"I need to go," Bastian says, his eyes darting to where the other legacies are watching us with undisguised curiosity. "I won’t be able to talk to you regularly. It’ll draw too much attention. Remember, I’ll bring the book when I can. Until then… be careful, Nessa. You have no idea how much danger you’re in.”

He's already gone before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance. Before I can fully process what just happened—the fight, the strange fire, Raith's reaction, Bastian's concern—the sparring matches are declared over and we're being sorted into dormitory assignments.

The instructors talk about our schedule and lodgings while two older students drag a lifeless body from the room. I try not to look at it. Try not to think about it.

I do my best to focus on what I’m being told. Like how our schedule will include regular combat, weight training, and a full barrage of academic and magical training classes.Today, we're being shown a rare mercy and allowed to get settled in our rooms and rest for the remainder of the day.

Hoo fucking ray.

The instructors divide us by affinity, their voices cutting through the haze of exhaustion that's settled over us all. We're led from the training area through winding and confusing passages which are almost all lined with massive oil paintings depicting primals locked in battle—their elemental companions taking the forms of beasts from wolves all the way to fearsome dragons or great land worms large enough to swallow horse carriages.

I notice more than a few of us are limping, bleeding, or already swelling with bruises as we travel. The sounds of pained breathing and occasional whimpers echo off stone walls that I imagine have witnessed centuries of similar processions.

It must be settling in on everyone, just like it’s settling on me. This is real. Hours ago, we may have expected to die. To be sacrificed. Executed. Maybe even something worse. None of us expected to be thrown into a military academy and trained.

The castle itself is magnificent, I have to admit—all polished stone halls lined with lush carpets and tapestries in empire gold, silver, and black. Magical lights illuminate our path, hovering in ornate sconces and pulsing gently with arcane energy colored to match one of the four affinities. We pass countless rooms, some of which are occupied by older students already taking classes. They glance as we pass with expressions ranging from pity to disdain, seeing in us what they once were—or perhaps what they're glad they never had to be.

With interest, I note that I only see the silver trimmed uniforms of aspirants or, far more rarely, the silver and gold of legacies. Where are the upper year offerings?