The door to Room 314 slid shut behind them with a soft mechanical click.
Silence followed.
Luke stood frozen for a moment, staring at the room like it might suddenly rearrange itself. Two beds. Two desks. One window overlooking the inner Academy grounds.
And one pillow on each bed.
"…That's it?" Luke asked slowly.
Sora dropped his bag onto the nearest bed and flopped backward, arms spread. "Wow. This place is way nicer than I expected."
Luke didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the pillows. White. Fluffy. Standard issue. One per person.
He walked to his bed and picked his up, squeezing it once. His face fell.
"No," he muttered.
Sora cracked one eye open. "No what?"
Luke squeezed again. Harder this time. "This isn't enough."
Sora sat up, eyebrow raised. "Enough for what?"
"For sleeping," Luke snapped. "You can't sleep properly with just one pillow. Two minimum. Three if you want neck support."
Sora blinked. "…You're serious."
Luke turned slowly, voice low and deadly. "Dead."
Sora shrugged and laid back down, pulling his pillow under his head. "Skill issue."
Luke's eye twitched.
"Give me yours."
"No."
"I'm asking politely."
"You didn't say please."
Luke took a step closer. "Sora."
Sora hugged the pillow to his chest. "Luke."
They froze, staring at each other.
The air shifted—not power, not aura. Something far more dangerous.
Pettiness.
Luke lunged."HEY—!"
They crashed onto Sora's bed, sheets tangling as Luke tried to snatch the pillow. Sora twisted, rolling them both sideways as Luke missed by inches.
"LET GO!"
"I HAD IT FIRST!"
"That's NOT HOW PILLOWS WORK!"
Luke hooked an arm around Sora's shoulder, tugging with all his strength. Sora shoved the pillow directly into Luke's face.
Luke muffled a shout. "YOU—!"
He pulled back, hair messy, eyes burning with betrayal.
"You sleep like a rock! You don't even need it!"
"That's offensive," Sora said. "I appreciate comfort."
Luke dove again.
This time, Sora rolled off the bed entirely, landing on his feet with the pillow clutched victoriously in one arm.
Luke skidded to a stop, breathing hard.
"Give it," he said quietly.
Sora raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"
Luke pointed accusingly. "I will not be responsible for what happens if I don't get proper neck alignment."
"…Is that a threat?"
"Yes."
They froze for a long moment.
Then Sora yawned.
"Take the pillow then," he said, tossing it across the room without looking.
Luke barely caught it before it hit his face. He blinked, confused.
Sora had already flopped back onto his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
A few seconds passed.
Then Sora turned his head slowly, eyes sliding toward Luke. A lazy, smug smile crept across his face.
"Fool."
Luke stared at Sora dramatically, then leapt onto his bed, chest heaving.
Before he could even shield his eyes, the room darkened as if a shadow had swallowed the light. The familiar corners and furniture vanished, replaced by an oppressive void.
A voice, low and serpentine, whispered directly into his mind.
"Hey, kid…"
Luke froze, every hair on his body standing on end. His stomach twisted. A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
He scrambled upright, eyes darting wildly. "Get out of my mind!" he shouted, clutching his head. His fingers pressed hard against his temples, as if physically trying to shove the voice away.
"Please… leave!" His voice cracked, trembling with genuine terror.
The voice returned, smoother, colder, like ice running over his spine. "You can't deny who you are, kid. They will deny you… as the others did."
Luke's knees buckled. His chest heaved, breath shallow and frantic. Images flickered behind his eyes—faces of people he had trusted, twisted in mockery, shaking their heads, closing doors, whispering rejection.
The voice faded, leaving only the echoing terror in his mind and the stifling darkness hanging heavy around him. Luke sank to the edge of his bed, trembling, sweat dripping down his temples, gripping the sheets like a lifeline.
RING! RING!
The sharp cry of the alarm ripped through Room 314.
Luke groaned, burying his face into the pillow. His body felt heavy, like he hadn't slept at all. Shadows from the night before still clung faintly to the corners of his mind.
Sora, on the other hand, sat up immediately, stretching with a lazy yawn.
"Wow," he muttered. "I slept great."
Luke shot him a murderous glare. "I hate you."
A mechanical voice echoed through the room, calm and unmistakable.
"All first-year Saints, report to the Central Training Grounds within thirty minutes."
The alarm cut out.
Luke sat up slowly. "Central… what?"
Sora swung his legs off the bed. "Sounds important."
Outside, the Academy was already stirring. Doors slid open along the dormitory wing as students poured into the corridors, some groggy, others tense with anticipation. The air buzzed with quiet murmurs and restless energy.
They followed the flow until the hallways opened into a vast, circular arena carved directly into the island's stone.
The Central Training Grounds.
Tiered platforms rose around the edges, etched with glowing sigils. At the center lay an open field of reinforced stone, scarred with old impact marks—proof that whatever happened here was never gentle.
Luke swallowed. "…So this is where they break us."
Sora grinned faintly. "Nah. This is where they figure out who's worth keeping."
Students gathered in loose clusters, tension thick in the air. At the far end of the field, several familiar figures stood waiting.
Captain Lal leaned casually against a railing, arms crossed and smiling like he was about to enjoy himself far too much.
Nearby, Captain Ryn Ainsworth sat on the edge of the platform, legs dangling, lazily unwrapping a lollipop.
He glanced at the crowd, bored eyes scanning until they paused—just briefly—on Luke.
Then he looked away.
Luke felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Lal clapped his hands, the sound echoing across the grounds.
"Good morning, Saints!" he called cheerfully. "Hope you slept well. Because today—"
His grin widened.
"—you learn how to survive."
Lal clasped his hands behind his back, his grin stretching far wider than necessary—like a man who enjoyed chaos.
"In the Academy," he began, pacing slowly before the gathered first-years, "all newcomers must pass an ordeal."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"This ordeal exists for one reason only," Lal continued, his eyes gleaming. "To measure your strength—your raw power, your instincts, and most importantly, your ability to adapt under pressure."
With a snap of his fingers, glowing sigils materialized above the students, each one flashing briefly before etching itself into their wrists.
"Each of you has been assigned a number," Lal said calmly. "Your task is simple—find the others who share the same number as you."
A pause.
"Each team will consist of three members. No more. No less."
The murmurs exploded into noise now.
"You will have one hour," Lal added, his smile sharpening, "to locate your partners anywhere within the Academy grounds. If you fail…"
The sigils burned faintly.
"…you will be disqualified from the ordeal."
Lal turned away, already walking off.
"Oh—and one more thing," he said over his shoulder. "Plan wisely. This test doesn't just measure power."