Len did not even bother going to bed that night.
She knew.
Rellie knew too.
They sat rigid on Len's dorm cot, hands curled around steaming teacups that'd gone cold hours ago. The academy's usual nightti creaks had turned suspicious—too many footsteps, too little laughter.
Then—
BAM.
The sound of a body hitting walls rattled their doorfra. Distant shouts. Clashing steel.
"So it started," Len muttered, setting her cup down hard enough to crack the saucer.
Rellie's smirk cut through the gloom. "I was right after all." She stretched like a cat waking from a nap. "Told you they weren't gonna march like good little protestors."
Len waved a hand through the smoke already seeping under their door. "Nevermind that... I hoped they'd take smarter options."
"Mm." Rellie stood in one fluid motion, buckling her dagger belt with practiced tugs. "Turns out..." The leather strap snapped tight. "They're taking hostages instead."
The door creaked open as Len and Rellie stepped out of their room, shoulders squared, essentia humming at their fingertips. The hallway was a battlefield in miniature—scorch marks streaked the walls, and the air slled of singed fabric and spent spells.
At the far end, Sylra stood like a sentinel, her boots planted firmly between the intruders and the dormitory. Behind her, a scattered heap of groaning students—Second and Third Years from the upper classes—lay strewn across the floor, their pride wounded more than their bodies.
“Huh.” Len’s voice was dry, unimpressed. She nudged a fallen attacker with her toe, watching him flinch away.
Sylra flicked a strand of silver hair from her face, her sharp eyes assessing them both. “They really expected the girls’ dorm to be easier.” A smirk tugged at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The usual mischief in her voice was gone, replaced by sothing colder.
Rellie’s fingers twitched toward her dagger. “Are they…?”
“Just knocked out,” Sylra assured her. “But we don’t have ti to play guard. The winds are whispering—the Academy’s barrier is weakening.”
“Academy barrier?” Rellie frowned, glancing at Len.
Len stepped forward, her voice low. “Yeah. There’s an ancient ward around these walls—keeps the Corruption out. If it falls…” She didn’t need to finish. They all knew what It ant
Sylra’s gaze darkened. “This isn’t a coincidence. They took us hostage to pull the professors away. Soone’s making their move.”
A distant tremor shook the floor, as if the Academy itself shuddered in warning.
“Then we move now,” Len said, already striding forward. “Before whatever’s out there gets in.”
The hallway stretched before them, its once-polished floors now scuffed from struggle, the air thick with the acrid scent of spent essentia. They hadn’t gone far when a familiar voice rang out.
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“Hey, girls!”
Alira leaned against a shattered wall, grinning like she’d just won a prize. The most noticeable change? The massive hamr slung across her back, its head still faintly smoking.
Len blinked. “Since when do you use hamrs?”
Alira jerked a thumb toward a crumpled figure nearby—a Third Year from the respective third class, sprawled unconscious. His face bore angry red burns, and the sleeve of his jacket was charred to blackened threads. “Oh, I didn’t. He did.” She nudged him with her boot. “Turns out, he wasn’t great at sharing.”
“He was holding this hall?” Sylra’s gaze flickered over the damage—scorch marks, cracked tile, the lingering ozone of lightning magic.
“Yep. Put up a fuss, too.” Alira shrugged, but her knuckles were raw. “Not anymore.”
Sylra tapped a finger against her chin, thoughtful. “These must be the weakest.” Her voice was cool, calculating. “They’d send their strongest fighters to the boys’ dorm—and the First Class upper years.”
Len nodded. “Makes sense. No one expects much from first years like us.”
Rellie stayed quiet, her fingers tracing the hilt of her dagger. She’d trained—hard—but the weight of a real fight settled uneasily in her chest. The last ti she’d been in one, she’d been a child. And she’d lost. Lost so badly she’d woken with no mory of it. Just scars and the ghost of a blade at her throat.
“That’s better, though,” she said softly. Not for them. For her.
A distant crash echoed through the halls. The Academy groaned around them, like a beast stirring in its sleep.
Alira hefted the hamr onto her shoulder. “Then let’s make sure they regret underestimating us.”
The hallway stretched before them, its polished floors reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the windows—the sole exit from the First Year, First Class girls' dormitory. Sylra paused abruptly, her hand pressed against the cold glass as she stared at the sky. The swirling dark clouds pulsed unnaturally, as if breathing in ti with so distant heartbeat.
"We're running out of ti," she murmured. Without hesitation, she threw open the nearest window, letting in a gust of wind that sent loose papers fluttering through the air. "I'll go alert the professors."
Len's grip tightened on her staff. "Shouldn't we stick together?" Her voice carried an edge—not quite fear, but the awareness of how quickly things could unravel.
Alira shifted the weight of her stolen hamr, her usual playful deanor subdued. "We need to cover more ground." Though she preferred the safety of numbers, the urgency in Sylra's eyes was undeniable.
Sylra's Essentia flared—a visible ripple of energy that sent a localized gust whipping around her legs. "I'll be right back. Take care." And with that, she stepped out into open air.
Rellie gasped as Sylra glided downward, her body carried by controlled bursts of wind. She landed gracefully two floors below, her silver hair whipping behind her as she sprinted toward the main building.
"That’s a really cool way to skip stairs," Rellie muttered, equal parts impressed and unnerved.
Alira's gaze swept the branching hallways—one path leading to the rooftop stairs, the other to the lower-class wings. Her jaw set. "I’ll check on Second and Third Class. Half of them don’t even have combat training yet."
Rellie nodded, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger. "I’ll go with you. I can... feel their fear." The certainty in her voice masked her private motive: Sera. Her friend—no, more than that—was sowhere in the Third Class girls' wing. She wouldn’t let history repeat itself.
Len exhaled sharply and turned toward the boys' wing. "Then I’ll find Towan." Her tone left no room for debate. "If Sylra’s right, he and Elliot are probably knee-deep in trouble by now."
A flicker of mory crossed Alira’s mind—Towan’s grin mid-spar, the way his fists crackled with barely restrained energy.(They’ll be fine. Sotis, a fight’s exactly what you need.)
Rellie caught her smirk. "Aight! They’re all yours, then." Alira flashed a grin and pivoted toward the left hallway, her hamr resting easily on her shoulder.
The First-Year building stood separate, each floor housing a different class (First, Second, Third), then divided by gender. Just beyond, the Second and Third-Year dorms lood—close enough to see the chaos unfolding, too far to hear screams.
Len glanced upward. A flicker of color—too violet for a storm cloud—danced at the sky’s edge. Gone before she could blink.
She shook it off.
(Ti to move.)
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