The procession of carriages had long since completed its crawl across the lowland roads and coastal ridges. By that time, the sky had begun to bleed open with pale, watery hues. It was five in the morning.

The first hints of gold kissed the horizon, and the distant cry of seagulls began to echo above the breaking tide.

The caravan had come to a halt near Drevhan Dock, a wide and weather-worn staging ground carved into the curve of the shore, where sand met darkened stone and the sea stretched wide like the open throat of something ancient.

The platform was half-dock, half-pier, reinforced by magic and salt-heavy timber, built to host the massive vessels that bore the Academy’s seal—Velthia’s Vessel, Leviathan—towering and sleek, drifting like a sea monster tethered to the world by chains and anchor.

The scholars had disembarked in silence, forming rows once more—tighter now, more focused, though the fatigue showed through the sharper glares and slower steps.

Four hundred of them stood on the wide stone deck facing the moored vessel, the sky behind them growing brighter with each breath.

Chief Instructor Arveth stood atop a raised platform once again, his coat still unmoved by the wind.

“This is your final briefing.” He said.

“The test will span ten days. That is the duration required. Each squad will be deployed into different zones across the island. The drop locations will be random.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained level.

“This is no longer a child’s game. From the moment your boots touch Vazrun land, you are on your own. The Academy will not intervene unless it is deemed absolutely necessary. If you fail, you fail. If you die… you die.”

The sea wind pulled harder now, as if to emphasize the point.

“Each squad will be issued a map of the island’s primary landmarks—topographical, but not complete. Vazrun remains a place of shifting grounds and buried histories. The Academy owns it in name but it does not command it in truth.”

“Upon boarding, each squad will be led to a private chamber. You are not to speak to other squads during the entire voyage, understand!? Further details about your specific assignment will be disclosed once you are inside. Squad Leaders, you are responsible for enforcing this order.”

His gloved hand rose once, fingers splayed as he began to call out the inevitable.

“You will move when your squad number is called.”

A few seconds passed, then…

“Squad 1… move forward!”

****

Before the scholars were allowed to ascend the obsidian ramps leading onto Velthia’s Vessels, there was one more gate to pass through, less ceremonial than practical, but no less significant.

A series of temporary checkpoints had been constructed just off the stone deck of the dock. Each checkpoint was manned by a pair of officials. When Squad 69 was called, Ruvian adjusted the strap of his cloak and shifted the weight of his pack, and began walking with the rest of his team toward the checkpoint.

The morning sun had climbed enough now to throw pale gold across the dock. The hull of the vessel stretched above them like the flank of some massive, slumbering beast.

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The inspection proceeded without incident, at least for him.

Ruvian stepped forward, unstrapped the leather satchel across his shoulder, and laid out the contents on the inspection table with efficiency that suggested both experience and a complete lack of guilt.

The items were humble but intentional: a grade-D vial of Nullscent Tonic, a soft leather flask, a small knife, three empty vials, a small cloth bundle of Nocturne Berries and a tighter pouch holding Lirenthia Leaves.

Then, six glass vials of the Academy-issued potion—healing and revitalise potions. Last came the wand and his enchanted fingerless glove, barely above a beginner’s grade but well-maintained.

The woman glanced over the items, passed a rune-stone above the wand and vials, and gave a single nod.

“Standard. You’re clear.”

He packed up his things, smooth and silent.

But the moment of peace did not last. From the table beside him, a sudden outburst rang out—part strangled protest, part theatrical wail.

“Wait—no, no, you don’t understand! That necklace is my lucky charm! It belonged to my ancestor. He used it in a war!” Arlok’s voice cracked somewhere near the end, teetering between righteous indignation and the kind of edge only panic could sharpen.

He stood with arms outstretched as if bracing for execution, eyes wide as the necklace was lifted from his neck by the official. “This is a grade-B item, it’s against the rules. Minimum is grade-D, Scholar Arlok,” the official said with a sigh.

“You can’t just take it!” Arlok protested, eyes glossing with the kind of disbelief. “It’s a family heirloom—I keep it on me at all times! It helps with luck only, nothing more and… and probably calming my spirit!”

The official’s expression did not shift. “Hey, you may claim it after the test, Scholar Arlok, please move now for the others.” he said flatly. The official turned away without waiting for more excuses. Arlok stood frozen for a moment, hands still raised, like a priest mid-ritual with no altar left.

Behind him, Shima let out a long breath through her nose and patted him twice on the back, not gently. “Enough already, drama queen,” she muttered with half a grin, her tone dry but lined with amusement. “Get your ass moving. People at the back are starting to stare.”

Ruvian didn’t laugh but the corner of his mouth curved, just slightly. Then he stepped forward once more, the sea wind at his back and the hull of the vessel rising ahead.

The gate was open.

And they were finally walking in.

As Squad 69 finally set foot upon the vessel’s groaning deck, the sheer scale of the ship swallowed their words and dulled even the most restless minds into awed silence. The vessel, a marvel of craftsmanship and intent, loomed as a floating citadel, a beast of timber and steel that carried within it the pulse of purpose.

The boards beneath their feet trembled faintly from the vast, unseen workings within—engines humming with magic, gears of ancient design, and channels of mana coursing beneath the planks.

An older man, draped in deep navy robes lined with thin white trim, waited near the entrance corridor. He offered no greeting beyond a subtle incline of his head and a wordless gesture for them to follow.

And they did.

A brief glance passed between them as they fell into step. Shima narrowed her eyes slightly. Yerin and Horren were already evaluating the corridor’s turns. Ruvian kept his gaze forward, absorbing details impassively. And Arlok… trailed behind with a sulking slouch and a moody grimace. Their footsteps echoed along the corridor.

After passing several rooms, the escort came to a halt before a broad, arched door of varnished oak. With a fluid motion born of repetition, the man turned the handle, stepped aside, and nodded once.

“This will be your quarters, Squad 69,” he said calmly.

The door creaked open, revealing a chamber far more generous than any of them had likely expected.

‘Oh this certainly looks better than what I read about it…’

A round table of dense wood stood at the center of the room, surrounded by five high-backed, cushioned chairs that invited both discussion and long hours of tired planning.

Built into the far wall was a compact kitchen nook—functional, nothing lavish, but complete with a stone stove and neatly arranged utensils hanging from iron hooks. To one side stood a door that led to a narrow changing room, its modest curtains half-drawn, and beside it a small but efficient bathroom outfitted with polished stone fixtures.

Against the opposite wall lay five beds—simple frames, no taller than the knee, with clean bedding and rolled blankets—set apart with enough space to afford privacy without indulgence.

The older man stepped into the threshold only slightly, his presence barely pressing into the room’s air before he spoke again.

“The briefing will commence once we depart,” he said, clearing his throat.

“A parchment will be delivered here—sealed, specific to your squad. Within it, you’ll find the parameters of your assignment, along with your starting coordinates and additional instruction. Until then… rest.”

“And prepare, if you must. But do not wander.”

He gave them a final look before turning away and shut the door behind him.

PP= 1450

ME= 510