The ride from the Berates Government Center was quiet, broken only by the hum of the engine.
"You're lucky," Veyra said finally, voice casual but edged with meaning. "You have about a year before the Winter Solstice. That's when every Sleeper — every Dormant — is dragged into their first real nightmare. Some survive… most don't."
Thaddeus clenched his fists. A year to grow, a year to prepare… and a year to potentially die if he wasted it.
"You've got options," Veyra continued. "You can just wait and let the government handle you when the Winter comes. Or…" She flicked her gaze sharply at him. "You can go into the academy. Take courses, meet people. Potential allies. People who might have the skill to back you up. Or you can let the government try to develop your abilities through basic training. Both ways you'll get stronger, but the academy… it's better in the long run."
Thaddeus let the words settle. He'd survived the trial, endured fire, slaughter, and the slaver — he wasn't about to waste a year sitting still. "I'll go to the academy," he said.
Veyra's lips curved into a small smile. "Good choice. It'll be safer than trying to go it alone."
She glanced at him sharply. "Any family to say goodbye to?"
He shook his head. "No. My parents… they died when I was young. I had twin siblings, but I had to give them up — better chance for them to survive without me."
"Then let's get moving."
Back at his small home, Thaddeus packed quickly — a toothbrush, a few essentials, nothing more. Memories of the slums, of the trial, and of fire still burned fresh in his mind, but he left without hesitation. Survival demanded forward motion, not nostalgia.
The academy loomed before him: massive, imposing, surrounded by iron gates and stone walls. Outside, a handful of other kids, all roughly his age, waited with the same mix of apprehension and excitement. Some were dressed plainly, others in the muted elegance of wealth or connections.
"First years, step forward," a voice called. The gates swung open.
Inside, the hallways echoed with polished footsteps. Veyra guided him until they reached a grand office, where a man in formal robes stood — the Principal.
"Welcome," the Principal said, voice deep and commanding. "You are now students of this academy. Learn, train, survive. Make allies, or you will find enemies in every shadow. Settle in. Make yourself known… or disappear."
Thaddeus nodded, feeling the weight of the place, the hum of potential around him. The building itself seemed alive, vast, a crucible for whatever came next.
Soon, the students were presented with their course options. The academy offered dozens of choices, designed to cultivate every conceivable skill: combat arts, tracking, survival, strategy, magic theory, alchemy, reconnaissance, hunting, wilderness tactics, and more.
Many students paused, studying the lists carefully. Royal families often sent their children prepared, tutors having already given them a jumpstart on key skills. Others skipped basic courses entirely. But Thaddeus had no such foundation — every skill mattered.
After scanning the options, he made his choice:
Hunting — tracking, ambushes, and stealth.
Survival — living off the land, foraging, traps.
Fighting — hand-to-hand combat, weapon training, conditioning.
Strategy — basic tactical planning, decision-making under pressure.
Most of the other students ignored Hunting or Survival. They either already knew it or were not interested. Fighting, however, was nearly universally popular — and among his choices, it was the one that most other students selected, leaving Thaddeus aligned with some of the larger peer groups without having to compromise his own priorities.
A few of the students, curious about the new arrivals, tried to approach him. A pair of taller boys with polished leather boots and ornate belts, clearly from affluent families, stepped forward with wide grins.
"Hey," one said, flashing a practiced smile. "You're new, right? I'm Varin, and this is my brother Loryn. Where are you from?"
Thaddeus gave a neutral nod. "The city."
"The city?" Varin's smile faltered. "Which part?"
"The slums," Thaddeus said flatly.
The words fell like a stone. The brothers glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, the practiced friendliness draining from their faces.
And
"Oh… right," Loryn said, forcing a laugh. "Well… good luck surviving here, I guess."
Thaddeus didn't flinch. He expected dismissiveness. "I'm fine," he said.
Varin shook his head and waved him off. "No offense, but… you're a bum compared to most of us here. Best stick to what you can actually handle."
He and Loryn walked away, leaving nothing behind but their arrogance. Thaddeus watched them go, expression unreadable. Let them think what they wanted. Approval was irrelevant. Survival required focus, not popularity.
He turned his attention back to the course selection. The academy gave each student time to finalize their choices. Others crowded around the lists, murmuring and comparing. Thaddeus didn't mingle. He didn't need approval. Every class was a tool for survival. Every lesson could fill a Blood Core.
When he handed in his selections, the Principal observed quietly. "Practical choices. You'll need them."
Thaddeus felt a twinge of satisfaction. These courses would prepare him for what was coming: the nightmares, the Blood Cores he still needed to grow, and the world that would test him at every turn.
The other students whispered among themselves. Some were curious, some dismissive. One girl with a long braid tilted her head at him, clearly trying to gauge if he was worth her time. When she learned of his slum background, her interest vanished, and she turned back to her friends, smirking.
Thaddeus paid them no mind. He had survived the fire, the slaver, and the village — social approval held no weight.
By the end of the day, the students were ushered to their dormitories. Thaddeus's room was simple, functional, and quiet. He unpacked only the essentials, leaving space for training gear and personal items. Outside, the academy hummed with life, the chatter of students mingling echoing through the halls.
He sat by the window, looking out over the courtyard. The other students were all young, roughly his age, yet most already carried the confidence of wealth or early training. He clenched his fists.
Three out of two thousand Blood Cores were his for now, but he reminded himself: survival wasn't granted. It was earned, one lesson, one fight, and one choice at a time.
Thaddeus was ready.