C5 Entrance Exam

Dawn broke gray and cold. Kael stood at the east gate an hour early, the wooden token clutched in his sweaty palm. He'd spent three days preparing—testing the bear's strength in a hidden clearing, learning to control the rage that flared every time someone looked at him too long. His back against walls. His knife never out of reach.

He hadn't seen the black-robed man again. That was worse than seeing him.

By sunrise, over three hundred kids had gathered. The noise was a physical weight—chatter and nervous laughter and someone retching into the bushes. Kael's enhanced hearing picked up every word, every whisper, every heartbeat. He pressed his back against the stone wall and tried to breathe.

A boy pushed through the crowd, blond and broad-shouldered, blue silk robes embroidered with a silver hawk. Leon Voss. Rank 4. His Aether glowed dull gold around his hands, showing off. A cluster of hangers-on orbited him, laughing at everything he said.

Kael looked away. Let the loud ones draw attention. His father's first rule of survival.

A line of gray-robed instructors emerged from the gate. The woman at their head was tall, silver hair yanked back in a tight braid, a scar cutting across her left cheek from brow to jaw. Adept rank. Kael felt the power rolling off her before she spoke—thick and heavy, making the air prickle against his skin.

"I'm Instructor Elara." She didn't raise her voice. It carried to the back of the crowd anyway. "First test: Aether sensitivity. Place your hand on the crystal orb. Channel. If it glows, you pass. If it doesn't, leave through the south gate."

They funneled through the gate into lines behind six wooden tables. Kael chose the shortest line and watched the kids ahead of him take their turns. Some made the orb flare bright. The instructors marked their names with stars. Some made it glow faint, barely enough. Some touched the orb and nothing happened, and they walked away with their heads down.

When his turn came, Kael stepped forward. "Kael Miller."

The instructor glanced at him, bored. "Place your hand on the orb."

Kael put his palm to the cold crystal. The bear's strength hummed in his muscles, demanding release. The bear's rage coiled in his chest, wanting to crush, to dominate, to show these weaklings exactly what he was. His fingers twitched. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Not here. Not now.

He let a trickle of Aether seep through. The orb glowed faint blue—barely visible, the color of a dying candle. Forgettable. Pathetic.

The instructor waved him through without looking up. "Pass. Next."

Kael's legs were shaking when he walked away. He'd almost lost control. Almost let the bear out. If he'd pushed even a fraction harder, the orb would have lit up the yard like a beacon.

The second test was a three-mile run through the woods, carrying a fifty-pound pack. Kael settled into a steady jog near the back. The pack felt like nothing. The bear's strength turned the fifty pounds into ten. He had to remind himself to breathe hard, to let his knees buckle, to look exhausted.

Voss was at the front, Aether flaring around his legs, showing off. Wasting energy. The combat test was next, and he'd be half-drained by the time he got there.

Stupid.

Kael crossed the finish line at forty-five minutes, middle of the pack. He bent over, hands on knees, and forced his breath to come in ragged gasps. The instructor marked his name. "Combat arena. Third test starts in ten."

The arena was a dirt-floored ring surrounded by splintered bleachers. The ground was stained dark in places Kael didn't want to examine. Instructor Elara stood on a raised platform, her gray eyes sweeping the crowd.

"Third test: combat. Paired at random. Fight until your opponent yields or is knocked unconscious. No killing. Top fifty pass."

Kael walked to the board where names had been chalked in neat columns. His finger traced down until he found it. Kael Miller paired with Leon Voss.

Of course.

He walked to Ring 3. Voss was already there, leaning against the ropes, smirking. His silk robe was somehow still immaculate.

"You?" Voss looked him up and down. "This is going to be boring. I'm Initiate Rank 4. My father hired the best tutors in the empire."

Kael said nothing. He climbed into the ring and let his shoulders slump. Let his expression go slack. The bear's rage snarled in his chest—crush him, break him, show him—and Kael forced it down.

"Fight."

Voss charged. A glowing fist aimed at Kael's head. Fast. Strong. Technically perfect.

Kael stepped sideways. The punch hit air.

Voss followed with another, and another, each one wilder. His Aether flared brighter, more power than necessary. His footwork got sloppy. His breathing got ragged. The crowd started laughing—the golden boy hitting nothing.

"Stop running, coward!"

Kael waited.

One more wild swing. Overextended. Voss's body committing too far forward.

Kael ducked under it and drove his fist into Voss's gut.

He pulled the punch. Just enough enhanced strength to knock the air out—nothing that would raise suspicion. Voss doubled over, gasping. Kael swept his legs. Voss hit the dirt hard, dust exploding around him.

Before Voss could scramble up, Kael put a knee on his chest. Not enough to break anything. Just enough to make breathing a struggle. His knee pressed against Voss's sternum, and the bear's rage purred. Harder. Just a little harder.

Kael's knee trembled. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin. He could feel Voss's heart hammering under his weight, fast and terrified. One push. One push and—

"Yield," Kael said. His voice came out rough. "Or I crack your ribs."

Voss stared up at him. His face cycled through rage, humiliation, disbelief. "I'm not yielding to a peasant—"

Kael pressed harder. His knee was shaking. Not from effort. From the effort of holding back.

"Yield. Now."

"Fine." Voss spat in the dirt. "I yield."

Kael climbed out of the ring without celebrating. His legs nearly buckled. His hands were shaking so hard he shoved them in his pockets. The bear's rage was still snarling, unsatisfied, demanding blood.

He walked to the side and leaned against the wall. His heart was pounding. His vision blurred at the edges. He'd almost killed Voss. Almost let the bear take control. The man in black robes had seen him. The hunters were still out there. And now he'd drawn attention by beating the top-ranked student in the first round.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Instructor Elara read from a parchment scroll. Fifty names. Kael's came in the middle. Right where he wanted it. Unremarkable. Forgettable.

He was walking toward the exit when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

Kael spun, the bear's speed launching his fist before his brain could stop it—

Voss stepped back, hands raised, his bruised face twisted with fury. "You got lucky, Miller. You hear me? Lucky." His voice dropped to a snarl. "I'm going to find out who you really are. And when I do, I'm going to make you regret ever setting foot in this academy."

He stormed off before Kael could respond.

Kael stood frozen in the emptying arena. His fist was still clenched, knuckles white. The bear's rage howled in his chest—hunt him, catch him, end him—and for one terrible second, he almost gave in.

Then he looked up.

Instructor Elara was standing at the edge of the arena, watching him. Her gray eyes were sharp, curious, like she'd seen something she couldn't quite identify.

Kael dropped his gaze, pulled his hood up, and walked away. His hands were still shaking.

He'd passed the exam. He was in.

But Voss wanted him dead, Elara was watching him, and somewhere in the crowd, a man in black robes was still hunting.

The academy was supposed to be safe. Neutral ground. Protected by Sages.

Kael was beginning to suspect it was none of those things.