The arena gate shut behind them with a deep, resonant thud that rolled through the stone corridor like a heartbeat too heavy for human ribs. For a moment, none of the first-years moved. The sounds of cheering—half shocked, half horrified—still echoed faintly from above, but the corridor felt sealed away from the world, thick with heat and iron and the smell of sweat drying against armor.
Serene leaned one hand against the cold wall and finally let herself breathe. Not deeply—her ribs protested—but enough to acknowledge that she was still upright, still conscious, still calculating. Victory had tasted sharp in the moment, a clean slice through humiliation and dread; now it settled like a weight redistributing through her bones.
Footsteps shifted behind her. Kael was the first to break the silence, his laughter rough and breathless, the kind that came from someone who had fought at the edge of collapse and found a reason to stand again.
"Tell me you all saw their faces," he muttered, wiping mud from his cheek. "Second-years don't look so tall dripping swamp water."
Taren let out a laugh that cracked, a sound caught between relief and exhaustion. "Kael, you almost drowned twice. You're not allowed to brag."
"I didn't drown," Kael shot back. "Swamp tried to drink me. I said no."
Alden gave a tired exhale that might have been a laugh. His knuckles were scraped raw from the trenches. He leaned back against the wall, spear resting against his shoulder like a companion that had earned the right to stay.
"We survived," he said simply. "Somehow."
Lira bent over her bag, fingers shaking as she rummaged through salves and cloths. She had blood on her hands—not hers—and a smear across her cheek. Her braid had burst loose in half a dozen places, stray strands sticking to her forehead like wet threads. She swallowed hard as she looked at Serene.
"You're hurt," Lira whispered.
Serene shook her head. "Later. See to the others first."
Lira looked at her for a long second, then nodded, understanding that Serene wasn't dismissing her—only prioritizing.
Rowen stood a little apart from the group, hands braced on his thighs as he steadied his breath. Dust streaked his jaw; blood traced a thin line from a cut near his collarbone. His eyes were the only thing that hadn't changed—still sharp, still cool, still observing everything. But something had shifted around the edges of his gaze. Respect, maybe. Or acknowledgment of the weight they now shared.
He approached Serene slowly.
"You read them," he said, voice low. "Every shift, every opening."
"So did you," she replied.
He tilted his head slightly. "Not like you did."
Their eyes held for a quiet moment. No admiration. No budding romance. Just two cadets recognizing another piece of how the other fought.
Behind them, the infirmary doors banged open, and medics rushed in—stern, efficient, carrying water flasks and assessing wounds with quick eyes. They ushered the first-years onto benches, but the room was too small for the tension that still pressed against their chests. Still smelling of swamp, blood, and adrenaline, they collapsed onto the seats as medics wrapped wounds, set splints, dabbed salves.
Serene sat only long enough to have her bruised rib examined. The medic frowned.
"You'll feel this tomorrow."
Serene nodded. She already felt it now.
Around her, the room hummed with whispered analysis.
"They targeted Kael's flank too early—" "Those causeways are death traps—" "Alden's formation saved half of us—" "Did you see Mira's run? That was insane—" "Rowen caught three of them with one sweep—" "Taren nearly got flattened—again—"
Taren groaned. "Why do bad things always happen in groups of three?"
Kael clapped him on the back. "Because you run at everything like it's a birthday gift."
Serene allowed their bickering to wash over her. Not because she was ignoring them—but because she needed to feel their voices. Proof that they were here. Proof that no one had been carried out on a stretcher.
She looked across the room.
Mira sat on a cot, palms wrapped tightly in linen. Her face was white, but her eyes gleamed with something fierce. She caught Serene's gaze, and her chin lifted—small, proud, defiant.
Orrin lay half-asleep against a wall, breathing shallowly but alive. His fingers twitched against a folded cloth, still in the shape of the flag he'd carried.
Others whispered, some laughed, some cried quietly—tears hidden under the guise of exhaustion.
Serene took all of it in, committing every detail to memory. They had won Phase Two, but victory was not armor. It was a fragile thing, easily cracked. She could feel the cracks already.
A soft voice broke her thoughts.
"You should sit," Rowen said quietly.
Serene looked at him. "I am sitting."
"Properly," he clarified.
She arched an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"
He hesitated, then answered with unsettling honesty. "Not like someone pretending they don't hurt."
Her lips tightened—she was unreadable for a breath—but she didn't argue. Instead, she shifted back against the wall, easing pressure off her ribs. Rowen didn't sit next to her—not close, not familiar. He simply stood near enough that she could sense him, not intrusive but present. A steady line in the room.
Kael, noticing the quiet shift, smirked faintly. "Well, look at that. The two statues found new poses."
Taren flicked a pebble at Kael. "Shut up."
Serene breathed out slowly.
The room thinned as medics released them to return to their dorms. They stepped out into the corridor again. Their footsteps were uneven, limping, dragging, but they moved together—a small cluster of battered figures against the wide hallway.
Outside, the academy was restless.
Third-years whispered on balconies. Fourth-years watched with arms crossed, eyes calculating. Second-years glared with bruised pride and barely swallowed rage.
Rumors had already spread too far for anyone to dismiss.
"First-years won a phase—" "Impossible—" "They held the center—" "Commander Eira was watching the whole time—" "Did you see that Valehart girl—" "Rowen Aster—no, Rowen Alden—whatever his name is—he fought like—" "Alden Valehart? No, the quiet one—" "Rowen. The one who doesn't talk—looked terrifying today—" "Kael Drakov nearly drowned in mud—" "But he kept fighting—" "They're not supposed to win—"
Serene walked past all of it without turning her head.
Her braid was half-unraveled, her uniform streaked with mud and blood, her ribbon torn and tied imperfectly around her wrist. But she moved with the same straight spine she had walked into the academy with.
Kael muttered under his breath, "If they looked at us with disgust yesterday, now they look at us like we grew teeth."
Alden added quietly, "Good."
Rowen didn't speak, but the faint line at his jaw suggested agreement.
Taren pointed toward a cluster of second-years leaning against a pillar, whispering harshly.
"We should avoid them," he said nervously.
Serene shook her head. "We walk our path. They can decide what to do with theirs."
They kept moving.
When they reached the dorm building, their bodies sagged with relief they tried to hide. The stone floors suddenly felt softer. The air warmer. What minutes ago felt like the battlefield now felt like a sanctuary.
Inside their dorm wing, the other first-years waited—those who hadn't fought, those too injured from Phase One, those too untrained for Phase Two.
When Serene walked in, they all stood.
Not in ceremony. Not in respect.
But in recognition.
Of effort. Of survival. Of refusing to bow.
Serene hesitated for a heartbeat—caught between acknowledging them and slipping away unnoticed—but someone stepped forward.
A girl from the Spirit Division, timid eyes but brave enough to speak, murmured:
"You brought us hope today."
Serene didn't answer. She couldn't—not without feeling the weight in her throat.
Instead, she nodded once.
Rowen brushed past her slightly, speaking to the gathered students. His voice was low, but carried well.
"Tomorrow is harder."
The entire room stiffened.
Kael added, "Tomorrow is duels."
Alden rubbed his wrist. "One-on-one. Rotation. Skill only."
Taren whispered, "We're doomed."
Serene answered calmly, "No. You train tonight. Light drills. Controlled movement. Rest and water."
Lira tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll prepare pain salve. And burn paste."
Kael grinned. "Lira is the real commander."
Taren nodded dramatically. "Truly. The rest of us are just decorative pieces."
Serene gave Lira a small smile. She earned it.
A sudden knock echoed at the dorm entrance. Everyone tensed, expecting a confrontation. But when the door opened, it wasn't a second-year.
It was Commander Eira.
The room inhaled sharply.
She stepped inside with no cloak today, only the steel-blue uniform that made her presence colder than armor. Her gaze swept the room—slow, assessing, unyielding.
Serene straightened instinctively.
Eira spoke without preamble.
"You performed above expectation today."
The words hit the room like a tremor. A ripple—shock, awe, fear—ran through the first-years.
Then Eira added, voice harder:
"Do not mistake that for approval."
Every breath froze.
Eira's gaze sharpened. "You fought with desperation. Good. You fought with discipline. Better. But tomorrow requires precision. If you face the second-years with pride alone, you will break."
Her attention focused on Serene.
"Valehart."
Serene met her gaze steadily.
Eira's voice dropped slightly. "Your strategy held. Your coordination was effective. But you carry a wound. Do not ignore it tomorrow."
"I won't," Serene said.
Eira nodded once, then glanced at Rowen.
"Aster," she said.
He stepped forward.
"You anchor the first line tomorrow."
Rowen didn't flinch. "Understood."
Eira's gaze swept them all one last time.
"Eat. Rest. Sleep. The Rite will not forgive hesitation."
Then she left as quietly as she had come.
The room exhaled collectively.
Taren whispered, "I think my soul left my body when she walked in."
Kael patted his back. "You don't have a soul. Only fear."
Lira sighed. "We need to rest."
Serene sank onto her bunk, exhaustion hitting her like a wave she'd held off for hours. Her fingers brushed her torn ribbon—still tied, still frayed. Her ribs throbbed. Her throat felt tight. Her mind churned with images from the arena.
She didn't know if they would win tomorrow.
But she knew they would not bow.
And as she closed her eyes, she felt the world tilt around them—the academy, the rite, the empire, the future.
Everything was changing.
And she would meet the change with steel in her spine.