The boat arrives at dawn.
The sea is calm.
Too calm.
As if it saw nothing.As if it never drank blood.Never heard the screams.Never swallowed the bodies.
We board without speaking.
The survivors on one side.
My uncle's soldiers on the other.
Elëv remains on the makeshift dock.
He doesn't come aboard.
He still has work to do.
Erase.
Burn.
Destroy anything that could prove this island was never just a test.
Before the ship pulls away, the Deputy Director steps onto the deck—upright, flawless, as if none of it truly touched her.
Liora de Valbraise looks back at the island one last time.
Her gaze is cold.
Elëv stares at her.
For a long time.
His eyes are heavy.
Accusing.
Almost violent.
"Inhuman," he finally says.
One word.
Sharp.
She doesn't answer.
But her fingers tighten slightly around the railing.
The boat leaves.
The island fades into the mist.
I don't look back.
The return to the Academy is… silent.
No cheers.
No applause.
No heroic speech waiting for us.
Only eyes.
The professors stand in a line inside the main hall.
Upright.
Severe.
When Class 1A and 1B enter, someone starts to clap—
Then stops.
Because no one follows.
They stare.
They count.
Professor Bran Solfer steps forward.
"You survived," he says simply.
His voice barely trembles.
"You endured. You held on. You carried what many never could."
A pause.
"We are proud of you."
No one answers.
"You deserve your place here."
We were fifty-six.
We are twenty-four.
The silence is absolute.
Not a whisper.
Not a breath.
Even the Academy itself seems to be holding its breath.
When we are dismissed, no one speaks.
We return to the dormitories mechanically.
The corridors are the same.
The walls are the same.
But everything feels narrower.
I open my bedroom door.
The bed beside mine is empty.
Cold.
I stand there for a few seconds.
That wasn't a test.
That wasn't a trial.
It was a selection.
Days pass.
Officially, the Academy removes the ranking system.
No more announced exclusions.
No more public threats.
Of course.
They already did the cleaning.
Student life resumes.
On the surface.
Classes continue.
Theory in the morning. Practice in the afternoon.
The training halls echo again with steel clashes and controlled flames.
But something has changed.
Students speak less.
Listen more.
When a professor mentions real combat, no one laughs anymore.
I train.
A lot.
Too much, maybe.
My body hardens.
My mana stabilizes.
Carmine Fire answers faster.
Sharper.
I learn to shape it without anger.
To contain it.
Sometimes, I miss my uncle.
But I understand why he stayed.
I work.
I listen.
I learn.
A full semester passes.
A real one.
Not a brutal skip.
Not an empty time jump.
Weeks of repetition.
Failure.
Quiet progress.
I grow closer to Serah.
Naturally.
We eat together often.
We train side by side.
She still speaks of Selene sometimes.
But without crying.
Her voice shakes less.
Her gaze is stronger.
Brask changes.
Slowly.
He starts joking again.
Complaining.
Challenging others in training.
But he never fully lowers his guard.
He watches exits.
Blind spots.
He has seen too much.
Kaïros truly joins us.
He is… more present.
Still distant.
Still analytical.
But less cold.
He corrects our stances.
Shares books.
Gives precise advice.
Sometimes he trains with us.
Never forcing it.
"You've improved," he says one evening.
"Survival accelerates learning."
We become a group.
Not perfect.
But bound.
Rhaen returns.
One morning.
He sits in class without a word.
He almost never speaks of Selene.
But he trains until exhaustion.
Every day.
As if stopping would be dangerous.
Oryn remains apart.
But he is still here.
He watches.
He listens.
He speaks little.
And when he crosses Serah, he sometimes looks away.
The end of the first semester arrives.
Almost without warning.
A normal morning.
Classes end early.
The professor announces:
"Rest. The second semester begins tomorrow."
I lie down on my bed.
I stare at the white ceiling.
Too white.
I think about the island.
Selene.
The cages.
The soldiers.
The killings.
Then I think about tomorrow.
Classes.
Training.
The war approaching.
And finally, I understand something.
The Academy does not train students.
It forges survivors.
And those who remain—
are the ones deemed useful.
I close my eyes.
Tomorrow, the second semester begins.
And I know nothing will ever be normal again.