The courtyard blazed beneath the sun.
Golden light washed over the stone, making every uniform gleam faintly.
Students crowded together — over a thousand first-years, the air thick with chatter and nerves.
"I hate assemblies," someone muttered.
Another yawned, adjusting his collar.
"I heard it'll rain today," a girl whispered, squinting at the clear sky.
But most talk circled one rumor — the kind that spreads before something big.
"They say the Headmaster's announcing a new trial."
"No way. It's the third month already!.
"Yeah, but he's serious this year — no second chances."
Boots struck the marble.
Professors lined the upper terrace, their robes dark against the sunlight.
Then silence began to ripple through the crowd like a spreading wave.
The headmaster stepped forward.
Headmaster Altharion — tall, severe, his coat whispering as he moved.
Even the breeze seemed to bow before him.
His voice carried through the courtyard.
"First-years of Draemond… today, your true path begins."
The murmurs died instantly.
"This is not a lesson," he said, gaze sweeping over them all.
"It is your measure. Your future."
"Those who fail will be expelled. Those who endure — will rise."
The sunlight dimmed slightly behind drifting clouds.
No one dared speak now.
Even the faint wind sounded like a warning.
"You will form teams of three," Draeven continued.
"You have five hours to choose. When the bells toll again, the Trials begin."
"Choose well — or be forgotten."
The courtyard exploded into noise the moment the Headmaster left.
Students rushed everywhere, voices rising like thunder.
Names echoed through the sunlight — teams forming, deals breaking.
Gareth didn't move.
He stood calm in the chaos, watching patterns in people's panic.
Every step, every shout — all calculated in his mind.
Cassiel folded his arms beside him.
"So, teams of three," he said lazily."
"Guess they're cutting dead weight early."
Then came a sudden hush.
Students turned as a figure walked through the crowd — steady, confident.
White-gold hair caught the sun like a blade.
"Teramon Vale," someone whispered.
"The genius from Luminara."
"They say he solved the Headmaster's own Veil theorem."
Teramon's smile was sharp, self-assured.
He looked at Gareth, eyes gleaming like polished steel.
"You're Valven, right? The quiet one."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to carry.
"Let's skip the introductions. I don't care who leads — I just don't lose."
Cassiel laughed under his breath. "He's got an ego the size of Draemond."
"Confidence," Teramon said without missing a beat.
"It's what separates the remembered from the forgotten."
His tone was smooth, every word deliberate.
Gareth just smiled faintly.
The crowd thinned as teams began to form across the courtyard.
Gareth, Cassiel, and Teramon stood beneath the sun's sharp glare.
Tension hung between them — silent, heavy, unreadable.
Cassiel broke it first.
He grinned, leaning closer to Gareth.
"So… think they'll let us bring snacks to our expulsion ceremony?"
Gareth laughed — really laughed.
The sound cut through the heavy air, easy and unbothered.
A few nearby students turned, surprised by how calm he seemed.
Teramon tilted his head, raising a brow.
"What's with the laugh?" he asked, half-curious, half-amused.
"Everyone else looks ready to faint, and you're enjoying yourself."
Gareth's smile lingered.
"If you're already scared before the fight starts," he said softly,
"you've already lost."
Teramon's grin returned, sharper this time.
"Now that," he said, "is something I can respect."
Cassiel just chuckled. "Yeah, sure — until he starts showing off."
Gareth glanced around the courtyard, his tone calm amid the noise.
"So," he asked, "where exactly is this event taking place?"
Cassiel and Teramon exchanged looks — uneasy ones.
Teramon folded his arms, the sunlight catching his faint smirk.
"The Wild Zone," he said.
Gareth frowned slightly. "You mean the outskirts?"
Cassiel shook his head slowly.
"No. The whole Wild Zone."
Even he sounded uncertain saying it aloud.
Teramon's voice dropped lower.
"Beyond the gates — where Veil storms never die out.
Where barbarians, failed scholars, and creatures twisted by the Veil still roam."
He looked away, his grin gone now.
"They say some of them were once human.
Rank 1.3 beasts, corrupted folk from the old wars."
Cassiel added under his breath, "The place where even soldiers don't patrol."
The courtyard's sunlight suddenly felt colder.
Gareth just nodded slowly.
"So that's it," he murmured.
"The test isn't to fight other students."
"It's to survive where monsters learned to think."
Cassiel groaned and slapped his forehead.
"Don't tell me you didn't read the notice, Gareth."
Gareth blinked. "Notice?"
Teramon chuckled under his breath. "Unbelievable."
Cassiel sighed. "Alright, listen carefully, genius."
He leaned closer, voice dropping as the crowd buzzed around them.
"The test's simple — on paper."
"We enter the Wild Zone. No limits. No map."
"It's a race — 10,000 kilometers."
Gareth frowned. "That's not a race. That's a death sentence."
Cassiel smirked darkly. "Exactly."
"The whole region's soaked in corrupted Veil energy."
He pointed to the shimmering barrier rising beyond the academy gates.
"Use your power carelessly, and the corruption eats you alive."
"Your veins twist, your mind breaks — you become one of them."
Teramon's expression sharpened.
"Only true geniuses can adapt — balance their Veil without dying."
"That's what this trial really tests."
Cassiel's grin faded.
"And there's more."
"Six ranked forbidden beasts wander that zone."
Gareth tilted his head. "Ranked?"
"Yeah," Cassiel said flatly. "The kind that end wars."
"If you see one — don't fight. Just run."
Gareth's voice cut through the air.
"What happens if someone dies?"
Cassiel went quiet for a moment.
Teramon gave a small, bitter laugh.
"They don't stop the test."
"They just mark your name off the roster."
Cassiel's expression hardened.
"The Academy calls it natural selection."
"They say only those who survive the Wild Zone are worthy of the Dawn's path."
Gareth's eyes darkened slightly.
"So this isn't a trial."
"It's a purge."
Teramon smirked faintly. "Welcome to Highwarden."
Cassiel just muttered, "Guess they weren't kidding about no second chances."
Above them, the first warning bell began to toll.
The bell's echo faded across the courtyard.
Students began splitting into groups, voices rising in nervous clusters.
Gareth stood still, eyes on the glowing horizon where the barrier waited.
Then Teramon turned toward him.
"Gareth Valven," he said plainly.
The sudden seriousness in his tone drew glances from nearby teams.
Cassiel frowned. "What now?"
Teramon's gaze didn't waver.
"I want to join your team."
A ripple went through the crowd.
Even the background chatter seemed to pause.
Gareth raised a brow. "Why?"
Teramon smiled faintly — calm, confident, and razor-sharp.
"Because I see you as a strong opponent."
"And I'd rather fight beside my rival than against him."
The crowd murmured, shocked.
"Did he just call Valven his rival?" someone whispered.
"Teramon? The top-ranked genius?"
Cassiel's grin returned, half amusement, half disbelief.
"Well, this just got interesting."
Gareth's eyes met Teramon's — steady, unflinching.
"Rival, huh?" he said softly.
"Then try to keep up."
The air between them pulsed — quiet, electric, inevitable.
The air buzzed with a strange, heavy excitement as Gareth stood between Cassiel and Teramon.
The crowd still murmured about what had just happened — Teramon, the academy's top prodigy, declaring Gareth his rival.
Gareth blinked once, then extended his right fist toward Cassiel. Cassiel grinned, bumping it without hesitation.
Then Gareth turned to his left, raising his other fist. Teramon smirked and met it with quiet conviction.
For a brief heartbeat, all three fists met in unity — two on either side of Gareth, the strange trio standing at the center of the courtyard as the morning bell rang loud and clear across Draemond Academy.
From the front steps, a tall woman with white hair and sharp silver eyes stepped forward.
Her uniform bore the mark of the academy's elite instructors — her name whispered across the crowd: Professor Valeryn Solane, the one known for her brutal philosophy — "Survival is truth."
Her gaze swept across the students like a blade.
"Form up. The trial begins now."
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"You've been taught what to do," she continued, her voice crisp and cold.
"You run. You survive. You reach the end checkpoint. And if you don't—"
she paused, a faint, cruel smile crossing her lips, "—you were never meant to be here."
The gates of the academy opened with a deep mechanical rumble, revealing a massive train waiting at the platform — its steel frame humming with Veil energy, carriages stretching far into the mist.
As the students filed toward it, the courtyard erupted with the sound of voices. Hundreds of families stood behind the iron fence, waving, calling out names. Some shouted blessings. Others wept.
It wasn't just commoners — even noble families stood there, their banners fluttering high.
Gareth glanced around. Cassiel had stopped to wave at his younger sister — Elira, her silver eyes filled with tears as she called his name again and again, her voice breaking. For the first time, Cassiel looked shaken.
Gareth turned back toward the crowd behind him… but no one waved for him. No hand raised, no voice called his name. Just the dull ache of silence.
He looked down, quietly stepping into the train. Cassiel followed a moment later, wiping his eyes and forcing a grin.
Across the platform, another train gleamed — the nobles' transport, gold-trimmed and veiled in banners. Inside, Kael Draven stood by the window, his dark eyes fixed ahead.
Then, through the crowd, he caught sight of Professor Draeven Crowholt — red eyes gleaming beneath his hood — lifting a hand in silent salute.
Kael allowed himself a small, rare smile before stepping into the train.
As both trains began to move, Professor Valeryn's voice echoed over the platform:
"This is tradition," she said. "Across all the Kingdom of Sion — every academy, every city. It is the trial that binds the young to the world they must inherit."
Her eyes turned west, toward the horizon where the sun dipped into the wild, broken lands.
"Your destination," she declared, "is the Western Wild Zone — beyond the Draemond borders. The place where light and survival are tested."
The trains roared forward — one of iron and grit, one of gold and silence — both bound toward the same, merciless fate.
Professor Valeryn's voice carried through the platform like steel scraping against glass.
"The Wild Zone," she said, pacing before the line of students as the train doors hissed open, "is not a playground. It is the graveyard of the unready."
She paused — her silver eyes narrowing, her tone turning colder.
"There are six things — six entities — that roam those lands. We call them the Drogen. Each of them is older than the Kingdom of Sion itself. And if fate despises you enough… you may meet one."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. But Valeryn raised her hand, silencing all.
"However," she continued, her voice dropping low, "there is one… you must never try to find. And if you see it… you run."
The air itself seemed to thicken around her words.
"It is called The Architect of Ruin."
Even the other instructors behind her turned slightly pale.
"They say it was once a sage of the First Age — a scholar of mirrors and minds. But something went wrong. It reached too deep into the Veil, and the Veil reached back."
Her eyes flicked toward the west — the direction of the Wild Zone.
"It can take your shape," she said quietly. "It can wear your voice. It can walk among your friends — and when you realize it's not you… it's already too late."
A shiver ran through the crowd. Cassiel glanced at Gareth, whispering, "She's joking, right?"
But Valeryn wasn't smiling.
"It has killed over five million souls in the last six centuries. Whole towns erased overnight. Whole armies turned to echoes of themselves."
She let the silence breathe, the only sound the faint hum of the trains.
"They say if you gaze too long at it… it notices you."
Her tone became almost reverent — as if describing a god of horror.
"And when it notices, it looks back. It sees you — your fears, your hopes, your very idea of self — and it takes it. It becomes you. Both metaphorically… and physically."
The platform had gone dead silent. Even the Veil shimmer in the air seemed to fade.
Professor Valeryn turned sharply toward the train.
"Remember this," she said, voice cutting through the stillness. "You cannot fight what doesn't bleed. If you see yourself walking toward you… run."
The train's horn howled. The doors slid open.
"Now," she said softly, "begin your trial."