Arin stepped into the morning light of the Academy's great hall, feeling the day's warmth on his shoulders. The golden banners of Astrahelm flapped in the gentle breeze at the entrance, and sunbeams streaming through tall stained-glass windows cast long patterns of colored light across the polished wood floor. The air was fresh with the scent of oil lanterns and parchment. Arin took a deep breath, smoothing his tunic and adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. He found his seat in the second row near the center of the hall, surrounded by fellow cadets in crisp uniforms. Some of them exchanged quiet greetings or shared last-minute notes while waiting for the instructor.
The instructor, Master Hieron, entered quietly with a stack of maps tucked under his arm. A hush fell as students straightened in their seats. Master Hieron was a tall, stern man with silver hair in a tight braid at the nape of his neck. He arranged his maps on a wooden podium carved with the Academy's crest. This morning's lecture was on Formation Tactics, a subject Arin had been eager to master. The room smelled of oak benches and old parchment, and Arin's heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
"Formations are not just about discipline," Master Hieron began in a rich baritone, chalk dust puffing into the air as he drew straight lines and arrows on the board. "They are the harmony that turns an army into a single living organism. When each soldier knows his place, it moves as one." Arin leaned forward, watching the instructor's steady hand trace the pattern of soldiers and shields. He opened his notebook and scribbled notes quickly, the pages filling with diagrams and observations. Even in the quiet of the morning, Arin's mind raced to absorb every detail. Around him, classmates exchanged glances and jotted in their own books. Arin imagined himself leading a squad, coordinating their movements exactly as Hieron described.
Suddenly, Arin felt a gentle nudge in his side. He looked to see Mira's questioning eyes. The large map projected on the board showed a fortified city, and Mira pointed at one corner of the formation line. "When he says 'rotate the archers'—is that to prevent flanking?" she whispered, her voice barely above the rustle of paper. Arin studied the map and followed Master Hieron's earlier explanation. "Yes," Arin whispered back, "they're reassigning positions to cover that approach." Mira's face brightened with understanding, and she smiled at him. Since freshman year, Mira had been Arin's dependable friend and study partner. In the austere environment of Astrahelm's ranks, their small camaraderie was a welcome comfort.
When the lecture concluded, Master Hieron carefully folded his maps and nodded for them to be dismissed. The students began gathering their things, and the great hall hummed with movement. Arin and Mira stepped outside into the courtyard together. The chill of the night had given way to a pleasant warmth as the sun climbed higher. Birds chirped in the blooming gardens and a gentle morning breeze carried the scent of jasmine and pine through the academy grounds. Arin felt a surge of confidence after the lesson, thrilled at how much he had learned that morning.
Mira turned to him with a grin. "You did great in there. You followed every word Hieron said," she said. Arin shrugged modestly, but he couldn't hide a satisfied smile. "Thanks, but I just tried to keep up." They walked through the courtyards together, discussing the lecture's highlights. Marble statues of past generals stood silently around them, as if listening. Arin tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and laughed softly when Mira teased about trying to draw more arrows. The camaraderie of the walk warmed him further, and the rest of the morning stretched ahead full of promise.
By midday, the corridors of Astrahelm were alive with chatter and footsteps. Arin followed Mira through archways into the Great Hall for lunch. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, painting fragments of color on polished stone floors. Tables were laden with steaming pots of stew, platters of fresh bread, and bowls of bright fruits. Students filled seats in animated groups, carving out time to eat and laugh between classes. Arin and Mira found a spot at a long oak bench already occupied by two classmates, Selene and Corveth, who had beaten them there and were swapping notes on the morning's lecture.
"Did you understand the last formation Hieron taught?" Corveth asked Arin between bites of bread and stew. Arin nodded, his brown eyes steady on the table. "I think so," he replied. "It's about the angles we lock shields at—like he drew here." He tapped a crude sketch he'd drawn in his notebook during class. Selene leaned over, eyebrows raised in surprised praise. "You caught that? I was lost by the third sentence. You're a natural at this."
Mira beamed at Arin's modest smile, then turned to Corveth. "Are you entering the Commanders' Tournament next month? I heard the prize is a field commission." The others chimed in with excitement; yes, it was the event of the season. The room's atmosphere grew competitive with talk of practiced strategies and ambitious goals. Arin felt a tightening of nerves at the mention of the tournament. He had not even considered competing, and now hearing the stakes laid out—promotion for the winner—placed a heavy pressure in his chest.
Mira noticed Arin's silence and touched his arm gently. "Everything all right?" she asked softly. Arin managed a small smile to hide his unease. "Yeah, just thinking about training more," he said lightly. He didn't want to admit how uncertain he felt about competing. Mira squeezed his shoulder. "You do well in everything you try, Arin. Maybe you're just harder on yourself," she said, picking up a piece of bread. "Here," she offered it to him. "Refuel before your archery practice."
Selene whistled softly. "You two with all this quiet strategizing? Are you secretly plotting to win the tournament together, I bet," she teased, nudging Corveth. Arin chuckled again, and even Mira's lips twitched into a smile. The table burst into light laughter. The friendly jab eased the tension, and Arin felt the last of his apprehension slip away. He realized for a moment that amidst all the looming exams and tests, this table of friends and their silly jokes was real and immediate.
Mira gave Arin a playful nudge. "Focus on your arrows tomorrow," she challenged with a grin. "I'm still claiming the bull's-eye of the tournament." Arin raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that," he replied with a confident salute. They left the Great Hall together, laughter trailing behind them as they carried their empty plates away.
The afternoon sun was high as Arin and Mira crossed the courtyard toward the northern archery range. The range was enclosed by neatly trimmed hedges and marked with wooden target stands set at varying distances. Trained archers' arrows quivered in many of the targets: some bulls-eyes nearly burst with arrows, others had only one or two. Arin hefted his bow with determination.
He stepped to the firing line and nocked his first arrow. Drawing the string back, he aimed at the distant center and released. The arrow sailed in a graceful arc and thudded into the straw target with a satisfying sound—just a few inches shy of the bull's-eye. "Great shot!" Mira encouraged, clapping lightly.
Mira stepped up for her turn and drew her own arrow. With precise calm, she released it, and it struck the target close to the center. "Nice work," Arin congratulated her. Now warmed by watching Mira, he took another arrow. This time, he let the string push his arrow forward with less force, focusing on form. When he released, the arrow struck almost dead center. Arin grinned; the tension from the morning felt a little further away.
They shot arrow after arrow in companionable silence. Each release brought a quiet moment of focus. Arin noticed how relaxed Mira's breathing was, how steady her aim. As time passed, he felt the rhythm of drawing and releasing settle his thoughts. When a light breeze played through the range, he closed his eyes briefly with an arrow ready, waiting for the gust to pass before letting it fly. A few students from a nearby class glanced over and smiled at Arin's steady technique.
After a final round of arrows, they walked up to the targets together. Arin picked out his arrows. "Not bad," Mira said, surveying the spread. "Getting better." Arin smiled at her praise, feeling it from a friend who genuinely meant it. He handed back his bow and helped Mira pick up her arrows.
Satisfied with their practice, Arin and Mira left the range. The sky was shading toward gold. Arin turned to Mira with a light smile. "Thanks for today," he said earnestly. "I needed that." Mira returned the smile warmly. "Anytime. You did well," she said. Arin felt a warmth in his chest at her praise.
They walked together to the main gate of the Academy's inner grounds. There, Mira stopped and pulled out a list. "I need to pick up some books from the library before dinner," she said, gesturing down a hallway. Arin nodded, understanding; she was in the history program and often had extra research. He offered to walk with her, but she shook her head and waved him off gently. "Go ahead and start without me," she insisted with a mischievous grin. "Just don't forget—tomorrow, that bull's-eye is mine."
They laughed together. Arin gave Mira a confident salute with his hand. "Sure thing," he replied, winking. Then they parted at a fork in the corridor: Mira headed toward the library, and Arin continued on toward the barracks to wash up before evening drills.
Arin walked briskly down the corridor, still smiling at Mira's parting words, when a familiar voice called from behind. "Hey, Captain Arin!"
He turned to see Tavian, leaning casually against a pillar with his usual triumphant grin. Tavian was a year above Arin and one of the academy's star cadets, tall and imposing, with a sneer always lurking at the corners of his mouth. Two other cadets stood by, waiting for Tavian to make a scene.
"So, Arin," Tavian drawled, pushing off the pillar, "practicing archery without the princess by your side, hmm? Thought you might need her to help find the target." His tone was mocking. Arin's chest tightened but he kept his face calm.
Mira's name stung, but Arin refused to rise to the bait. He tightened his grip on his satchel strap and looked Tavian in the eye. "Do what helps me focus," he said evenly. "Not that it's any of your business."
Tavian stepped closer, analyzing Arin with dark eyes. "Isn't it though? Tell me, Arin, how does it feel always to come second to someone like him? You know, someone with better blood, better training." He emphasized the last words and gave a single, low laugh.
Arin's jaw clenched. His stomach twisted; he recognized this tactic from past encounters. "It doesn't," he answered firmly. "And just so you know, it's not about blood. Every one of us has something to prove, even you."
Tavian's eyebrows shot up. He sneered, "Wise words for someone who's always struggled for recognition. I'm just saying, if I were you, I wouldn't count on winning anything. Not with people already making plans for next month's winner."
Arin said nothing, just gave Tavian a short nod. "Good night, Tavian," he said quietly. The boy turned away with a dismissive laugh, and Arin resumed walking toward the barracks. My chest was pounding, but he refused to give Tavian any more satisfaction.
Arin exhaled slowly once he was out of earshot. The warm camaraderie of the afternoon felt miles away, and the echo of Tavian's taunts lingered uncomfortably. He knew Tavian meant to unnerve him, but Arin pushed the frustration down. He recalled Mira's supportive words and steady presence, and they anchored him. Whatever Tavian said wouldn't matter by morning. Arin squared his shoulders as he continued down the corridor. He would focus on preparing himself, not on rivals' barbs.
By the time dinner rolled around, Arin was hungry again. He found a seat at the mess table among some classmates and tried to enjoy the evening meal. The long day had been busy, and news of the tournament buzzed around. Tavian and his friends sat at a far table; Arin avoided meeting their eyes. He answered polite questions about the morning's exercises when asked, careful to keep his tone even. Mira was not at dinner—someone mentioned she was in the library studying ancient tactics, but Arin just nodded and ate.
After eating a simple supper of roast vegetables and bread, Arin made his excuses and left the mess hall. The sky outside was now dusk-purple, and lantern light flickered over the courtyard. Most cadets had gone on to evening drills or to their quarters. Arin decided to head to the training yard; it was a routine he followed often before retiring, and tonight he hoped it would clear his mind of any lingering distractions.
He changed into a plain training tunic and stepped out into the cooling night. The sound of his boots echoed softly as he walked. Lyris's test from the previous year still felt a faint knot in his stomach, but Arin pushed the memory away. This was just practice. The last thing he expected was another surprise.
Arin approached the quiet training yard behind the eastern wing of the academy. The area was deserted, as he knew it would be at this hour. Wooden dummies lined the small clearing and practice spears leaned quietly against a wall. The moon was bright overhead, and the air was fresh and still. He lifted a practice sword from the rack, feeling its balance in his hand.
He began a series of drills: a forward step and slash, a parry and a strike, repeating until it flowed. Each movement was smooth but deliberate. The repetitive motion helped him center his thoughts. With each breath, he felt more of the day's tension slip away. The sound of metal slicing through air was accompanied only by his steady footfalls on grass.
Just as he finished a round of strikes, a soft clearing of the throat startled him. Arin spun around, sword at the ready. There, at the edge of the yard, stood Instructor Lyris.
Lyris was imposing even in the lantern light. Her tall, lithe form was clad in a simple dark uniform; her dark hair was bound in a long braid, and her piercing green eyes held his gaze. She said nothing as she approached. Arin lowered his sword slowly, puzzled and alert. "Instructor Lyris?" he said softly.
Lyris gave him a steady look. Her face held no surprise or warmth, only cool professionalism. She took a step back and then nodded toward the center of the yard. Arin understood immediately. Here and now, Lyris was asking him to do something unusual.
He walked to stand at the center as instructed. The circle of torchlight here felt small in the quiet night. Lyris raised her hands slightly, her fingers tracing a pattern in the air. Suddenly, the night air itself seemed to hum. Arin's chest tightened as a gentle breeze swirled around him, though the evening had felt still before.
Lyris began to chant softly in a low, rhythmic tone. The words were in a language Arin did not know, but their cadence sounded like a heartbeat of something ancient. The torches around them flickered; the shadows stretched and quivered as if alive. Arin gripped his sword hilt, unsure what was to come.
At first, nothing happened that he could name. Then Arin felt it: a subtle pressure on his mind, like a whisper in the back of his thoughts. He blinked, trying to clear his head, but the air grew oddly still and heavy.
Then the silhouettes of the training dummies around the edge of the yard began to shift. The wooden target board in front of him warped slightly. In the dim light, Arin thought he saw movement at its center—like a head turning ever so slightly. He frowned. It couldn't be.
He heard a rustle behind him, and the grass underfoot crackled sharply. Arin whirled his sword around, but only the empty night met his blade. The air smelled faintly of iron and pine.
A voice spoke, soft and insistent: "Arin..."
His name, whispered in a tone that instantly felt familiar. Arin's heart leapt and he took a step back, trying to locate the sound. The voice came again: low and faint. Arin recognized it—and it filled him with dread.
The ground beneath his boots seemed to blur, and Arin caught sight of a figure standing at the far end of the yard. It was something he knew... something he had feared but thought he'd left behind. His breath caught as he stepped forward.
The figure advanced. It wore the battered plate armor Arin had once seen on the grave of his old mentor, Professor Ralbek, slain in battle years ago. Arin's throat went dry. This Ralbek looked alive but horribly twisted. His face was a cruel distortion of what Arin remembered.
"You promised to be the best, Arin," the phantom hissed in a venomous whisper, and the voice wrapped around him like a stranglehold. "Yet here you stand, questioning your place."
Arin's knees wobbled. He forced himself to lift his chin. "I don't need this ghost of the past," he muttered under his breath. He advanced, slashing his sword downward at the apparition. The blade passed through, as if Ralbek were smoke. The phantom Ralbek chuckled—a dry, echoing sound.
"You cower now, do you? Mira will not save you here. You will prove nothing to me." The vision reached out with a gauntleted hand, as if to touch Arin's face.
Arin shoved backward, tripping over a clod of earth. He landed hard on one knee. When he pushed himself up, the phantom was gone. The yard was as empty as before, save for Lyris standing silently.
Arin's breathing was rapid. He raised his gaze and saw Lyris's face, but it warped in his vision. For an instant, Lyris's eyes flashed black. Then, like smoke, that image too faded, and suddenly Arin heard another voice—Mira's—calling his name softly from behind.
"Arin, please," the figure begged, arms outstretched. It looked exactly like Mira—until it wasn't. As Arin got closer, the image flickered, morphing into Tavian's face grinning cruelly. Arin's heart hammered as he realized it was Lyris testing him, projecting his fears. The figure laughed and shifted back to Mira's face for a heartbeat, then Tavian's sneer again. It became impossible to reach.
"I won't fall for your tricks," Arin growled aloud. The figure spat words: "You will break, Arin. We will find the darkness inside you." The world swayed. Arin felt tears sting his eyes. He swallowed hard; his voice was caught in his throat, but he forced out a shout. "Leave!" he commanded, sword raised high.
In that instant, something deep inside him snapped. The memory of Mira's encouragement, her quiet faith, flared up through the terror. The doubt Tavian had planted lost its power. Arin felt a sudden calm determination. "I am not afraid," he whispered to himself.
He let his breath clear. His heart pounded but his mind felt sharper. The tension in his shoulders eased as if a heavy weight had been lifted.
Arin looked upward at the moonlit sky, drawing in a steady breath. Then, in one swift motion, he charged forward with his practice sword held low and strong. He swung fiercely at the space before him, crying out, "Begone!"
The sword slash cut through the air, and in that moment the night snapped back to stillness. The twisted figure of Mira/Tavian vanished. The lanterns steadied. The wind died away. All became quiet.
Arin found himself on bent knees again on the grass. He was shaking, every muscle tight. He exhaled deeply, heart pounding like a drum. The entire sequence had lasted only moments, but in reality it felt much longer. He realized that he had sweated through his training tunic; his hands were dirty from the earth. His breathing came in heavy, ragged draws as he struggled to regain composure.
He slowly straightened and turned to see Instructor Lyris a few paces away. She stood motionless, her hands dropped to her sides, expression inscrutable. Lyris said nothing. Her eyes met his coolly, but he could not read them.
Arin opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Finally, he managed, "Instructor Lyris... what—"
She placed a finger to her lips, and it was silent. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, Lyris turned and walked away down the corridor, as quietly as she had appeared.
Arin remained kneeling on the grass until the last echo of her footsteps faded. When he finally stood, he was trembling all over from the ordeal. The world around him was calm: torches burned regularly, the night air was cool. Everything looked normal to any passing guard, except Arin was breathing hard and drenched in sweat.
He felt unsteady and warm tears of relief and confusion threatened behind his eyelids. He blinked them away. None of this could be talked about. No one must ever know what happened here, he told himself. With great effort, Arin reached down and picked up his practice sword from the ground, then sheathed it. Every step as he walked felt like it required twice the strength.
Arin's footsteps were nearly soundless on the soft earth as he left the training yard. The academy's stone corridors were empty, lit by lanterns. He kept his head down, avoiding even the eyes of the statues lining the halls.
He realized he had been holding his breath. Exhaling slowly, he glanced at the sword hanging by his side. It was just an ordinary practice weapon now, but he knew he had changed inside.
Reaching his dorm, Arin slipped inside quietly. His roommate was already asleep. Without making a sound, Arin washed his face and hands at the basin, then changed into his nightshirt. The cool water removed the grime of the night's work, but not the images in his mind.
Lying on his bed, Arin stared up at the ceiling. The night was silent except for the occasional soft hoot of an owl. Despite his exhaustion, sleep felt distant. His heart was still racing from the test.
He thought about what had just happened. The fear, the faces he had seen—each one represented a doubt or a memory he held. The fact that he had stood firm and overcome them gave him a tentative pride. Something inside him felt different, more awake and alive.
He thought of Mira's encouraging smile at lunch, of how she believed in him. He let her words echo in his mind, and they did much to steady his racing heart.
But Arin also felt a shadow within him, something ancient and fierce that had flared just beyond his control. He realized that Instructor Lyris had seen something in him that was worth testing, and something worth acknowledging. He didn't fully understand what powers or fears had been awakened, but he knew that he had faced them.
No one else could ever know what had happened under the moonlight here. To the world, it was just another normal night. Arin lay there in the dark, outwardly unchanged, but with a secret etched into his memory. He would carry it forward, using the quiet confidence he found tonight as a shield against the coming days.
At last, exhaustion overcame him. He closed his eyes, and under the watchful stars, Arin let sleep come—guarded by the knowledge that he had not broken beneath the weight of his trial, and quietly ready for whatever tomorrow might come