The courtyard did not empty the way a place usually empties.
It drained.
Slowly.
Tensely.
Like water retreating from a shore that had been struck by something powerful enough to disturb its natural rhythm.
The second-years dispersed in tight clusters, whispering fiercely among themselves—half disbelief, half anger, half something they didn't want to name: fear. The instructors walked away with carefully blank expressions, which said more than outrage ever could. And the first-years… the first-years moved like people who had been cracked open but were held together only by the pressure of each other's presence.
Serene walked at the center of them without trying to.
Lira hovered near her shoulder, eyes still too wide.
Taren rubbed his knuckles until the skin reddened.
Alden's breathing was shallow.
Kael's fists were opening and closing rhythmically.
Rowen's silence was sharper than any glare.
The air tasted of dust and cold iron. The sky pressed low, heavy with coming rain.
No one spoke until they crossed the threshold into the dormitory corridor, and even then it was only a thin exhale of breath—the kind that shook more than it released.
The lamps flickered as they pushed into their common room. The space felt small today, too small to hold the anger, fear, and disbelief clinging to all of them.
Taren burst first.
"What were you THINKING, Serene?" His voice cracked like a whip in the quiet room.
The words hit her like physical impact.
Lira flinched.
Alden's throat bobbed.
Kael turned sharply.
Even Rowen, who rarely allowed emotion to show, betrayed a flicker of something—shock, frustration, maybe both.
Serene said nothing at first. She removed her gloves piece by piece, careful with the movement, as though grounding herself.
Taren paced, hands in his hair. "We talked about the Rite. WE discussed it. But a discussion is not the same as throwing it into the middle of the courtyard during a fight!"
"It wasn't a fight," Alden said quietly. "It was a humiliation."
"And she still should've WARNED us!" Taren snapped back.
Lira, voice trembling, whispered, "I thought we would… I don't know… talk to Commander Eira first. Or prepare. Or gather proof. Serene, we didn't even know what the second-years' strengths are yet. You blindsided them—but you blindsided us too."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You turned a feud into a war. A public one. With no warning."
Rowen didn't yell. He didn't need to. His tone alone sliced cleaner than any shout.
"A decision that affects all of us," he said quietly, "should have included all of us."
The disappointment in his voice struck more painfully than Taren's shouting.
Serene lifted her gaze slowly.
The torn ribbon hung from her wrist like a wound that would never heal.
"If I had warned you," she said softly, "I would have hesitated. And if I hesitated, I would have stayed down."
The room froze.
Even the lantern flames seemed to lean closer.
Serene continued, voice steadier now, though something raw glimmered beneath it.
"He made me kneel," she said. "They made ALL of us kneel this whole week, in different ways. Today wasn't a breaking. It was an execution. They weren't going to stop."
Taren's anger faltered.
His hands fell to his sides.
"It had to end," Serene said. "Before they carved out the last of our pride."
Alden inhaled shakily. "So… you used the Rite because of the ribbon?"
Serene touched the frayed edges lightly.
"When he tore this, he wasn't just tearing cloth. He was telling me that my house, my identity, my dignity meant nothing here."
She looked at each of them in turn.
"He tore the dignity of every first-year today."
Rowen's eyes lowered, then lifted again, more quietly now. "You still should have told us."
Serene nodded. "You're right. I should have. But if I said it out loud, even to you… I would have talked myself out of it."
Lira's breath shook. "We're terrified, Serene."
"I know," Serene said. "I am too."
The honesty made the room shift.
Like something finally settled into place.
Alden leaned forward. "So… what exactly are the terms? You read the charter more than the rest of us."
Serene exhaled. "It's not a duel. It's not a brawl. It's a trial. A formal test of skill between years. Overseen by the highest authority available."
"Commander Eira," Rowen said.
"Exactly."
Kael frowned. "We talked about the possibility. The theory. But we didn't think it was even usable after the missing appendix."
Serene nodded. "It doesn't matter if part of the text is missing. I invoked the section that still exists. And Commander Eira confirmed it. Once she acknowledged it, it became binding."
Lira sank onto the bench. "If we lose, our whole year suffers."
Taren sat beside her heavily. "If we win, we break them."
Kael smirked faintly. "Doesn't sound like we have a choice then."
Serene rose.
Everyone instinctively straightened, as though they could feel something gathering in her posture.
"We can't win with strength," she said. "We win with understanding."
Taren's eyebrows knit.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we fight like who we are," Serene answered. "Not like who they expect."
She pointed with deliberate precision.
"Taren—you distract. You're fastest among us. Make them waste their energy."
Taren swallowed, then nodded.
"Alden—you anchor. You hold them in place. You take hits. You don't fall."
Alden breathed out. "I won't."
"Lira—you support. Not by healing wounds—they'll expect that. You keep everyone upright by reading their limits."
Lira blinked rapidly, teary but fierce. "I can do that."
"Kael—you're our spear. Pressure and aggression. You make them hesitate."
Kael grinned, teeth flashing. "Finally something useful."
Then Serene turned to Rowen.
He didn't need a role.
He already knew.
"You see everything," she said. "Every movement. Every intention. You tell me where to strike and when to pull back."
Rowen held her gaze.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Respect.
Recognition.
An understanding deeper than words.
He nodded once. "I will."
"And you?" Alden asked.
Serene touched her ribbon again.
"I negotiate the field," she said. "I control the timing. The rhythm. The openings. Like any treaty."
Kael shook his head with a small laugh. "Only you would treat a battlefield like a council chamber."
"It's still conflict," Serene replied. "Just louder."
Taren stood. "When do we start?"
Serene opened the door.
Cold wind swept in, carrying the scent of coming rain.
"Now."
They stepped out together—still bruised, still shaking, still afraid—but moving with the first traces of unity. The training yard was dim, lanterns flickering against the storm-clouded sky. The stones were slick beneath their feet. Their breaths fogged in the cold.
Lira practiced her grip control with trembling fingers.
Alden drilled precision blocks until his arms shook.
Taren sprinted until he hit the wall with his palms.
Kael slashed at the air like he meant to cut the darkness open.
Rowen watched everything, calculating patterns like equations on the wind.
And Serene…
Serene practiced her stances through the pain in her ribs, through the burning in her lungs, through the bruises she didn't have time to treat.
She didn't stop.
None of them did.
Hours passed.
Rain thickened.
Lanterns dimmed.
The academy watched from behind windows and balconies—silently, curiously, uncertainly.
But no one interrupted.
Because something was happening.
Something the academy hadn't seen in a century.
A year class—bruised, exhausted, humiliated—was rising.
Not as individuals.
As one.
Near midnight, Serene tied her ribbon tighter.
The frayed edge bit into her skin like a vow.
"They wanted to break us," she whispered.
Rowen stepped beside her, the rain catching in his hair. "Then tomorrow," he said, "we break expectations."
Serene exhaled softly. "Tomorrow… we face them."
Lira, Alden, Taren, Kael, Rowen—each looked at her with something that hadn't existed that morning:
Belief.
The storm rolled in above them like an omen.
And the first-years trained into the night—
not because they were ready,
but because tomorrow, they had no choice but to be.