The library was a labyrinth of silence, but for Matthew, it felt more like a battlefield. He and Andrew had been huddled over a mahogany table for hours, the guttering light of a mana-lamp casting flickering shadows across the simplified diagrams Andrew had drawn. Just as the concepts of "Mana-Pressure" were beginning to click in Matthew's mind, the heavy oak doors of the study hall swung open.
A boy walked in with an energy that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He was wearing the same Elite-class uniform as Andrew, but he wore it loosely, with his sleeves rolled up and a confident, easy-going grin.
"Andrew! I figured I'd find you in the dusty corner," the boy called out, his voice a bright, melodic tenor.
Andrew looked up, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Andre! I thought you were in the Alchemical Wing tonight."
"Bored to tears, my friend," Andre said, sliding into a chair next to Matthew without being asked. He turned his gaze toward Matthew, his eyes sharp and filled with a friendly, restless intelligence. "And you must be Matthew. The one everyone is talking about."
Matthew stiffened, but Andre let out a friendly laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Relax, kid! I'm Andre. I've heard the rumors, and frankly, I think having a Null core is the most interesting thing to happen to this school in years."
"Andre is at the top of the engineering and combat-theory track," Andrew explained to Matthew. "He's one of the best in the first-year Elite class."
"And I'm the only one who knows Andrew actually likes to sing in the shower," Andre added with a wink. He turned back to Matthew, his expression softening. "I heard about the theory class today. Don't let Lucius get to you. He's all pedigree and no perspective. You just need to survive until tomorrow. The Physical Combat classes are where the playing field levels out."
"Is it true everyone is in the same class for physicals?" Matthew asked, looking between the two Elites.
"Every single first-year," Andre confirmed. "The Academy believes that mages need to know how it feels to have a blade at their throat, and knights need to know how to dodge a fireball. It's a chaotic mess, usually. But you need to watch out for one person. She's in my class. Her name is Lyra."
Matthew tilted his head. "Is she another Lucius?"
"Gods, no," Andre said quickly. "Lyra is... different. She's from a high noble family, the House of Ignis, and she's a Rank 4 Fire-User—the strongest first-year we've seen in a decade. But she isn't cold or arrogant like the others. She doesn't mock the F-Class. In fact, she mostly ignores the 'Elite' politics entirely. She's just... intense."
"She's a perfectionist," Andrew added. "She isn't mean, but she is dangerous. She sees the Academy as a training ground, not a social club. If she sees potential in you, she'll push you. If she doesn't, you simply don't exist to her."
"She's got this weird flame," Andre continued, his eyes wide. "It's white-hot. They say her core is so dense it actually warps the air around her. If you end up across from her in the pits, just... try not to get singed."
The following morning, the sun hadn't even cleared the horizon when the first-years gathered in the Great Training Pit. This was a massive, sand-filled bowl reinforced with dampening spells. Hundreds of students stood in rows, a sea of grey, blue, and silver uniforms.
Matthew felt the weight of a thousand eyes. Being a "Zero" in theory class had made him a laughingstock, but here, in the dirt, the mockery felt sharper.
"Attention!"
Master Alicia stood on a raised platform, her red armor gleaming in the early light. She held a heavy practice staff. "Today, there are no Mages. There are no Nobles. There is only the person standing in front of you and the weapon in your hand. We will begin with basic striking drills. Pair up! Now!"
Matthew looked around, feeling the familiar isolation. But before he could sink into his own thoughts, Andrew and Andre stepped beside him.
"I've got your back, Matt," Andrew said.
But across the line, the Elite group parted. A girl walked forward with a stride that was slow and deliberate. She had long, crimson hair tied back in a high ponytail, and eyes the color of molten copper. She carried a heavy iron training sword as if it weighed nothing.
The whispers died down. It was Lyra.
She didn't look at Lucius, who was waving at her. She walked straight toward the F-Class line and stopped three paces in front of Matthew. The air around her felt warm—like standing near a hearth in mid-winter.
"You," Lyra said, her voice clear and steady. "The one with the Null Core."
Matthew met her gaze. He didn't see the mockery he expected. He saw a deep, burning curiosity.
"I want to see if a vacuum can hold a flame," she said. She didn't wait for him to agree. She simply raised her sword and settled into a perfect, low-center stance. "Partner with me. Let's see what Oakhaven produced."
Andrew and Andre shared a look of shock. Matthew felt the violet spark in his chest hum—not with hunger, but with a sudden, fierce spark of challenge. He picked up his wooden training sword, feeling the rough grain against his calloused palms.
"Okay," Matthew said, stepping into the sand. "Let's see."