Morning broke under a swollen, heavy sky—gray clouds crawling low over the cliffs, pressing against the academy like a weight. The air felt unnaturally still as first-years gathered in the yard, bruised and silent after days of building harassment.
But even silence couldn't hide the truth.
Every first-year felt it.
Today would be worse.
Serene tied her hair back slowly, ignoring the ache in her ribs. Lira's hands trembled as she knotted her own ribbons. Taren tried to talk and failed. Alden kept his stare on the ground. Rowen's steps were too controlled—controlled in a way that meant he was holding himself back from something.
They walked into the courtyard.
And froze.
The second-years were already there.
Not training.
Not pretending.
Not amused.
Waiting.
Lined in a formation that looked too deliberate to be casual. Arms crossed. Weapons in hand. Faces carved with intent.
A challenge without being spoken.
Serene didn't flinch. But she saw it immediately:
the instructors deliberately turned away.
Permission.
Taren swallowed. "What is this?"
Alden murmured, "A purge."
Lira shook her head hard. "No… this isn't allowed…"
Rowen said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.
Kael cracked his neck. "Let them try."
Then the second-year captain stepped forward, smiling like a blade.
"Good morning, little flowers."
Serene recognized the tone.
Predatory politeness.
A precursor to violence.
He clapped once. "Since your drills have been so… unimpressive, we've decided to motivate you."
Several second-years smirked.
Taren muttered, "We're dead."
Lira whispered, "Stay close, Serene."
Serene didn't answer. She was already bracing.
The second-year captain extended his arm.
"Groups of three. We're joining your drills."
No one moved.
No one dared.
Because everyone understood:
This was an order wrapped as a suggestion.
The instructors said nothing.
And that made it law.
The first-years were herded into groups like livestock. A second-year girl grabbed Lira by her wrist and dragged her forward.
"Time for a lesson, healer."
Serene moved instantly.
"Let go of her."
The senior girl shoved Serene so violently she crashed onto the ground. The breath tore from her lungs, pain stabbing through her ribs.
Lira cried out, scrambling.
Taren swore.
Kael took a step forward—
Three second-years blocked him.
Rowen stepped toward Serene—
and two boys slammed him back against the wall.
The yard erupted.
Second-years shoved first-years into walls, into dirt, into each other.
Packs were ripped open.
Books scattered.
Spears yanked away.
Hair pulled.
Elbows to ribs.
Knees to stomachs.
Alden coughed blood after a punch to the jaw.
Taren was thrown into the mud by two seniors laughing at his "lance pride."
Lira fell hard, scraping her palms, books kicked across the yard.
Serene pushed up from the dirt, blood filling her mouth.
Still, the instructors didn't interfere.
Because nothing was illegal.
Nothing was stated.
Nothing was written against this.
This was Aurellian discipline twisted into cruelty.
Serene regained her feet slowly, body shaking, breath sharp.
The second-year captain approached her with leisurely steps.
"Well, well. The little diplomat. Still standing."
He flicked her cheek with two fingers.
A mockery.
A statement.
Serene didn't react.
That annoyed him.
He stepped closer and touched the ribbon tied around her wrist—the Valehart lily ribbon she'd kept hidden for three days.
"This," he said, tugging, "doesn't belong here."
He pulled hard.
The ribbon snapped.
The sound was small.
But the world reacted like thunder.
Lira gasped.
Taren froze.
Alden whispered, "No…"
Kael stopped struggling, eyes blazing with murder.
Rowen's breath stilled entirely.
The second-year girl giggled. "Look how pretty she looks without it."
Serene's eyes lowered for one breath.
Just one.
She bent and picked up the torn ribbon.
Her hand was shaking—but not from fear.
From something colder.
She stood straight again.
Her posture perfect.
Her chin raised.
The second-year captain shoved her shoulder.
Serene stumbled.
He shoved again.
She hit the ground on her knees.
Laughter broke across the yard like a wave.
"A Valehart kneeling—finally honest!"
Serene closed her eyes.
One breath.
Then she rose.
Slow.
Controlled.
Unshakable.
The laughter died.
The second-year captain stepped back involuntarily.
Serene lifted her voice—not loud, but carrying with unnatural clarity.
"You have broken enough rules today."
"Rules?" he laughed. "Name one."
Serene's eyes sharpened.
"You want a rule?"
She stepped forward, bleeding lip, bruised ribs, torn ribbon in hand.
Then she spoke—
not in anger,
not in fear,
but in the formal cadence of political authority:
> "By the Aurellian Knight Academy Charter—
Section Seven.
Clause Eleven.
Subsection Two—
I invoke the Rite of Challenge."
The courtyard fell dead silent.
Not stunned with recognition.
Stunned with ignorance.
No one knew what she had just said.
Not the second-years.
Not the first-years.
Not the instructors.
The second-year captain barked a laugh.
"You making things up now?"
Serene didn't blink.
Then—
Commander Eira Caldrin moved.
The Head Commander, who had been watching silently from the upper terrace, stepped forward until the entire yard saw her.
Her cloak flowed behind her.
Her boots echoed on stone.
Her gaze held no emotion.
She looked at Serene.
Then at the second-years.
Then she said, voice like a bell made of steel:
> "The Rite of Challenge is valid."
The yard gasped.
The captain's face paled.
Eira continued:
> "It is an ancient clause.
Unused for over one hundred years.
But still part of the charter."
Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"What does it mean?"
"Is she serious?"
"What happens now?"
"She invoked something real—"
Eira's next words cut cleanly:
> "You, second-years, must accept."
The captain blanched.
"What—? We never agreed—"
"You have no choice," Eira said coldly.
"It has been invoked publicly.
Before witnesses.
In accordance with academy law."
The second-years looked unsure for the first time all week.
Serene wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand.
Her voice was calm, almost gentle.
> "You wanted to break us.
Then face us in the open."
Kael stared at her like she was made of fire.
Rowen's expression changed subtly—
a quiet acknowledgement
from one steel spirit to another.
Lira clutched Serene's sleeve.
Alden lowered his head in solemn respect.
Taren whispered, "Serene Valehart… you're unreal."
Commander Eira stepped closer, her shadow falling over Serene.
"You understand the stakes?" Eira asked.
Serene nodded.
"We do."
"You understand the consequences?"
"Yes."
"You understand that if you lose—your entire class loses standing for the rest of the year?"
Serene didn't look away.
"We will not lose standing," she said softly.
"We will earn it properly."
Eira's eyes held something unreadable.
Approval.
Pride.
Or warning.
No one could tell.
The second-year captain finally forced a smirk back onto his face—thin, strained.
"Fine then," he spit.
"Tomorrow. Dawn. The main ring."
Serene nodded once.
Unmoved.
"We'll be ready."
The courtyard erupted into whispers again as the first-years slowly gathered around her.
Not because she was their leader.
Not because she was their savior.
Not because she was strong.
But because she was the only one who refused to bow.
Serene bent down, picked up the torn ribbon, folded it once, and tied it back around her wrist—ragged edges and all.
Her voice barely above a whisper, but strong enough for those closest:
> "They tried to humiliate us.
Tomorrow, we answer them."