone weak, we're all dead—"
Someone weak. The words hit like a slap.
"Having trouble deciding?" Velka's voice made me flinch. She'd appeared beside me without a sound.
"No, ma'am. Just... thinking strategically."
Her laugh was dry as autumn leaves. "Strategic thinking is good. Overthinking gets you killed." She leaned in, close enough for me to smell steel and smoke. "The Maze doesn't care about transcripts, bloodlines, or how many dummies you've incinerated. It cares about what you do when the path vanishes and the walls start closing in."
She straightened, turning back to the room. "Equipment checkout begins at six AM. Standard gear's in the armory—rope, rations, medkits. Anything else, bring it yourself." Her smile was back. "I suggest you don't skimp on the medical supplies."
The dismissal bell chimed—clear, final, and strangely loud. Students flooded out, already forming plans. I sat in the third row, alone, watching it all slide past.
"Still here, Cross?"
I looked up. Velka stood on the platform, arms crossed, watching me with that hawk's intensity.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Worried?"
The honest answer? Terrified. Instead, I said, "Focused."
"Good." She turned to go, then paused. "A tip, since you're listening: the ones who survive aren't usually the strongest or the smartest." She glanced back. Her expression softened—barely. "They're the ones who understand that being afraid doesn't make you weak. It makes you careful."
Then she was gone, leaving smoke in the air and silence in her wake.
I gathered my things slowly, brain racing. Dawn was eight hours away. I needed a team, gear, and a plan—roughly in that impossible order.
Voices echoed from the corridor—two students I didn't know, their words bouncing off the stone walls.
"—saw the records from last year. Three didn't make it back from their first run."
"Three out of how many?"
"Forty-six."
I stopped. Three out of forty-six. Better odds than Velka implied—but still, three empty seats. Three students who'd probably sat in this same room, taking notes, making plans, assuming they'd see tomorrow.
The ones who understand that being afraid doesn't make you weak.
I took a breath that tasted like leather and static, slung my pack over my shoulder, and stepped into the hall.
Somewhere in this maze of students and stone, I had to find two people willing to bet their lives on someone they barely knew.
The Maze wasn't waiting for dawn.
It had already started.