The Academy of High Arcana had stood for centuries, but even its oldest stones seemed to shiver under the weight of what was to come. The Battle Trials were not merely tradition—they were transformation. For first-year students, it marked the transition from learning to application. For the academy itself, it was a test of what might awaken next.
The Trials were divided into three tiers:
Tier One: Duels. Classic confrontations between students to test magical prowess, control, and reaction. It was what most students prepared for—spell against spell, blade against blade. These battles were carefully regulated, held within enchanted arenas that absorbed stray magic, ensuring that the duels tested skill, not chaos. Even then, accidents were not unheard of. There were no guarantees.
Tier Two: Simulated Terrain. Conjured environments crafted by the higher faculty. A test of adaptability and group cohesion. Students would face shifting obstacles: wild magic storms, collapsing terrain, illusion-beasts, and corrupted arcana. These simulations were constructed to mimic the unpredictability of real-world encounters, forcing teams to react in real time with limited resources. It was said that Tier Two judged not only power, but instinct and unity.
Tier Three: The Unknown Gate. A tradition whispered of more than explained. Each year, the third tier changed. Some claimed it was a realm stitched together from dreams and nightmares. Others said it was where the Codex Fragments pulsed strongest. Only the highest-scoring teams were allowed entrance. No one spoke of what lay beyond the gate. Those who entered were rarely the same when they returned—if they returned at all.
The Trials would span three days. The first—today—was all about placement. Observation. Pressure. And beneath the stage of competition, something else stirred. Rumors had spread like wildfire in the past days: strange pulses of magic in the southern field, runes unearthed from beneath forgotten stones. The faculty dismissed them. The students did not.
Arin stood at the edge of the central courtyard where the opening ceremony was being held. Students packed the stone amphitheater, colors of their factions braided into their uniforms. The energy was high—excitement, anxiety, determination all clashing under the morning sun. Some students fidgeted with spell-etched rings or muttered incantations under their breath, rehearsing for what lay ahead.
The faculty stood on raised platforms, their robes gleaming with enchantments, faces masked behind ceremonial visors. Even now, Arin could feel their scrutiny—quiet, clinical, as if dissecting potential from posture alone.
Headmaster Solen raised his hand. Silence fell like a spell.
"The Trials begin," he said, voice carrying through amplification runes. "This is not a game. It is an unveiling. Of who you are. And who you will become."
The sky rumbled—artificial, intentional. The spell-structure activating above the courtyard shimmered, fracturing the air into glowing runes. Interwoven matrices of light spread from the platforms into the sky, forming a lattice of code and command.
"Today, we begin with the first tier. Duels will be assigned randomly. Outcomes will determine your initial standing. Your performance—not just victory—will be judged."
As Solen spoke, the light above him responded. Glyphs began to spiral outward, glowing sigils linking students to arena coordinates, each match forming in real time. There was a thrill to it—like seeing the dice cast for fate itself.
Talia whistled beside Arin. "It begins."
Elias cracked his knuckles. "Just don't die out there."
Arin's eyes didn't move from the sky. The light above had stilled for a moment, then pulsed again—once, faint and violet.
A rune appeared. One not quite aligned with the others.
Arin Valemore vs. ???
He blinked. No opponent listed. Just a symbol.
A broken eye.
Talia frowned. "That's not standard."
Elias stepped closer. "What the hell is that?"
"I don't know," Arin said, but even as he spoke, he felt a chill settle in his bones. The symbol was the same one they'd seen etched in the chamber beneath the circle. The same one that had begun to glow the moment Arin had touched it.
A voice crackled across the arena's amplifiers. "Valemore, to Arena Nine. Now."
The platform shimmered. Arena Nine—one of the rarely-used spaces. Enchanted to change its environment at will. Students parted as Arin stepped forward, whispering behind raised hands.
He descended the spiraling staircase into the arena's belly. The stone closed behind him. Darkness.
Then light.
He stood in a forest—illusory, but it felt real. The air tasted of pine. The ground was soft with needle and loam. Something rustled in the underbrush. No opponent had appeared.
But something was watching.
Above, the faculty's visors flickered. Several turned toward the Headmaster. Solen's expression didn't change, but his fingers curled once around the edge of his robe.
"Keep monitoring him," one instructor whispered.
"It's beginning again," said another.
Below, Arin stepped forward. His hand hovered near the arcane focus at his belt.
A shadow moved across the illusionary trees.
He was no longer certain this was a duel.
But the Trial had begun.
And so had something else.