Chapter 46

Each end of the Mana Studies hallway disappeared into obscurity, its length punctuated by islands of pearlescent light in which a Great Soul student knelt. The air was cool, charged with power, and scented subtly with mint; Scorio sat cross-legged, waiting as he was bid, and studied the small altar before him.

It was identical to the others, lacquered crimson and elegantly carved, a broad shelf with a golden sphere under each corner to lift it a few inches from the floor. It featured ten indentations, in three of which were objects that could only be classified as treasures.

The first was a ragged shard of dark, stratified rock which gleamed in the light of the thick candle set at the rear of the tray. Faint smears of iridescence glistened on its flat planes, seeming to ooze without ever actually moving.

The second was a bundle of copper shavings, fastened by a twist of copper wire, standing erect upon its indentation so that it had the appearance of a fountain frozen in time. Whenever he looked away from it the shavings seemed to move as if stirred by a light wind, but would prove immobile the moment he snapped his gaze back.

The third was a squat cube of gray metal, ponderous and crudely formed, composed of small rectangular ingots melded together. Its surface was dull, and Scorio derived a sense of sullen strength from it, an obdurate and stubborn power that felt no need to sell itself.

Scorio could sense their potency even without summoning his Heart. His attention drifted from one to the next, and to his surprise, he found that each had its own appeal; the Iron for its formidable strength, the Copper for its motility and lightness, the Coal for its familiarity, and possibly consequent sense of rightness.

Instructor Hera had commanded him to do nothing but meditate till she returned, but Scorio found it impossible to focus. He surreptitiously studied the students to his left and right, who clearly knew what was expected of them. They sat with their eyes closed, backs straight, one hand extended, thumb crossed over the palm.

There was no sound, however; the entire hallway, despite housing some fifty students, was still; the very intensity of focus and mana manipulation taking place made the atmosphere feel ponderous and heavy, as if he sat at the bottom of an ocean, surrounded by gelid currents that pressed down upon him at all times.

Finally, Instructor Hera appeared, emerging silently from the darkness to sit cross-legged across from him on the other side of the altar. The candlelight caused her striking features to appear even more dramatic, a mask of shadows and raised, illuminated surfaces. Her presence, however, was calm, and under the weight of her regard he found himself settling, shoulders relaxing, breath slowing.

“This must have been a very stimulating day for you, Scorio,” she said, voice soft, hushed, intimate. “But now is the time to put away all your thoughts and questions, your hopes and fears, and focus on the single most important talent any Great Soul can hope to master: mana manipulation.”

He nodded eagerly while trying to make his expression severe and serious.

“You’re a Cinder, which means you’re no stranger to the basics. The fact that you managed to ignite your Heart while outside the Academy is truly impressive; I understand that Naomi assisted in this matter?”

A question, a rhetorical one, perhaps, but Scorio nodded again.

“Then tell me what you know of mana and your relationship to it. We have time, as I’ve an assistant walking the hall to help the other students if a need arises. Be thorough, consider your words, and don’t worry about the limits of your knowledge.”

Her words had remained gentle and warm throughout, a stark contrast to her exacting tones from that morning’s class, and Scorio felt a sense of confusion and wonder; how quickly he’d formed a judgment about her, created a silent narrative that explained her as a person. The woman seated before him could have been that teacher’s sister, related but utterly distinct.

“Right,” said Scorio, and rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his knees. “Everything I know. I’ll begin with the, ah, relationship between our Hearts and the ambient mana.” And he outlined, as clearly as he could, the triangle of power, and how one’s inner flame was sparked by applying tension to their Heart once it was suffused with ambient power.

“Correct,” said Hera with a smile, and Scorio felt a rush of pride. “Stress, tension, or a sufficiently honed will can cause the very substance of your Heart to release as a spiritual vapor. This vapor reacts with the saturated mana to ignite your Heart, unlocking your ability to draw ever more power from the world around you. But note that you cannot ignite your Heart without consuming some small part of it; a balanced Great Soul will rely primarily on mana, and never consume more of their Heart than it can easily regenerate. Desperation, greed, or untempered ambition can lead Great Souls to empower their techniques with too much substance, resulting in the deterioration of their Hearts. The more you consume, the longer it takes to regenerate; the rate is exponential. A large part of what we practice here, therefore, is mindful control over the ratio of spirit vapor to ambient mana, so that it becomes instinctive to never use unhealthy amounts, no matter the short-term temptation.”

Scorio tongued the inside of his cheek as he absorbed this. “Naomi told me that some Great Souls can extend their ignition purely by consuming their Hearts, but that you change as a person the more you burn.”

“Correct. Your Heart is not merely a source of fuel for your techniques. It’s very literally you. Your sense of self, your morality, your values, your goals. If you burn your Heart away completely, it will never regenerate, and you will become a monster that others will hunt and put down.”

“Is that what happened to Imogen?” he asked softly, wondering if he dared too much.

A shadow passed over Hera’s face, and then she nodded. “Yes. She burned the entirety of her Heart, and was left with what’s called a Lacuna, a space where her Heart once belonged. This is thought to be a direct channel to the Pit, and results in ever-greater power, though the mechanics of this tragedy are not fully understood.”

“I see. But… she claimed to still love Imperator Sol.” Scorio searched Hera’s face, looking for some hint that he should stop speaking. “That she wanted to return to his side.”

“If she truly loved him, perhaps as she once did, do you think she would have created the situation that forced them to fight?” Hera’s smile was pained. “The Fallen, as they’re called, don’t see themselves as monsters. Nobody in this world does. Imogen no doubt still believes herself guided by love and the same virtues as before. But they’ve come untethered from reality. They are now little more than justifications for whatever she desires. If you were to ask Sol, do you think he would say he recognized the love that his former wife once had for him?”

“No,” said Scorio softly.

“No,” agreed Hera. “After what you witnessed firsthand, you more than most then will be served by this example and understand why you should never be tempted to burn your Heart recklessly as fuel. But moving on.” She sat up straight again. “What else can you tell me?”

So he told her about the variables in mana, ranging from degrees of purity to its density to its regeneration rate. The variables that governed training, namely frequency, intensity, and sheer amount. How Naomi had sought to find his edge where he was pushed to his limits but not overwhelmed. How the power of an Igneous Heart was determined by its depth, its reactivity, and ability to condense mana.

“Very good,” said Hera, her warm smile returning. “All the basics that we cover during our first month. Anything else?”

Scorio searched his memory for a moment, then smiled. “Ah—right. That what determines the limits of one’s advancement is the nature of one’s ambitions.”

“Excellent. Yes, and that’s what we work on during the second half of the year. Clarifying and identifying your motivations, and trying to modify them by finding deeper roots that will allow you to quest ever further for more power and change. Unfortunately, all Great Souls are hampered by a natural limitation. Do you know what that is?”

Scorio narrowed his eyes. Did he know? His long conversations with Naomi felt blurred now, a jumbled mass of information and discursions that probably had contained that fact. But nothing specific came to him, so he shook his head.

“Motivation and ambition stem from experience. A regular citizen of Bastion is born as a baby, with nothing more than the simple and primal desires to flourish, to love and be loved, to be safe, well-fed, and eventually be fulfilled at work and to create a family. Those desires are insufficient to fuel a Great Soul’s ascent to power. No, what drives us to reach the rank of Imperator is the injustices, the wrongs, and the traumas that we experience along the way. They must outrage us to the point that we strive to correct them, not just for ourselves, but for all others. Yet when we reincarnate, what have we lost?”

“Our memories,” said Scorio softly.

“Our past. The very experiences that drove us to become the legendary heroes that helped defeat the demons almost a thousand years ago. Those drives are still there, within us, but lost to our conscious minds. We cannot access them except through vague, emotional impulses. Angers that we don’t understand, intolerances that surprise us. But what is our salvation in this matter?”

Scorio’s blank face was answer enough.

“The Four Trials,” said Hera with an air of quiet satisfaction. “It is forbidden for Cinders to learn the details, but each trial reveals a facet of your original past. It is a process of rediscovery, though what you learn may shock you, disappoint you, challenge the person you are today. Regardless, these recovered memories are what ultimately drive students to Dread Blaze and possibly beyond.”

“I see,” said Scorio, her words crystallizing a sudden and undeniable desire. “We rediscover who we were, and that allows us to harness our old ambitions to become more powerful today.”

“Precisely. Now, the Academy begins this process by inculcating in our students a raw desire for power in and of itself. This desire is ultimately insufficient to get you far, but it reliably gets you to your First Trial, where your own memories and drives then take over and push you all the way to Dread Blaze. That is where most Great Souls find their natural choke point; unable to reconcile the person they’ve become today with the host of memories they’ve inherited, they stall out, not from lack of desire, but from an inability to collapse their former and current selves into a new whole.”

Scorio felt gripped by wild, rushing energy that swirled within his being like an unleashed vortex; he sat up straight, gripped his knees tightly, and studied Hera with renewed fascination. He’d spent so many cycles, so many Eighthdays, so utterly focused on his immediate problems that the complete lack of past, his lack of self-knowledge, was often something he forgot; but now the need to know who he was, what he had done, who his parents had been, where he’d grown up, what he liked, everything and anything about himself was so strong that it brought tears to his eyes.

With a breath that was half-gasp, he forced a self-conscious smile, and bounced his knees a few times as he sought to master the tempestuous emotions that sought to overcome him.

“I understand exactly what you’re feeling,” said Hera warmly. “We all do. We’ve all been there, many, many times over. It’s a void you can’t quite wrap your mind around until you face it fully; an absence you don’t appreciate until you’re given the chance to fill it. Almost everyone makes Emberling, Scorio, though it takes time, extreme effort, and access to the finest treasures. The drive to know coupled with the desire for power ensures that everyone reaches their First Trial eventually. How far you go from there will depend on what you discover about yourself and how well you can reconcile that knowledge with the world you live in today.”

Scorio gave a sharp nod. “Thank you, Instructor Hera. I’ll let nothing stop me from reaching Emberling as soon as possible.”

“So says every Cinder,” she said. “But how does one reach Emberling? It’s not simply a question of desire.”

Scorio relayed what Naomi had explained, the need to reach the very limit of his Heart’s ability to draw in mana, to expand its size to the point where he could barely cause ignition.

“Correct. It sounds simple, but in practice, it's as laborious as training to double the amount of weight you can lift. An exercise in discipline that requires time and constant work. Let’s see where you’re at with your development. Go ahead and summon your Heart, and then ignite with whichever mana source you desire. I’ll observe.”

Scorio felt a fluttering in his chest and swallowed quickly. He resisted the urge to smooth out the fabric of his robes over his knees, and instead closed his eyes so that he didn’t have to watch Hera watching him in turn.

This was it. After endless Eighthdays of training, after pushing himself to his very limits and risking everything to achieve this level of power, he’d finally get an objective evaluation of how far he’d come.

He took a deep breath, settled himself more comfortably, and then summoned his Igneous Heart. It appeared before him, large and faceted, dark and mysterious, and he took a moment to consider its obsidian substance in the light of his conversation with Hera. There, given form, was his very sense of self. His being. Raw-edged, enigmatic, its surface scrawled over with spidering lines.

Scorio then turned his attention to the ambient mana, and was nearly overwhelmed. The three treasures on the altar exuded incredibly potent and remarkably dense power, such that vivid streams of black, copper, and gray flowed up and washed around him, never mixing but forming endless layers in the air all around.

Which should he go for? Coal for its familiarity? Copper for its fluid flexibility? Iron for its greater power?

Iron. If he wished to impress Hera and show that he belonged, then anything less would speak to a lack of ambition.

He reached forth with his will, thinking of it as always a paddle, broad and strong, and sought to sweep the Iron mana around his Heart. He could feel Hera’s gaze, the weight of her consideration, and strove to move the Iron with efficiency.

It wasn’t intrinsically heavy and dull like Coal, but rather dense and requiring its own unique form of focus. As if Scorio had to be deserving of its service, had to manifest the requisite amount of authority to command it to do his bidding. Focusing intently, Scorio willed it into motion, and slowly it responded, moving about his Heart at a calm pace.

Then, with great focus, Scorio inhabited his Heart, became one with it, and drew upon the Iron, inhaling it into his being even as he willed it to flow into its core at the same time.

The Iron poured into his Heart smoothly, and Scorio felt his own sense of self change subtly in response; he felt more solid, more composed, his nerves soothing and his edginess washing away.

Once he’d drawn in as much as he could—though hardly a fifth of the Iron around him—he flexed his will and caused his Heart to ignite.

The effect was immediate; his Heart released great tongues of gray flame, and strength flowed into his body, making him feel fell and masterful. Scorio observed the burning Heart for a moment longer, admiring the ethereal flames, and then opened his eyes.

Hera, however, was frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Your Heart,” she said. “You’ve been training exclusively with Coal, have you not?”

“Of course.” It took effort to keep his voice from becoming sharp.

“But not just Coal. A lot of Coal. You’ve been driven like all Great Souls to acquire power, and it’s cost you.”

“Cost me how?”

“Your Heart,” she said again, her voice turning stern. “It’s heavily fractured. Coal will do that if used in excess. You vent a good portion of the mana you take into your Heart before you can burn it.”

Scorio’s head drew back sharply as a sensation of dizziness swept over him. “Wait. Fractured?”

Hera nodded slowly, seeming to stare straight through him. “You’ve got patterning that indicates severe moments of stress that your Heart wasn’t strong enough to absorb. Did you consume elixirs or work with treasures of beyond Iron grade?”

Scorio nodded numbly.

“Right. I won’t ask how you came across such resources in the wild, but it's taken a toll. Right now you’re venting almost… I don’t know, a third of everything you draw in, and that amount will go up the harder you push yourself. Think of your current practice as jumping up and down on the edge of a crumbling cliff. Your best bet is to simply stand still, but even that won’t undo the damage you’ve already done.”

“There has to be something I can do to heal it,” said Scorio, though his voice seemed to come from far away.

Hera’s gaze focused and she smiled. “Of course. You’re far from the first Great Soul to have tried gaining too much too soon. Your Heart will heal, but remember what I said about it taking exponentially longer the more damage it's taken? Given the extent of the cracking, you’d heal up in a year or two if you didn’t push yourself until then.

Scorio immediately went to protest, but Hera raised a hand. “Of course, that’s not something anyone wants to hear. There are treasures and high-level pills available that will greatly speed up that process. Now, unfortunately, these are beyond the scope of what the mess hall will provide; we’re talking high-grade healing. Your best chance of acquiring such pills would be by acquiring the patronage of a major House.”

Scorio sat back, shoulders slumping. “I thought the Houses had already chosen their proteges.”

“They have. But you think them above acquiring a promising new candidate?” Hera’s smile was somewhere between pitying and encouraging. “They’ve evaluated the current cohort and made their selections. You weren’t there during that evaluation, and will merit scrutiny if you prove yourself.”

Despite her words, Scorio found it hard to wrench his mind away from the faults in his Heart. “And how would I do that?”

“The easiest way is to petition to enter the double-elimination tournament. I’m not sure how they would insert you—and probably Naomi—but if you enter and win enough combats, you’ll draw attention.”

“Right,” said Scorio, staring down at the altar of treasures. “Any other way?”

Hera pursed her lips and considered. “Accomplishing an impressive Gauntlet run at the end of the semester will draw attention, but you’ll be hard-pressed to stand out amongst your cohort as a Cinder with a fractured Heart. If you proved exemplary at your academic studies you might earn a recommendation from your instructors, but given how much material you must cover, that will prove challenging. We’ve many motivated and very intelligent students who are already excelling in class.”

“Great.” Scorio took a deep breath. “What about solving the problem with brute force? Simply becoming better at drawing in mana to compensate for what I lose?”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “Fine as far as it goes, but you’ll only cause your fractures to widen. It might be a temporary means to get ahead, but you’ll purchase your every success at the expense of your future.”

“Got it.” Scorio forced a deep breath and sat up once more. “Well, no regrets. I did what I had to do to get here. If my next step is winning the tournament, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Impressive resolve,” said Hera with a wry smile. “Given that your cohort already boasts thirty-one Emberlings and you’re still but a Cinder.”

“Guess I’ll have to get to work then,” said Scorio, and managed a shaky smile back.

“Remember, I didn’t say you have to win the tournament. Simply draw enough favorable attention that one of the four Houses will offer you a sponsorship. You’ve already caused a significant stir with your role in Imogen’s defeat. Cement that interest with a few key victories, and then negotiate an offer to focus exclusively on healing. After that, you’d simply have to do your best to maintain their interest.”

“Right. By the way, how much would one of these healing pills cost? Can I just raise the money myself?”

Hera gave him a pitying look.

“All right, not going down that road just yet.” He let out a sharp breath, pursed his lips, and gave his despair one last moment before forcing it from his mind. “So. Mana Manipulation. What else do I need to know?”

“Given your situation?” Hera’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Let’s focus first on restorative techniques. I want you to close your eyes and envision what I describe next. Ready?”

Scorio did as he was bid. Felt his heart pounding in his chest, pounding fiercely, like an outraged prisoner clamoring at the cell door for his freedom. It’s not fair, he thought. I’d not be here if Praximar hadn’t hurled me through the Final Door. If I’d not been left to fend on my own, forced to drink toxic elixirs, to—

But with an act of will, he banished his fury and bitterness. The sooner he stopped expecting fairness from hell, the better.

* * *

Each evening after Mana Studies, their group would move at last to train under Instructor Rex in the bowels of the Academy, where he held court over a large battlefield, whose parameters he could shift through the powers of a wondrous purple gem that hovered by his side. Easily the size of a person’s head, it was utterly smooth like a great pearl, set in a cradle of platinum and gold of remarkable workmanship.

Scorio had caught sight of Rex during their fight against Imogen, but only briefly; as a formidable hand-to-hand fighter, the Dread Blaze had had difficulty getting in close to be of much use, but the wary deference even the other instructors showed him put Scorio immediately on his guard.

“All right, line up,” Rex had barked upon entering the antechamber on Scorio’s first evening. “Don’t waste my time, we’ve got a lot to get through tonight. You two.” Rex had caught sight of Naomi and Scorio immediately and moved to stand before them. “You know what you’re up against tonight?”

Rex was a lean, hard-bitten man with cauliflower ears and a face that looked as if a smith had used it as an anvil. His ruddy skin made him look as if he’d spent too much time under the light of First Clay, and his fair hair was thinning out on top.

The kind of man your gaze might drift over in a crowd, then be jerked back to uneasily as you noticed a feral intensity about him. An obdurate meanness that made you want to keep your distance.

“Yes, Instructor,” said Scorio. “A shifting battlefield where we either fight against each other or ghosts of your creation.”

“That’s right,” drawled Rex, linking his hands behind his back. “I’ll highlight two elements of these training exercises that you are to keep in mind before I throw you in. The first. Learn to fight as a team. That means use small group tactics, clear communication, and pick a leader, following their instructions. You won’t get far in the final Gauntlet run if you attack your foes like a pack of idiots. This is your chance to learn teamwork. Second, I spend just about every waking moment when I’m not wiping the drool off your chins dreaming up new and exciting challenges to throw at you all. The goal here is to be flexible and able to think on your feet. Make no assumptions. Assumptions will get you killed. And the goal?”

“To reach the far side of the battlefield,” said Scorio, “or reach it first if we’re facing another team of Great Souls.”

“That’s right. Speed will carry more battles than I care to describe.” Rex’s gaze glittered as he stared down at Scorio. “Speed combined with intelligence and aggression will win the day more often than not. Move fast, hit hard, and react before you get killed. The rest you’ll have to figure out as you go.”

“Yes, Instructor,” Scorio and Naomi both said.

“Very well.” He resumed walking along the line. “We’ll be tackling the course in groups of four. Today’s ghost day, which means I get to torment you all to my heart’s content. Each team will get a run, and then we’ll clear the battlefield for toe-to-toe exercises while I check in with each group to tell them why they failed so dismally. Asha, form a team and line-up.”

Scorio watched as the slender, dark-haired woman from his first Gauntlet run stepped forward, made eye contact with a few of their classmates, then picked out three willing accomplices. They lined up at the door through which Rex had entered and there conferred in low voices.

Rex then rattled off a dozen names, gave their class a leer, and stepped back out through the doorway into the battlefield.

Leonis had been one of the names Rex had spoken, so the four of them retired to a corner to sit cross-legged and confer.

“It’s simple,” said Lianshi. “Beyond the door is a huge room. It’ll be filled with some manner of battlefield, usually something that limits line of sight, and Rex will float above us with the Eye. He’ll direct the enemy and watch as we fight our way through.”

“Simple but brutally hard,” muttered Leonis, who then turned to watch as the light above the doorway flashed. Asha pushed the door open and led her team through. The door swung closed, and the light resumed burning with its steady light.

The second team moved to stand in position.

“We’ve run this course more times than I can remember,” continued Leonis. “And never reached the far side. It’s rare that a single team makes it all evening. People think it’s cause Rex increases the difficulty the closer you get to the far side.”

“Just like the Gauntlet,” said Scorio.

“Just so,” said Leonis. “But I think he punishes those who try to brute force their way through. Weaker teams who rely on tactics seem to make it further than impressive teams that just pound their way toward the finish line.”

“You missed the first week,” said Lianshi, voice hushed. “Rex gave us seven lectures and expected us to memorize every moment of them.”

Leonis gave them a lopsided smile. “It was fascinating stuff. Very practical. The key to success in the field is to shatter the enemy’s cohesion through a variety of swift, focused, and unexpected attacks which causes the enemy to lose control of the situation and suffer overwhelming defeat. Tactics become far more complex once we reach Emberling, and have a mixture of long-range and melee abilities, but for now, he wants to see us use appropriate planning, correct formations, intelligent use of the terrain, a clear chain of command, and an attempt to catch the enemy by surprise by audacious, concentrated attacks.”

“Sounds like a lot,” said Scorio.

“Just do what I say, and you’ll be fine,” said Leonis. “Again, a lot of this is just laying the groundwork for when we have more complex powers. Working together requires a lot of practice to avoid getting in each other’s way or even hurting each other. I’ll call out the commands as needed, and you both just try to execute them.”

The light over the door pulsed and the second team went in.

“What sort of terrain can we expect?” asked Naomi.

“Depends on how bad a mood Rex is in,” said Leonis.

“Which is always pretty bad,” said Lianshi. “Last time was marsh at night. Knee deep in mud and with almost no visibility. The evening before that was dense bamboo forest. And always with enemies that excel in that environment and are hard to pin down.”

“Sometimes we’re issued weapons,” continued Leonis, “but not often. Today’s just knuckles and kicks.”

“And tails,” said Naomi with a private smile.

“And tails,” said Leonis, reaching out to clap her on the shoulder. “With you here, I think we might have a chance of surprising Rex.”

The light over the door pulsed again, and the third team went in.

“That was fast,” said Lianshi.

“Come on,” said Leonis. “We’re up next.”

They lined up before the large, red door. Scorio felt pleasantly tired from the day’s activities—the morning run, the large meals, classwork, then the training with Feng, and the meditation cycle with Hera. But excitement made him feel light, ready for more, and he stepped in close to the others. “When do we ignite our Hearts?”

“Let’s evaluate the situation on the other side first,” said Leonis. “I’ll give you your cue.”

They waited another few minutes, and then the light over the door pulsed.

“Here we go,” said Leonis. “Stay close.” And led the way in.

They emerged into a large, ruined room, the ceiling missing, the floor strewn with broken furniture, torn clothing, and shards of glass. There were two doors, and no sign of anybody else.

Leonis gestured for everyone to move against a blank wall and dropped into a crouch. “No visibility, and I’m sensing mostly Copper. We’ll form a wedge, Naomi on point, and clear each room before moving on. Naomi, you’ll move in first, engage whatever enemies you see, and Lianshi and I will move in to flank and provide assistance right behind you. Scorio, take a moment to make sure we haven’t missed any hidden threats, then engage when you’re sure we’re aware of all dangers. Saturate your Hearts, but don’t ignite till we’re given cause. Clear?”

Naomi shifted up into her Nightmare Lady form and moved to the door on the left. Glancing up, Scorio saw Rex hovering in the darkness above them, the purple Eye floating by his side, his expression stern, forbidding, the cavern ceiling barely visible beyond him.

Leonis and Lianshi flanked the door as the Nightmare Lady slipped inside, and a moment later rushed in after her. Scorio stepped up to the doorway and peered inside, watched as the Nightmare Lady prowled down the length of a hallway to an arch, Lianshi and Leonis some six yards behind her, and then moved in once they were halfway down.

They repeated this process a couple more times, moving swiftly and silently through a series of rooms, all of them missing their ceilings, all of them looking as if a cyclone had torn through, and Scorio was just starting to get confident when violence exploded around them.

The walls, it turned out, weren’t as solid as they looked. They were traversing a long hallway when claws exploded through the painted wooden boards, grasping and clawing at Leonis and Lianshi in the center.

They reacted swiftly, but were hampered by the close quarters; the claws passed through their chests and necks and both flashed as red light flooded over them. The Nightmare Lady threw herself right at the wall and burst through it, crashing into the next room, and laid about her with her tail, slashing and decapitating a number of shadowy foes before being mobbed by dozens more who simply piled onto her.

Scorio ignited his Heart and sharpened his darkvision as he leaped in right after, striking and tearing foes off his friend, but there were too many of them. Those whom he focused on appeared like emaciated humans, genderless and without hair, features melting off their faces, arms elongated and roped with muscle. They swung and crowded in on him from all sides, and though he lashed out viciously, he soon flashed red as well.

“That’s it for your team,” said Rex from above as the walls and rooms and foes all faded away, revealing a huge, empty cavern easily a hundred yards long. “Move to the side quickly now.”

Leonis cursed and led them at a jog to the far side of the cavern where the other teams had gathered. A moment later, the battlefield manifested again, though for Scorio and the others all they were presented with was a long expanse of blank wall that no doubt formed the border of the ruined rooms within.

“Damn it,” said Leonis quietly as they gathered round. “We went down fast.”

Lianshi let out a deep sigh and gathered her hair behind her head into a ponytail. “We did almost everything right. Only mistake I can see was that we took the walls at face value.”

“Agreed,” said Naomi, tone curt. “I should have thought about that. If I could punch through them, anything else could have, too.”

Leonis scowled, genuinely upset. “That’s my mistake. I failed to evaluate the terrain properly. Still tend to think of things in terms of normal, human abilities, and not what we or our enemies can do. Won’t happen again.”

“Don’t get too down on yourself,” said Lianshi, slipping an arm around his waist. “You were leading two new people into combat. We just need to learn from this and not make the same mistake again.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” said Leonis, visibly trying to shake off his anger. “But how am I supposed to live up to being the Golden King and all that if I can’t even pull off a raid like this?”

“You probably didn’t earn those titles right away during your first life,” said Lianshi, sounding concerned. “Go easy on yourself.”

“Go easy?” Leonis stepped away. “There’s no time for going easy. Or, more accurately, all I do is go easy. But in moments like these, I need to do better. I need to show my quality. I owe it to myself, to my past, to—”

He cut off and turned away, frowning.

“Start with the basics,” said Lianshi. “Don’t make assumptions about walls. It’s a valid lesson.”

“Very valid,” said Naomi. “One I learned in the ruins but forgot here. My apologies.”

“Lianshi’s right,” said Scorio. “We’re here to learn, right? Well, let’s learn that lesson. I bet we won’t take any of the walls for granted when we make our Gauntlet run at the end of the semester.”

Leonis sighed and hung his head. “We’d better not. Mistakes like this could cost us everything. And I want to come back for the next semester, not be shipped out to some half-assed outfit in the Rascor Plains.”

“How so?” asked Scorio. “We don’t get to come back?”

“Remember? I think we mentioned it ages ago when we had our second lunch or something. You only get invited back if you’re in the top half of the class,” said Lianshi. “The fifty percent that does the worst at the Gauntlet doesn’t get to continue training.”

“Motivation,” Leonis said darkly. “Though it’s ironic that the ones who end up washing out each year are the ones who are given little more than Dark Star pills and receive no patronage upfront.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy,” said Naomi. “Think of it as the Academy’s real lesson to you all. It’s the truth about how the world works.”

“We’ll make it,” said Lianshi firmly. “Scorio, you managed the top eighteen out of the whole class on your first run. We’ve Naomi now, and I didn’t do too badly either. If we can convince a top student to swap in for Leonis…”

And she laughed, ducking away as he made to grab hold of her.

“I stayed in the tournament longer than you did,” he said, expression dark. “So don’t mock me too much.”

Lianshi’s expression became concerned. “I was just joking, Leonis. Come on.”

“Yeah, I know.” But still, he turned away to stare morosely at the battlefield wall and Rex floating high above it all.

Lianshi shot Scorio a plaintive look, but he gestured for her to relax and give the big man some space. She nodded reluctantly, and they waited in silence thereafter as one team after another seemed to fail the course in roughly the same amount of time.

The battlefield faded away for the last time as the tenth group jogged over to join them, and Rex descended from the air, one hand upon the purple Eye, and frowned at them all.

“Pretty miserable showing, to be honest. Did you think you were running through your mother’s house, trying to find the kitchen for some warm milk? Oh, that’s right, none of you sorry bastards can remember your mother. You run like that through a battlefield, none of you’ll want her to remember you either. What’s the difference between cover and concealment?”

Asha, off to one side, raised her hand immediately. “If it doesn’t stop a blow, it’s concealment. Cover will hide and protect you both.”

“Correct, Cinder. Which makes it even more amazing that you forgot that principle in the field. Out there in hell, you’re going to fight across the strangest terrain you can imagine. Stuff right out of your nightmares, and if you can’t tell the difference between cover and concealment, you’ll find yourselves ambushed again and again and again.” Rex paused, his thin lips pursing in thought. “Correction. You’ll be ambushed once, and then you’ll be dead. Now, let’s move to team fighting. Pick a circle, any circle, and warm up with two on two.”

The great, smooth-floored cavern changed, as this time ten sparring circles appeared across its floor, the perimeter of each glowing a soft, unnatural lavender hue. Leonis led the way to the closest one, the empty nature of the cavern now causing their footsteps to echo.

“Warm up at half-speed,” called Rex, voice cutting through the low chatter. “We’re looking to land blows and coordinate with your partner. Cycle through the different tactics you’ve learned, and try switching from offense to defense. Go.”

They stepped into their circle, and Naomi and Scorio looked to their friends for guidance.

“Pretty simple,” said Leonis, rubbing at his beard and clearly trying to shake off his bad mood. “Teams will be Scorio and Lianshi, Naomi and myself. We face off, first fight in parallel, then cycle through back-to-back, split up, and try to catch the other team two-on-one. You’ll see.”

Rex called out the start, and they began, moving slowly, exchanging blows, parrying, warming up. It was interesting fighting alongside Lianshi; if they stood close enough together, they could assist each other, though it was clearly a skill to be learned; half the time, Scorio’s movements hampered her own, and threw her off. If they stepped a yard or more apart, it became more of a solo fight against their foe, though Leonis demonstrated how a coordinated play could shift both his and Naomi’s attacks against one of them for a moment, overwhelming their defenses, before shifting to the other if they weren’t on the lookout.

“Full speed,” called out Rex. “Let’s see some blows land, I want to see some effort, but don’t turn off your brains!”

All around them the teams began to spar in earnest, Leonis narrating as they fought in different configurations, explaining the benefits and drawbacks, whether it was the benefit of fighting back-to-back or moving swiftly around the circle as a pair, looking to corner another fighter as they angled for advantage.

If anything, it felt like a game; Scorio found himself grinning each time he and Lianshi managed to find advantageous positioning, each time they intuited what the other was trying to do and managed to work together to Leonis and Naomi’s downfall.

But their opponents were just as skilled, if not better; often Naomi would cause one of them to trip or stumble as she kicked their foot just as either Lianshi or Scorio were about to take a step, sweeping it out a moment before they placed their weight on it, and in that moment of staggering would leap on the other teammate to take them down with Leonis’s help.

Time lost meaning, and Scorio became fully invested in the contest; it really was more a matter of tactics than pure martial ability. Thinking quickly, maneuvering for advantage, tricking your foe with misdirection or feigned weakness could tip the odds rapidly in your favor, and if your partner was alert and quick, like Lianshi was, you could quickly capitalize on a moment’s advantage and wrest a smooth win.

“And time,” said Rex, who’d been walking between the groups and pausing each circle to offer advice. “That’s the full cycle. Tomorrow we’re going to start with team against team on mixed terrain, and then move in the second half of the class against ramp-up ghosts. Rest, eat, sleep. You’re going to need your strength. Dismissed.”

“Ramp-up ghosts?” asked Scorio, raking his sweaty hair from his brow.

“Yeah,” said Leonis, dropping down into a crouch to catch his breath. “Purple Eye illusions that get more competent by the second. We’ll fight them together. Sometimes it’ll be a single large foe, other times an equally sized group, sometimes numerous weaker foes. It’s pretty interesting, especially as Rex will often add anecdotes from his own fights and how he survived them.”

“That does sound good,” said Scorio.

Rex had exited the cavern by this point, and most of the other students were filing out as well. A couple here and there, however, had opted to remain behind, and were facing off in the glowing sparring circles.

“Ready?” asked Lianshi, smiling brightly. “A hot soak and dinner await.”

“Sounds good,” said Scorio. “That and I’ve got a question for you guys.”

“Oh?” Lianshi fell in beside them. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about my Heart,” he said, throat tightening up as he forced the words out. The other three turned to him, listening attentively. “And how entering the tournament may be my only hope to fix it.”