By the end of the week, Blaze could tell time by pain.
"Stop wincing like that."
Akira's voice cut through the early morning quiet as Blaze struggled into his uniform, fingers stiff and uncooperative. The fabric pulled tight over bruises that hadn't quite finished blooming.
"I'm not wincing," Blaze muttered.
Kai snorted from his bed. "You absolutely are."
Tatsuya, already awake and sitting unnaturally still in his corner, spoke without looking up.
"Micro-tension in the shoulders. You're compensating for fatigue."
Blaze stared at him. "You analyze people's micro-expressions for fun?"
"Only the breathing patterns," Tatsuya replied calmly.
Akira laughed, clapping Blaze on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Relax. You made it through your first week. That alone puts you ahead of most."
Blaze rubbed his shoulder. "Most of who?"
Akira's grin faded just a fraction. "Exactly."
The silence stretched.
Training didn't get easier.
If anything, it grew more punishing.
In combat training, Blaze barely had time to breathe between drills. Sweat blurred his vision as he blocked, parried, dodged, adjusted—sometimes without realizing he'd done it until he was already standing somewhere safer.
"Lucifer."
Riven's voice cut sharp as steel as she circled him during sparring. Her blade never wavered.
"You keep moving before I commit," she said. "That's not luck."
Blaze shifted his grip, unsure whether to feel defensive or exposed. "I'm not doing it on purpose."
She lunged without warning.
Blaze stepped aside.
Wood cracked as her strike hit empty air.
She stopped, breathing hard, staring at the space where he'd been. Slowly, she lowered her weapon.
"…You're irritating," she said flatly.
"That's the second time you've said that," Blaze replied before he could stop himself.
Her mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. "Good. Means you're paying attention."
An instructor's whistle ended the bout, but Riven didn't look away as she passed him.
"Figure it out," she muttered. "Before the academy figures it out for you."
That night, the dorm felt heavier.
Kai lay on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling. "You ever notice how none of the first-years joke anymore?"
Blaze sat on his bed, untying his boots. "I thought that was just you being dramatic."
Akira leaned against the window, arms crossed. "They're thinning the herd."
Blaze froze. "Just like that?"
Tatsuya nodded once. "Trials accelerate attrition."
Blaze swallowed. "And the first-years who don't make it?"
Silence.
Akira finally spoke, voice quieter than usual. "They stop being first-years."
Later, when the lights dimmed, Blaze couldn't sleep.
His body practically buzzed with tension, instincts whispering warnings without words. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something vast, unseen, waiting for him to step forward into oblivion.
Then the notices appeared the next morning—sealed, official, unavoidable.
TRIAL BY DAWN.
Akira peered over the lunch table, glancing at Blaze's letter, he took a moment to read it and then he just whistled.
"That's… Ominous…"
"We didn't get that notice last year."
Declared Kai in an uncharacteristically serious tone.
Blaze just stared at the words for a second, as if time might stall if he didn't look away.
The clock ticked anyway.
Suddenly, Riven's voice rung out behind him, shattering his trance.
"Try not to die," she said. "I'd hate to lose my favorite problem." And with that she dissapeared into the wave of students.
"Interesting choice in women."
Kai said, openly smirking at Blaze now.
"W-what?" he said. "That's not the case at all!"
Blaze stammered, failing to hide the tinge of pink that crept upon his cheeks.
Akira noticed this and chuckled before saying. "Getting defensive, and blushing?" he said. "That's practically a love confession in my book!"
"She's way too scary for me!"
Blaze retorted, desperately.
"Yeah, i guess she's a little too intimidating for a wimp like you huh?"
Kai teased, that smirk showing no signs of leaving his face.
"I-Im not a wimp!"
Blaze replied, trying to seem less upset than he actually was.
Akira patted his back with a laugh.
"Relax bud, we're just bustin' your balls."
Before he could respond, the academy's oldest bell rang—low, ancient, vibrating through bone and stone alike.
Blaze felt it settle in his chest.
This wasn't another lesson.
This was Beastfall asking a single question.
And at dawn, every first-year would have to answer.