Trial by Fire

Act I — First Classes

Day one, and apparently we weren’t even worthy of a classroom yet.

We were marched onto the main training grounds where an officer waited, crimson armor gleaming in the sun. His presence cut like a blade, every gesture precise.

Kaien Kurozume. Instructor. Trainer.

His voice rang sharp enough to silence whispers: "Before you can attend classes, you will prove yourselves. This academy does not waste time on the unworthy."

No essays. No exams. Just survival.

Whispers shot through the cadets: "They’re doing this on the first day?" "What if we fail?" "Then you go home… if you’re lucky."

Me? I yawned. “Fantastic. Boarding school orientation is gladiator combat. Should’ve guessed.”

Act II — The Trial Arena

A hundred of us stood shoulder to shoulder, sweat already trickling in the heat. The air was thick with fear — one massive crowd, all waiting to be broken down into survivors and failures.

When Kaien lifted his hand, the runes ignited.

Two paths opened before us:

Combat trial → flame beasts materialized: wolves with molten fangs, salamanders dripping embers, eyes glowing like coals.

Obstacle gauntlet → collapsing flame pillars, lava platforms, swinging rune-chains over fire pits.

Whoever designed this clearly thought “safety rules” were optional.

Cadets wavered. Some were already drenched in sweat. One fainted outright and had to be dragged away.

At the edge of the arena, a dragon on chains snapped its jaws at a cadet, teeth grazing his training armour.

Officers only chuckled, cold and amused.

Kaien’s eyes swept across us, emotionless: "Weakness burns. Strength endures. Choose your path."

Act III — Prodigy Spotlight

The prodigies stepped up first, of course.

Itsuki Raijin — lightning danced between his fingers, shadows coiling at his feet. His grin was sharp, predatory, like every opponent was already beaten. Cadets murmured in awe, whispering of his soul-born shadow — not an element, but a rare power carried in blood and soul. Dangerous. Unnatural. I filed him under “watch closely.”

Selene Orvale — ice and water in flawless tandem. Calm. Surgical. She froze a flame beast mid-lunge, shattered it into glittering shards, and moved on without so much as blinking. The silence around her was respect.

Jiroth — earth-tamer with a bonded wyvern pacing at his side. The wyvern’s wings stirred ash as he bulldozed through the gauntlet, stone shields blooming around him. Every step cracked the arena floor like thunder.

Me, sarcastic: “Oh great. We’ve got Sparky, Elsa, and Discount Dragon Rider. This is shaping up to be the weirdest circus I’ve ever joined.”

Then came Kael Arval. Lightning and flame arced in clean, disciplined movements. His strikes were textbook, efficient, practiced. Cadets cheered like they’d just seen the second coming of Heaven’s generals.

And then Lyra Arval.

Wind and ice weaving together in a dance — her movements soft, deliberate, almost too beautiful for combat. Shards of ice spun in her currents like a song, a rhythm only she could hear. Every strike looked less like a fight and more like choreography. She wasn’t rigid like Kael, she was fluid, precise. Her aura drew eyes like moths to flame.

I smirked. “Of course golden boy and green-haired angel get the spotlight. Guess I’m supposed to juggle fireballs with jazz hands.”

Act IV — Haise’s Turn

Whispers rose before I even moved: "That’s him." "The miracle boy." "He doesn’t even chant…"

I strolled in, yawning like this was a warm-up.

The Divine Sword of Light flickered into being in my hand, humming with judgment.

A flame wolf lunged. I swung lazily — fire and wind fused down the blade, one slash scattering it to ash.

Molten barriers flared. I doused them with water, then cracked them apart with lightning surging through steam.

The floor erupted, flame swallowing half the arena.

I raised my palm. Aetheric Shield bloomed — radiant, impenetrable. Fire slammed against it, sparks splintering harmlessly.

Gasps rippled through the cadets. I tilted my head. 

"Homework: incinerated. Midterms: electrocuted. Finals? Pending."

On the outside? Pure arrogance. Inside?

“If I really snapped, this would be over before they blinked. But no… let them think I’m only playing with toys.”

I sheathed the sword, strolled out without a scratch. hands in my pockets like it was nothing.

But one pair of eyes followed me too long.

Kaien.

The instructor’s gaze lingered sharp, unreadable. Not awe. Not praise. Something colder. Like he wasn’t just watching my trial — he was weighing me against a ledger only he could see.

I smirked wider, because if I didn’t… I’d shiver.

Act V — Other Trials

The spectacle didn’t end with the prodigies. Dozens of cadets faltered.

A boy staggered through the gauntlet, coughing as the lava heat clawed into his lungs.

His Crownlink flared crimson — runes flashing across the band like a warning.

Before he collapsed, a shimmer enveloped him, and in a blink he was gone — teleported straight to the Safe Chamber.

Only the scorch marks where he’d stood remained, smoking faintly.

A girl’s ice spell fizzled against a salamander. Its molten tail whipped toward her skull — her outline fractured like glass, teleported out pale and trembling.

Another cadet lost grip on a rune-chain above the fire pits. He plummeted screaming, caught mid-fall in rune-light, dumped coughing blood at the edge.

One boy dropped his weapon outright, shaking his head. The runes carried him out unburned but humiliated.

No deaths. No glory. Just failures pulled out like broken pieces from the forge.

The officers didn’t cheer. Didn’t comfort. They just scribbled on their tablets — names, ranks, judgments.

Kaien’s voice cut through the tension:

"Weakness will not be punished by death. But it will be remembered. You were spared by the runes today. Do not expect mercy again."

The weak were spared fire, but not shame.

Act VI — Closing Scene

Kaien stepped forward. His gaze swept over us, flat and sharp.

"Top three cadets today:" "Haise Tenjin. Itsuki Raijin. Lyra Arval."

Gasps. Jealous whispers.

Kael stiffened, fists trembling. Sparks crawled across his hands — not from showmanship, but raw frustration.

His glare cut into me like he wanted to tear the arena apart. Rivalry wasn’t just alive. It was scorching.

Lyra’s eyes flicked to me, relief warming her smile. Something lingered there — unspoken, softer than applause. I noticed. I always notice.

Around us, cadets muttered: 

“He fights like royalty, untouchable.” 

“No wonder they call him heir of the crown.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets, smirk still glued in place. 

"Day one and I’m already the circus act. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Maybe dragon fire for breakfast."

But then Kaien raised his hand again, cutting through the noise.

"Listen well. None of you are being sent home. This was not exile. It was analysis. A measure of your strength and weakness. Consider yourselves lucky."

Relief rippled through the cadets — some sagged, others clutched at their chests like they’d been given back their lives.

I caught Kael’s glare again, burning hotter than the fire pits. Lyra’s quiet presence steadied at my side.

And in my chest, for just a heartbeat, shadows curled. A whisper of power not mine, not theirs. A reminder.

The Academy might train soldiers. But the Phantoms? They were still watching.