ChatGPT sa:Chapter 22: Into the Grounds
The Academy's bells tolled gray light into gold. Dawn found the courtyard thick with breath and noise, the kind that trembles because it wishes to be steady. Servants laid out satchels of dried meat, flasks of water, coils of rope. Instructors walked the lines, eyes like measuring rods. Priests stood in their white robes at the terrace, pale as bones, hands folded, lips moving without sound.
Ernest buckled his satchel with deliberate fingers. Inside: bread, flint, a knife he would not use, bandages. Enough. He slung it over his shoulder and stepped into place beside Mikel, who adjusted the strap of his own with quiet patience. Rowan checked the grip of his practice blade three times, then forced his hand to still. Celina carried nothing visible but the curse chained at her wrist and the silence she wore like armor.
Magister Halvern walked before them, spectacles cold, voice sharper than bells. "Controlled Grounds. You will not hunt glory. You will not measure yourselves by kills. You will move with discipline or fail with noise. Priests observe. I observe. The circle of chalk was play; this is contract."
Students shifted. Some nodded too quickly. Some smirked to hide the weight. Ernest stood still. His breath measured. His mask unbroken.
The gates yawned open. Beyond them, the forest leaned close, branches knotted overhead, leaves already whispering secrets. The Grounds were no ordinary wood; they had been seeded with teeth and shadow, beasts penned by spell and stone. To most, it was trial. To Ernest, it was homecoming.
The path underfoot was damp, earth dark with dew. Birds called from hidden branches, their notes sharp, urgent. Teams fanned out along marked trails, each led by an instructor, each flanked by a priest. Team Two walked west, Halvern ahead with his staff, a priest behind whose lashes were white as snow. His gaze lingered on Celina, slid across Ernest, and did not leave.
Rowan muttered low. "Feels like walking into a mouth."
"It is," Ernest said.
Mikel glanced back once, scanning trees. "Nothing yet."
"Noise first," Ernest murmured. "Teeth after."
The forest thickened. Roots tangled the path. The air grew damp, carrying the musk of fur and rot. Shadows shifted where none should. Whispers of goblins rose—a scrape of stone, a hissed word too guttural to belong to men.
Halvern raised his staff. "Objective lies west ridge. Goblin horn. Break it, return. No detours. No vanity."
They moved again. Rowan flanked left, eyes sharp now, not wild. Mikel watched the rear, blade easy in his grip. Celina walked beside Ernest, her stride even.
"You've been in woods before," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"You don't look up. You listen down."
He met her gaze a fraction. "Wolves speak through the ground first."
Emerald eyes flickered with a faint glint. Not smile. Recognition.
The first clash came sudden. Three goblins burst from brush, crude blades raised, eyes glowing faint in shadow. Rowan's blade lifted, too eager; his swing cut one down, but left his flank bare. Another goblin lunged, teeth snapping.
"Rowan." Ernest's word cut through the air like steel.
Rowan froze. His blade jerked back into guard. The goblin's strike missed. Mikel stepped in, clean cut, beast down.
"Control," Ernest said.
Rowan swallowed and nodded.
Celina lifted her hand. A bead of green-white fire sparked, hovered. The curse bit her wrist; her jaw tightened. She let the flame hover only long enough to drive the last goblin back into shadow. Then she closed her hand, fire gone, pain hidden.
The priest behind them whispered, but not to them.
Halvern's spectacles glinted. "Move."
They climbed the ridge, shadows stretching long. Goblin tracks marked the soil—scratches, claw-prints, the drag of crude spears. A crude banner fluttered ahead, a skull lashed to a pole, its eye sockets stuffed with feathers. Beyond it, the faint sound of a horn's low breath.
"Outpost," Mikel whispered.
"Rowan," Ernest said. "Noise left. Draw eyes."
Rowan's jaw clenched. He moved, cutting brush with loud strokes. The goblins turned toward him, eyes flaring, mouths wide with hissed laughter.
"Celina," Ernest murmured.
Her hand lifted. Fire flared, tight, controlled, painting shadows green. Goblins hissed, hesitated.
Ernest stepped forward, his black eyes narrowing. His voice slid out, soft, low, edged with power.
"Fall."
The nearest goblin froze, knees buckling. Another shrieked, dropped its blade. The third turned, snarling, only to meet Mikel's cut.
"Now." Ernest's hand flicked. Rowan lunged, blade striking the crude horn before it could be raised. The wood splintered. The sound choked before it was born.
Silence rushed in, sudden, heavy.
The priest inhaled sharply, lashes trembling. Halvern's staff thumped once on the ground. "Objective met."
Rowan lowered his blade, panting. Sweat shone on his face. He looked at Ernest—resentment there, but something else too. Recognition.
Mikel cleaned his blade with calm hands. Celina opened her palm, hiding the faint tremor. Her eyes met Ernest's. A predator's gaze. A vow in silence.
They returned by the west line, the forest watching, the priests' eyes colder still. The gates closed behind them with the sound of teeth meeting.
Students gathered in the courtyard, voices low, eyes sharp. Whispers rose, already hungry.
"They broke the horn.""Team Two. Aldery's team.""Gold's fire. Stag's strike. Aldery—did you see the goblins fall?"
Ernest walked past them all, his mask unbroken. Whispers chased him, but none dared stand before him.
In his room, he opened his notebook.
Rowan—noise turned to purpose. Still fragile. Useful if held.
Mikel—steady. Reliable anchor.
Celina—curse bites, but she obeys herself, not it. Strength in silence.
Priests saw. The Veil held. But their hunger grows.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard lay below, alive with whispers. Across the green, Celina's candle burned, unwavering.
His reflection looked back—pale, calm, merciless.
"The forest bent," he whispered. "The nobles bowed. The class learns to kneel."
His lips curved, thin as a knife.
"And soon the gods will see it too. I am the Voice that commands—even in silence."