When Iver opened his eyes, morning sun was already streaming through the broad glass doors of his balcony. He sat up, elbows on his knees, and took a slow breath.
’Unexpectedly good sleep. The difference between this bed and every bed before it was just absurd.’ he thought..
He washed in the private bath and worked the stiffness from his shoulders. As he buckled on his sword belt, he ran through the day ahead: the first official day of classes. He expected orientation and the usual posturing of high nobles measuring each other’s strength.
The central cafeteria was massive, framed by soaring vaulted arches and marble pillars, and when he walked through the double doors it was completely empty. Not a single cadet.
Unbothered, he went to the serving counter. The staff offered a practical feast: steamed beast meat cutlets, fresh fruit, and a rich grain porridge infused with low tier recovery herbs. He ate until he was satisfied, appreciating the perks of Class S, and wiped his mouth.
On the way to the main academic block, the corridors were strangely quiet. ’Are people still asleep? Odd, for an elite institution on its first day.’ He didn’t dwell on it.
When he slid open the door of the Class S lecture hall, he froze for a fraction of a second.
The room was packed. Every Class S cadet sat at the tiered desks, and at the front podium stood a woman in her late twenties wearing the sharp charcoal robes of a senior instructor. The nameplate on her podium read Instructor Luna. Her eyes snapped to him the instant he crossed the threshold.
"Late on the first day," she said, her voice crisp and devoid of warmth.
"I overslept," Iver said plainly.
A few quiet scoffs rippled through the seats. The instructor narrowed her eyes and leaned on the podium. "Just because you took second place on the entrance evaluation, Ares, don’t assume you can coast. Class rankings are not permanent. Grades will be adjusted regularly, and cadets will climb or drop between classes based on performance." She pointed to the empty seats. "Be early next time. That’s your last warning."
"Understood," Iver said softly, head lowered.
As he climbed the steps, Ansel caught his eye from the second row and waved, gesturing to the vacant desk beside him. The rest of the room watched in silence, some curious, some annoyed. Iver took the seat.
"I tried to wake you earlier, but you didn’t budge," Ansel whispered with a grin. "Was the sleep really that good?"
"I didn’t hear you," Iver whispered back. "Morning."
He gave Lyra a nod across Ansel. She returned a polite, curt one and turned her focus back to the Prince.
For two hours, the instructor went through the term syllabus: elemental theory, monster ecology, and political history. When she finished, she dismissed them to the eastern training grounds for the practical combat module. This story is hosted at novelping(.)com.
Walking the corridors toward the arena, Ansel asked what Iver thought of the theory syllabus. Midway down the hall, a soft tap landed on his shoulder. Adela was a step behind them, offering a small, awkward wave.
"Morning, Adela," Iver said.
Ansel turned and smiled. "Good morning." His curiosity sharpened as he looked between them. "Are you two related? I noticed you share the Zephra name."
"A friend of the family, mostly," Adela said quickly, with a polite smile. "Our branch lines cross a few generations back, and we grew up near the same territory."
Ansel nodded thoughtfully as they reached the arched entryway of the training grounds.
...
In the center of the dusty arena stood a towering, broad shouldered man with a scar down his jaw. The moment all fifteen cadets filed in, he crossed his arms and bellowed loud enough to rattle the walls.
"Welcome, Class S! I’m Instructor Luke, and I handle your physical conditioning and practical application!" He paced down the line. "Warrior or mage, it doesn’t matter what path you walk. You’re nothing without stamina. If your body fails, your spirit control collapses, and you die." He pointed to the armor racks. "Change into the standard leather training suits. Move!"
They swapped into reinforced leather in the side annexes and regrouped on the track.
"Simple test today," Luke said. "Run the perimeter until I tell you to stop."
He blew a brass whistle.
The cadets surged forward. Gideon took the lead at once, May close behind him. At the back, Orin trailed, visibly conserving his energy.
Iver fell into a steady, measured stride in the middle of the pack. Rushing won’t help. This is pure stamina.
Laps bled into laps. The sun beat down on the open arena, and the initial pace shattered the group. Heavy breathing turned to ragged coughing. May was the first to pull up, clutching her side, followed by Orin and several others who collapsed onto the grass. Gideon slowed to a walk near the center of the field, cursing under his breath as his legs gave out.
Ansel ran near the front, clearly determined not to lose pace with ares. Adela pushed through her exhaustion beside them, determined to stand with the top ranks. And Lyra drove herself right behind Ansel, fueled by a stubborn obsession with staying at his side.
"Stop!" Luke called, raising a hand.
The four slowed and halted, catching their breath.
"Not bad," Luke said. He turned to the sprawled class. "Those four held a solid baseline. For the rest of you, that’s your benchmark. I expect five laps of this track every day for the entire term." He waved toward the exit. "Nothing else today. Go wash up. Dismissed."
When the fifteen walked into the cafeteria together for lunch, the room shifted. Hundreds of eyes from Class A through D turned toward them, whispers rippling along the long tables.
It’s going to be hectic here, Iver thought, carrying his tray to a quiet corner. No free time at all.
After lunch, the group gathered by the plaza doors. Ansel, Adela, and most of the others had an elective alchemy lecture that afternoon.
"Coming to alchemy, Ares?" Adela asked, checking her schedule slate.
"No. I’ve got nothing left today. I’m going to the library."
"See you at the upper terrace later!" Ansel said, and led the group toward the alchemy labs.
Iver turned toward the central archive tower, expecting to walk alone. Instead, someone fell in step beside him.
Sitri. She walked in silence, her daggers at her hip, matching his stride without a word.
He glanced at her. She kept her eyes fixed on the library doors. The silence stretched, heavy and slightly awkward, their boots tapping in rhythm on the stone.
’What a drag’, Iver thought, and let out a small, silent sigh as they reached the massive mahogany doors.