The academy did not ease into preparation.
It lunged.
From the morning after the announcement, Verdant training sharpened into something focused and relentless. Schedules tightened. Free hours evaporated. The Convergence Trial hung over every session like a storm cloud, charging the air with urgency.
Freya felt it in the rhythm of her days.
Wake. Run until her lungs burned. Drill footwork until her legs trembled. Spar. Study. Repeat.
The Verdant training yard became her second home. Sunlight spilled across packed earth and polished stone, catching on the shimmer of manifested contracts. Instructors stalked the perimeter like hawks, eyes sharp for hesitation.
"Again," Instructor Halvren barked.
Freya reset her stance. Across from her, Sera rolled her shoulders and grinned.
"Try not to embarrass me," Sera said.
"No promises," Freya shot back.
They moved.
Sera's contract manifested in a rush of green light, a lithe, vine-limbed creature that flowed around her like living armor. It lashed out in controlled arcs. Freya ducked and pivoted, her boots scuffing the ground.
Inky sat at the edge of the ring.
Watching.
He always just watched.
Freya's body moved on instinct honed by weeks of repetition. She slipped inside Sera's reach and tapped her shoulder. A clean strike.
Halvren's nod was curt approval. "Better. You're anticipating now, not reacting."
Warm satisfaction flickered in her chest. It was quickly swallowed by a familiar frustration. Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the small black cat observing in silence.
Around them, other students fought in tandem with their contracts. Commands and responses braided seamlessly. Power surged and receded in practiced harmony.
Freya fought alone.
The realization pressed heavier with each passing day.
During a break, she dropped onto the grass beside the ring, sweat cooling on her skin. Her muscles hummed with exhaustion. Inky padded over and settled just out of reach.
"You know, you could help," she muttered.
He did not blink.
Sera flopped down beside her, breathing hard. Her contract dissolved into motes of light.
"You're improving fast," Sera said. "Seriously. A month ago you were all instinct. Now you're definitely… sharper."
Freya smiled faintly. "Thanks."
Sera's gaze flicked to Inky. "Still not manifesting?"
"No," Freya said.
The word tasted bitter.
Sera hesitated. "You should talk to Research. Sometimes contracts need encouragement."
Encouragement.
Freya's jaw tightened. She had tried. Quiet commands during training. Focused requests in the privacy of her room. Inky met each attempt with the same impenetrable silence.
He was there, always there.
Yet he did not guide her. Did not correct her stance or whisper strategies the way other contracts did. He merely watched her struggle and learn and bleed, offering only uninterested stares.
A knot of resentment twisted in her chest.
That night, it followed her back to her room.
The city glowed beyond the window, a tapestry of light and motion. Freya sat cross-legged on the floor, her sketchbook open but forgotten. Inky occupied his usual place on the sill, a dark punctuation mark against the skyline.
"Why won't you help me?" she asked.
The words hung in the air, fragile and raw.
She did not raise her voice. Anger simmered beneath the surface, banked but potent.
"Everyone else… their contracts talk to them, guide them. You just—watch."
Inky's tail flicked once.
"That's not enough," she whispered. "Not for this."
The Convergence Trial loomed in her mind. The teams. The expectations. The chance to stand on equal footing with students who fought as one with their partners.
She felt… incomplete.
A memory surfaced unbidden. The night of the attack. His power erupting in absolute certainty. She knew he could act when it mattered, though ever since that night he has done nothing at all to help her.
Her hands curled into fists.
"I'm trying," she said. "I'm doing everything I can. I just—"
Her voice faltered.
"I don't want to freeze again."
The confession slipped out before she could stop it. The room seemed to contract around the words.
Inky turned.
His gaze met hers, and for a heartbeat the air thickened. Something ancient stirred behind his eyes. Attention, sharp and focused, settled fully on her.
It was not comfort.
It was recognition.
Then he looked away.
The pressure vanished. The room exhaled.
Freya swallowed hard. Frustration and something more tangled in her chest. She grabbed her sketchbook and drew until the ache dulled, lines carving her turmoil into paper.
The days blurred into a relentless cadence of effort.
Verdant training intensified. Team drills replaced individual sparring. Freya found herself paired with students she barely knew, learning the rhythms of their movements. Adapt. Adjust. Survive.
She pushed herself harder than before. Every misstep burned. Every improvement felt earned in sweat.
And always, at the edge of her awareness, Inky watched.
Whispers began to follow her.
Not cruel. Curious.
"She's good, but…"
"Her contract doesn't do anything."
"Is it dormant?"
Freya pretended not to hear. She focused on the ring, on the next movement, the next breath. But the words lodged under her skin.
During one brutal session, exhaustion caught her off guard. Her foot slipped on the edge of the boundary line. Her opponent's strike came faster than expected.
For a split second, the world narrowed.
The old paralysis lurched toward her.
No.
She forced herself to move. The strike grazed her shoulder instead of landing clean. Pain flared. She welcomed it. Proof that she was still in motion.
Halvren's voice cut through the haze. "Reset."
Freya staggered back into position. Her heart pounded in her ears. She felt Inky's gaze like a weight between her shoulder blades.
Watching.
Always watching.
Something in her chest hardened.
If he would not guide her, she would guide herself.
The realization settled with surprising clarity. It did not erase the frustration. It did not soothe the sting of being different. But it gave her something solid to stand on.
She stepped forward.
This time, her movements were cleaner. Decisive. She met her opponent's advance with controlled ferocity, every ounce of training distilled into action.
When Halvren finally called an end to the session, her body trembled with fatigue. But beneath the exhaustion, a fierce pride glowed.
She had not needed him.
As the sun dipped low and the training yard emptied, Freya lingered at the edge of the ring. Inky padded to her side.
She looked down at him.
"I'm still angry," she said quietly. "But I'm not waiting anymore."
The words felt like a line drawn in the sand.
Inky's eyes reflected the fading light. For an instant, she thought she saw approval flicker in their depths. It was gone before she could be sure.
They walked back toward the dormitory together, shadows stretching long across the stone. The Convergence Trial drew closer with each passing day, its gravity pulling her forward.
Freya's muscles ached. Her mind buzzed with drills and strategies. Beneath it all, a steady resolve took root.
With or without his voice, she would become strong.
The first team evaluations arrived three days later.
Verdant assembled before sunrise. Mist clung low to the training yard, turning the air cool and sharp in Freya's lungs. Students stood in uneven rows, tension humming quietly between them.
Lysara walked the line with a clipboard in hand. The other prefects flanked her, murmuring observations. No one spoke above a whisper. Even the most restless students felt the weight of the moment.
Freya kept her gaze forward. Inky sat at her heel, tail curled neatly around his paws.
"Today," Lysara said, her voice carrying cleanly through the hush, "you will be assessed in provisional teams. These are not final selections. They are tests of compatibility."
A ripple moved through the rows.
Names were called. Groups formed and reformed. When Freya heard hers paired with Sera and two upperclassmen, her pulse kicked.
They were led to a segmented section of the yard where shifting barriers rose from the ground. The exercise was brutal in its simplicity. Navigate the maze while under simulated attack. Protect a designated point. Adapt to changing terrain.
"Ready?" Sera murmured.
Freya nodded.
The barriers slammed into motion.
Chaos erupted. Illusory strikes flashed from unexpected angles. The upperclassmen moved with practiced efficiency, but their rhythm clashed with Freya's instinct to read and react. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, caught between following and leading.
Then she saw it.
A pattern in the attack cadence. A gap opening every third rotation.
"Left corridor!" she shouted. "Now!"
Sera trusted her instantly. The team pivoted. They slipped through the gap just as the maze reconfigured behind them. Momentum surged. Coordination snapped into place.
They reached the objective with seconds to spare.
When the simulation dissolved, Freya's chest heaved. Sweat cooled on her skin. Lysara watched from the perimeter, her expression unreadable.
"Effective call," one of the upperclassmen said grudgingly.
Freya managed a breathless smile. Inside, something unfurled. Not triumph. Validation.
The evaluations continued through the morning. Successes and failures braided together into a tapestry of effort. Some teams fractured under pressure. Others found unexpected harmony.
Through it all, Inky remained a silent shadow.
At midday, Freya retreated to the shade of a broad tree, her body humming with fatigue. Conversations buzzed around her. Students dissected performances with surgical intensity.
"You're climbing," Sera said, dropping beside her. "People noticed that call."
Freya stared at her hands. They trembled faintly.
"I noticed something else," she admitted.
"What?"
"I didn't look at him," Freya said softly, nodding toward Inky. "Not once."
The realization settled heavy and strange. She had moved entirely on her own perception. Her own judgment.
Sera followed her gaze. "Maybe that's your strength," she said simply.
The words lingered.
That evening, Verdant gathered again, this time in smaller clusters. Evaluations had sharpened rivalries but also forged fragile alliances. Freya found herself surrounded by teammates discussing strategy with earnest intensity.
Maps spread across the table. Fingers traced hypothetical routes. Voices overlapped in controlled debate.
Freya listened, then spoke when patterns emerged. Her suggestions were met not with skepticism, but consideration. The shift was subtle but undeniable.
They were beginning to trust her eyes.
Later, alone in her room, the quiet pressed close. The city lights shimmered beyond the glass. Freya sat at her desk, sketchbook open.
Her pencil captured the maze from memory. Intersecting corridors. Sudden openings. At the center, four figures moving as one.
She hesitated, then added a fifth shape at the edge of the page.
Watching.
Inky's silhouette.
She studied the drawing for a long moment.
"You're not part of the team," she murmured. "But you're… part of me."
The distinction mattered. It softened the sharp edge of her resentment without erasing it.
Inky leapt lightly onto the desk. His gaze followed the lines of the sketch. For a heartbeat, the air between them thrummed with quiet acknowledgment.
Freya exhaled slowly.
The next days passed in escalating intensity. Evaluations refined into tentative team lists. Names circulated in hushed speculation. Each session carved deeper grooves of skill and endurance.
Pressure mounted.
It pressed into her muscles, her thoughts, her dreams. Yet beneath the strain, she felt herself condensing. Distractions burned away. What remained was harder. Clearer.
One evening, after a particularly grueling assessment, Freya lingered alone in the empty yard. The sky bled into twilight. The world felt suspended between breaths.
She stepped into the ring and moved through the drills without an opponent. Footwork etched into muscle memory guided her. Each pivot and strike flowed into the next.
No hesitation. No freezing.
Only motion.
Inky watched from the perimeter, eyes luminous in the fading light.
Freya finished with a sharp exhale. Sweat cooled on her skin. Her heart beat steady and strong.
"I'm changing," she said into the quiet.
The admission carried no fear. Only wonder.
The girl who had arrived at the academy carrying fresh grief had begun to transform. Pressure had not shattered her. It had shaped her.
She looked at Inky.
"You're part of that," she added. "Even if you never say a word."
His tail flicked once.
They left the yard together, shadows stretching long behind them. The Convergence Trial loomed closer with each passing sunrise. Its gravity no longer felt like a threat.
It felt like a forge.
And as Freya walked beneath the darkening sky, muscles aching and spirit alight, she understood something with crystalline clarity.
Diamonds were not born from comfort.
They were born from pressure endured.
And she was ready to endure.