When the principal of Evigheden Academy announced the month-long trial, it was meant to be the greatest showcase in the Academy's history.
Each class — Diamond, Spade, Club, and Hearts — would be assigned a city of the Lalrem Empire to govern. Not just in name, but in full: law, infrastructure, magic regulation, economics, and public morale. For thirty days, the students would rule, while the city lords stepped back to watch… and judge.
Above each city, giant arcane projections beamed the events across the Empire. Citizens watched the feeds with fascination — and bets were already being placed.
But no one expected the storm.
Three days in, the skies split, and Black Rain fell from the heavens. The game became a war.
The city of Varellia, capital of the southeast and known for its spell forges and leyline network, was suddenly at risk of overload. The mana barrier, originally built to shield against rain and mid-tier attacks, was now cracking under the weight of the storm.
Crown Prince Alaric Kaelar, regal in soaked sapphire robes, stood at the heart of the storm-drenched city square. Glyphs glowed like fire across his arms as he channeled casting, primal, and contract magic in unison.
"Redirect leyline flow to the southern conduits!" he ordered, voice cutting through the wind like steel. "City Guard — help my classmates maintain the spell pillars. Mages on the wall — alternate mana shifts every six minutes. No exceptions."
Around him, the city's Guard-Captain, a veteran mage-knight named Rovann, saluted.
"We'll hold the outer line, Your Highness. You focus on the core."
City mages and engineers worked shoulder to shoulder with Diamond Class students, anchoring the flickering barrier with emergency stabilizers. Civilians were moved to the upper districts, and Alaric personally led teams into the flooded artisan quarter to evacuate trapped families.
High above the city, the projection feed shimmered, showing Alaric's composed stance and the efficient coordination under his command.
The storm had struck too suddenly, too violently. The city could barely hold. Alaric refused to think about the villages outside the walls. Occasionally, he glanced at the projections, watching how the other cities fared. His expression grew grim.
....
The city of Tharne, built on high cliffs and home to warrior clans and smiths, was less fortunate.
The Black Rain swept in from the mountains, turning winding paths into rivers of sludge. The barrier here was weak — barely enough to shield a quarter of the city, the central district.
Enyo, hair plastered to her face, stood bare-armed in the torrent. Her massive claymore, driven into the stone, anchored a twisting storm of blood magic that shielded a sick bay full of villagers.
Her voice was hoarse but commanding.
"Get the infected into the forge caverns! Use smoke pits to boil the air — flush the sickness!"
Spade Class students fought beside Tharne's battle-priests and warriors, forming physical barricades against the flood. Aura specialists circulated heat to drive out the damp.
On the projection feed, the sight of Enyo lifting debris with blood tendrils while shielding a wounded child became the most re-shared moment across the Empire.
Enyo bit her pale lips, drained from shedding too much blood.
This is annoying, she thought.
Being a leader and pretending to be moral — something she severely lacked — was exhausting. She wanted to pout, but with the drone hovering nearby, she restrained herself. Keeping up appearances was more tiring than fighting.
This storm is such a killjoy, Enyo grumbled inwardly. She would rather battle hundreds of monsters than deal with this kind of crisis. Leadership was never her expertise.
Back in Varellia, a Diamond student scoffed.
"She's reckless."
Alaric said nothing, though his brow tightened.
The Spade Class focused on saving people and evacuating citizens to the city center, while Diamond Class worked tirelessly to maintain the barrier relentlessly assaulted by the storm.
But the barrier could only protect against magical attacks — not natural disasters like floods seeping in en masse. It merely stopped the Black Rain, the contaminated water saturated with magic.
....
The vibrant city of Belmire, famed for its floating platforms and experimental magic, turned into a nightmare when the storm disrupted its gravity wards. Parts of the city literally began drifting into the air.
And Club Class was loving it.
"All right," said Dane, representative of Club Class, standing atop the tilted roof of an upended inn. "Juo, stabilize the west dome. Zari, throw a prism wall over the market — and someone make sure no one gets crushed by flying fish again."
His smile faded when a crack of thunder split a building in two. Without hesitation, he leapt — gravity artifact flaring mid-air — and landed on a floating platform, catching a falling child just in time.
City enchanters, speed-users, and ward engineers followed his cues.
"You're not like the other academy types," the Belmire mayor remarked. He seemed to thrive amidst the chaos.
"We're Club," Dane replied. "We make chaos work."
The projection feed showed Club Class improvising wildly — walls of refracted light, gravity bridges, even a makeshift sky-raft ferrying civilians. Dane's coordination was informal and scattered, but undeniably effective.
Across the Empire, young people began rooting for Club Class — the underdogs who bent the rules but still got the job done.
The storm continued to rage. The Black Rain showed no sign of slowing.
But in taverns, temples, and noble halls across the Empire, the projection feeds flickered on massive crystal displays, showing the four cities under siege — and the students standing between order and collapse.
Some watched with awe. Others with scrutiny.
And in the highest tower of Evigheden Academy, the principal watched alone, fingers steepled beneath her chin.
"Let them compete," she murmured. "Let the world see who rises when the storm hits first."
She leaned forward, eyes reflecting the stormclouds.
Even though the cities had prepared feverishly, no one could have anticipated the storm's ferocity. Four cities — where the Evigheden Academy's trial took place — were struck hardest. Three more across the Lalrem Empire were ravaged as well.
The Temple of Light's great barrier had failed a week ago, and the Empire had been scrambling ever since — erecting new barriers, setting up refugee camps, and moving villagers to safety.
Lord Borris's face turned somber. He didn't dare imagine what had become of the travelers and villages still outside the cities.
Why did it have to be his city to suffer the full brunt — both storm and Black Rain? Even the rain alone would have been mercy compared to this.
...
The First Prince looked up at the projection of the struggling cities.
The principal of Evigheden Academy had done this deliberately. She had sent the students exactly where the storm would strike.
Those students had to hold out — at least until the others could reach them.
After a long silence, the First Prince made his decision.
They would assist Tharne first; it was struggling the hardest. Then Varellia and Belmire.
As for Ravine City, its lord was proving unexpectedly capable. Though his city had never stood out — mediocre, at best — it remained the steadiest amid disaster. The First Prince made a mental note to re-evaluate him.