The academy bell rang before sunrise.
Its sound rolled across Vallorae like a temple conch at dawn—deep, solemn, unavoidable. Students gathered in the central hall, armor half-fastened, packs slung over shoulders. Excitement mixed with tension, the way it did before a long journey or an important exam.
The Field Assessment teams were being finalized.
Aerin stood near the back, observing.
This wasn't a classroom test. Names mattered here. Reputation mattered. Who you were grouped with could decide whether you returned injured—or not at all.
An instructor read aloud.
"Team Three. Ruins Classification: Upper F, potential E."
A pause.
"Aerin Vael."
A few heads turned.
"Lyris Kael."
That name drew more attention.
Aerin looked up.
She stood several rows ahead—tall, composed, red hair tied back loosely, posture straight without being rigid. There was no nervous shifting, no forced confidence. Just quiet readiness, like a drawn bow held steady.
So this was her.
"Dorn Hale."
A broad-shouldered boy with a shield nodded grimly.
"Serin Faye."
A lean archer raised a hand, eyes sharp.
Four people.
Balanced. Deliberate.
They met an hour later in the preparation courtyard.
Lyris spoke first.
"I'll be direct," she said. "I'm not interested in heroics. We clear, record, return."
Her voice was calm, slightly cool—but not dismissive.
Dorn grunted approval.
Serin shrugged. "As long as no one freezes when things move."
Lyris turned to Aerin.
"You're the dual-wielder."
"Yes."
"And you fight… differently," she added.
Aerin met her gaze. There was no challenge in it—only evaluation.
"I fight to survive," he replied.
For a moment, something unreadable passed through her eyes.
Then she nodded. "Good."
Just one word.
But it carried weight.
They departed before noon.
The academy gates opened slowly, ancient runes embedded in the stone flaring faintly as the team passed through. Outside, the world widened—rolling terrain, broken roadways, distant forests like dark waves on the horizon.
Aerin felt it again.
That subtle pull.
Not from the ruins.
From beyond.
As if the land itself remembered something.
They camped by evening near a weathered watchtower, its stones cracked and moss-covered. Fire crackled softly. Serin roasted dried meat, Dorn checked perimeter lines.
Lyris sat opposite Aerin, polishing her weapon.
"You don't ask questions," she said suddenly.
"I ask when it matters."
"And when does it matter?"
"When answers change outcomes."
She studied him in silence.
"Where did you learn that?"
Aerin thought of another life. Another world. Another kind of struggle.
"I learned it by losing things," he said.
That was enough.
The fire burned lower. Wind carried the scent of grass and distant rain, like a pre-monsoon breeze heavy with promise and danger.
That night, as Aerin drifted into sleep, the sealed presence stirred again.
Not chains this time.
Names.
Ancient ones.
And somewhere far below the earth, something listened.