Scene 1 — The First Ranking
The arena floor looked like a basketball court rebuilt by someone who hated students.
Concrete replaced polished wood. Steel rails cut off any illusion of comfort. Above us, catwalks stretched the length of the space, teachers leaning over them with clipboards like spectators waiting for a bad outcome.
We stood shoulder to shoulder under the lights—first years, fresh blood, the ones people joked about like we weren't standing right there.
Mr. Johnson stood on the stage with his hands in his pockets, posture loose, eyes bored.
"Okay. First years," he said, then paused, his gaze drifting lazily across the crowd. "Or what we like to call the Class of Elimination."
A few nervous laughs died immediately.
"If you make it out of here—whether by luck or skill—you'll receive your first ranking. It won't be your last. Every test from here on out adjusts it."
He yawned.
"No questions. Good."
The scars on his face caught the light in pale lines. They weren't decorative. They were proof.
His eyes lingered on the non-Traveler clusters—kids without names anyone cared about.
The kid beside me leaned in, voice tight.
"Javi… I don't think he likes us."
I didn't look at him. I was watching the Traveler-family kids instead.
They weren't listening.
They were already picking targets.
"He doesn't," I said quietly. "But we can only blame ourselves for being weaker than him."
"Odin Academy's the best place to get a verified Traveler placement," I continued. "So use anything you've got to survive."
Above us, the timer flickered to life: 10:00.
"The rules are simple," Johnson said. "Don't die. Don't get knocked out. If you're conscious when the siren hits, you pass."
He pointed toward the catwalks.
"We'll be watching."
The kid next to me swallowed.
"This is only round one. Can't let myself down."
I watched a Traveler kid roll his shoulders like he was about to spar. Watched another adjust her grip on a bow case.
"Stick with your own kind," the kid whispered. "That's how you survive with marks better than the rest—"
"If I do that," I cut in, "I'm doing them a favor."
I looked at the Traveler cluster.
"If I want to pass, I can play safe," I said.
"But if I want to rank high, I need meat on the bones."
The siren screamed.
I moved first.
Wind compressed under my foot, hardening for a heartbeat. I rode it forward as the ground blurred beneath me.
The Traveler group was just starting to spread when I hit them.
My fist buried into a boy's ribs before he finished speaking.
"Who the fu—"
He folded, coughing air.
I pivoted and snapped a kick toward the archer girl reaching for her bow—
A bigger boy stepped in, forearm raised.
Good.
I swung my leg down like a hammer.
The wind under my foot compressed again and detonated.
The crack echoed through the arena as he flew backward into the archer, both of them stumbling.
Their backline panicked. Two casters tried to form spells.
I didn't let them.
Wind step.
Impact.
Another body down.
"Nine minutes!" someone shouted.
I didn't stop moving.
My grin came easy.
Ten minutes.
No holds barred.
And I was done being prey.
Scene 2 — Observation
From the catwalk, it was easier to tell who would break.
Mr. Johnson leaned against the rail, watching bodies scatter below. Panic showed fast in first years—overcommitment, sloppy casting, bad spacing.
Then he found the problem.
"Hm."
The boy wasn't flashy. That was what made him noticeable.
Wind only appeared in short, violent bursts—changing weight, direction, timing. His body took the hits. The air just made them heavier.
"Looks like we've got a monster in the ten-year anniversary class," Johnson muttered. "Another TJ situation."
"I pulled his report," Tia said, stepping beside him. "Name's Javi. Sponsored."
Johnson's brow twitched.
"By who."
"Huginn."
That stopped him.
"Background's thin," she continued. "Venezuela. Records are either incomplete or scrubbed."
"Ignore it," Johnson said. "Huginn doesn't sponsor liabilities."
Below them, Javi drove another student back, never stopping his movement.
"He's maintaining a constant attraction layer," Tia noted. "Wind affinity. Recycling instead of venting."
Johnson exhaled.
"Efficient. Ugly."
She scrolled once more.
"Academically," she said, "he tests one level above Thomas."
Johnson rubbed a hand down his face slowly.
"So they both suck."
"Yes, sir."
He dropped his hand and looked back down at the arena.
"Figures."
A beat.
"Assign him to your homeroom," he added. "I don't want a repeat."
Tia nodded.
Below them, the fight kept going.
Scene 3 — The Line
Blood hit the concrete before I realized it was mine.
The staff caught me across the mouth, snapping my head sideways as I staggered back and spat red onto the floor. She didn't rush me—she reset, boots sliding apart as ice crawled up her staff in controlled layers.
One of the last ten standing.
Bodies were everywhere. Some out cold. Some barely moving. The boy I'd spoken to earlier was on one knee, arms wrapped around his ribs.
"This is a time test," she said, disgust sharp in her voice. "Not a slaughter."
I wiped my mouth and straightened.
"No," I said. "But it doesn't say I can't."
"You didn't have to go this far."
"My teacher told me something," I replied, stepping forward. "When you're surrounded by enemies, you do what you can—because you can."
Wind gathered around my palm.
"And none of us are allies," I added, "unless we decide that ahead of time."
I moved.
Fire rolled over the wind as I opened my hand.
My palm struck her staff.
It shattered.
She slammed into the wall, ice evaporating in a hiss of steam. I turned—
Too late.
The broken length of her staff came back at me, spinning fast, aimed straight for my chest.
My hands snapped up instinctively, palms facing each other like I was holding an invisible globe.
Wind screamed inward.
The air hardened.
The staff struck the shield and detonated sideways, splintering as the pressure redirected it off-line. The force still drove me back a step, shock rattling through my ribs.
Heat surged.
Flames tightened instead of flaring, coating my hands as my stance lowered.
I stepped forward.
Above me, the catwalk shifted.
Teachers leaned in.
Not concern.
Interest.
Pressure locked onto me from above. Mr. Johnson gripped the rail, posture rigid, eyes hard.
Bell or not, his stare warned, take one more step and we move.
The girl slid weakly down the wall, barely conscious.
Brrrrrrrr.
The alarm cut through the arena.
I didn't relax.
The flames stayed as I raised my hands slowly, palms open—not surrender. I counted how many teachers were already ready to move.
Enough.
That was when I dismissed the fire.
"All students disengage," Johnson's voice echoed over the PA. "If you are conscious, you have passed."
Medical teams flooded the floor.
"Due to… excessive enthusiasm displayed this year," he continued, "test parameters will be updated going forward. Your next evaluation is in two weeks."
A pause.
"Good luck studying at the library. You'll need it."
I stepped away without looking back.
Eyes followed me until I exited the arena.
My section was over.