You know how every school promises “rexing time” after final exams?

  Yeah. That was a scam.

  For a brief, delicious moment, life did feel suspiciously normal.

  We were finally free from battle simutions, potion explosions, surprise dungeon duels, and student council drama. For the first time in months, we didn’t wake up wondering if we’d get expelled, murdered, or mysteriously promoted again.

  So, obviously, fate decided we were due for another psychological beating.

  The Lie of PeaceThe first few days after finals were almost boring. Which was the dream.

  Eli disappeared into the forests near her house, wrestling wildlife like she was auditioning for a nature documentary narrated by madness.

  Rielle spent time in the city, dragging me around to bookshops, cafes, and sword shops. I lost feeling in both legs from all the walking. Still, she smiled more than I’d seen in a while, so maybe it was worth the trauma.

  Gram? That lunatic brewed potions like a man possessed.

  “I HAVE LICENSED FUNDING NOW!” he screamed one morning, bursting into my kitchen like an alchemical Kool-Aid man.

  Yes. Gram got his alchemist license.

  The Empire had officially sanctioned this chaos.

  With access to high-grade herbs, reagents, and a budget signed by the Alchemist Guild, Gram began crafting potions with names like “Mana Overclocked Death Shake” and “Drink Me If You Want to See Your Past Lives”.

  He made us all test them, obviously. I don’t want to talk about the results.

  Wand Me, FatherAnd then there was me.

  My new wand—finally—was ready.

  Kael handed it to me with a ceremony so somber I thought someone died.

  “Crafted from moonce wood. Core: preserved basilisk heartstring. Enchanted with channeling runes from the 4th Age,” he said, like I was accepting a holy relic instead of a magical stick I would inevitably use to roast my enemies and light campfires.

  I held it in my hand. Felt it hum. Responsive. Hungry.

  “It’s alive,” I muttered.

  “It reflects its master,” Kael said with a smirk.

  Ember coiled around my shoulders and hissed approvingly.

  Cool. Now I was the proud owner of a murder wand. My vacation was officially complete.

  The Letter That Killed VacationAnd then it happened.

  A royal letter arrived. Sealed in gold wax. Smelled like expensive arrogance.

  I opened it.

  To: Squad 7.From: Princess Sylvaria Elion Wellstion.Subject: Training Invitation (Mandatory).

  I already hated it.

  You are hereby summoned to accompany the Student Council on an advanced dungeon mission to the 15th floor. This will serve as tactical training and inter-team cooperation exercise.

  Note: The 15th floor is occupied by elves. Not the singing forest kind. The stab-you-on-sight-and-use-your-bones-as-flutes kind. Do try not to die.

  *See you there.With affection,

  Your dear Princess.*

  I stared at the letter for ten whole seconds.

  “Nope.”

  I crumpled it. Burned it. Tried to deny it existed.

  Five minutes ter, Cassandra, our ever-watching royal babysitter, showed up at my door holding the exact same letter.

  “You’re going,” she said ftly.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “What if I pretend to be dead?”

  “You already look half-dead.”

  Fair point.

  Gathering of the Damned (a.k.a Squad 7 Meeting)We regrouped at my pce. Again. I should start charging rent.

  “Fifteenth floor?” Rielle asked, flipping through a dusty dungeon guide.

  “That’s the elf colony floor,” Eli muttered. “They’re hostile to humans on sight.”

  “Cool,” I said. “So basically this is colonial diplomacy with swords.”

  “Why us again?” Gram asked. “Didn’t we already traumatize the academy enough?”

  “Because the Princess thinks we’re her personal apocalypse unit,” I said.

  “Well…” Rielle gave me a look. “We did beat a lich. And win a tournament. And defeat nobles from another empire.”

  “Stop using logic,” I said. “Let me compin in peace.”

  Goodbye, Dreams of PeaceSo there it was. Just when I thought I might get a week off to reorganize my books and py with Ember in peace, the Princess decided “vacation” meant “dungeon combat.”

  Again.

  Only this time we weren’t fighting skeletons. We were going up against organized, agile, knife-happy elves—who, according to historical accounts, hate humans more than bureaucracy.

  And our job?

  “Establish a safe path through the 15th floor for future exploration teams,” the mission details said.

  Transtion: Be bait. Be shields. Be expendable. Smile for the Princess.

  Ending Thoughts (Before the Elfpocalypse)Gram was already brewing “anti-elf venom resistance tonic” and “emotionally stable juice” (the tter just being tea). Rielle was sharpening her bdes with a glint in her eye. Eli cleaned her armor like she was preparing for war. Because she was.

  Me?

  I just stared at the dungeon map, wand in one hand, Ember coiled like a second scarf around my neck.

  “Why can’t we just go to the beach like normal students?”

  Ember hissed.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Because burning things is so much more rexing.”