So. I’m fifteen now.

  Tall-ish. Sharp jawline. Fire in my blood. Wind in my lungs. Fully crystallized core. Two elements under my belt—fire and wind. Studied under a literal court mage (thanks, Dad), and had zero interest in spending my next few years in a state-funded hormonal warzone called an academy.

  Which meant, naturally, I was being dragged to one.

  Why?

  Because apparently self-study, secret library raids, and occasionally setting curtains on fire wasn’t enough for society.

  Also because my parents were convinced the Imperial Academy of Sword & Sorcery—the most prestigious institution in the Empire of Wellstion—was the “perfect pce” for me to blossom.

  Yeah. Like a fireball blossoms in a library.

  On the Road to Doom“You look like you’re headed to your own funeral,” Rielle said beside me in the carriage, smirking like she hadn’t been training since dawn.

  “I might be,” I replied. “Academy’s just a glorified prison. With extra paperwork.”

  “Or a battlefield. With uniforms.” She flexed her arm. The same biceps-for-brains attitude, only now it came with real muscle and an even sharper sword on her back.

  Rielle Eltan. My childhood rival, personal tormentor, and arguably the Empire’s most infuriating tomboy. We’d grown up together, sparred countless times (which she counted; I ignored), and now, through fate and bad decisions, were taking the entrance exams together.

  “Don’t worry, Bookworm,” she said. “When I’m winning tourneys, you can sit in the stands and read about it.”

  I stared at her. “You do realize I can literally set you on fire now.”

  “Yeah,” she grinned. “But can you dodge this?”

  She poked me in the ribs before I could react. I yelped.

  “I hope you trip during your summoning,” I muttered.

  The Imperial Academy of Sword & SorceryLocation: Capital City of Wyrnhaven, Wellstion EmpireEstablished: 102 years ago, after the world nearly endedSpecialties: Pain, public embarrassment, and emotional trauma disguised as education

  The academy grounds were massive. Think gothic towers with mana-ced runes, training fields that smelled like sweat and scorched dirt, and floating elemental statues judging everyone silently from above.

  Two gates split the examinees—one for sword, the other for magic.

  Rielle spped me on the back. “Wish me luck, nerd.”

  “You don’t need it,” I said. “Just punch the dummy and don’t stab the instructor.”

  “Only if they ask nicely.”

  And with that, she strutted off toward the sword gate like a blonde hurricane.

  I, on the other hand, sighed dramatically and walked into the magic division—where over a hundred kids, robed and nervous, waited under the eyes of hovering proctors and evaluation mages.

  The Magic Entrance Exam: Where Self-Worth Goes to DieThere were two parts to the exam:

  Spell Control Demonstration

  Summon Contract Evaluation

  Simple enough. Unless your nerves were made of wet paper.

  I stood in line, arms crossed, while students ahead of me took turns standing in the spell circle and casting their strongest elemental technique.

  One girl summoned a wind bde that sliced through a target clean. Appuse.

  One guy caused an ice spike to rise from the floor, freezing the practice dummy solid. Murmurs.

  Then there was the kid who exploded his fireball mid-cast and singed his eyebrows off. Laughter. Harsh, merciless ughter.

  “Lucien Wyrhart,” a proctor called.

  I stepped into the casting ring. All eyes on me. Whispers. I caught someone muttering “That’s Kael Wyrhart’s son,” and someone else replying, “He better not mess this up.”

  No pressure.

  I inhaled. Slow. Deep. Pulled mana from my core. Spiraled it through the familiar circuits in my limbs. Felt it gather in my palm like hot liquid smoke.

  “Pyrran Vire.”

  A long ribbon of fme erupted from my palm—like a whip on fire—arcing through the air and slicing into the wooden dummy with a hiss of splinters and scorched bark. The dummy exploded in half.

  Silence.

  Then a few gasps. A cough. Someone muttered, “Fire-whip... That’s an intermediate spell... at fifteen?”

  The proctor raised a brow. “Fire and wind affinity. Core stabilized. Spell control... adequate.”

  Adequate? I just fmbéed a training dummy into a war crime. But sure. Adequate.

  “Proceed to summoning chamber,” he added.

  Summon Contract: Meet Your Emotional Support MonsterThe summoning chamber was darker, quieter, with a massive rune circle carved into the marble. A summoning fme floated at the center, ready to channel my will into a creature that matched my spirit and affinity.

  The idea was simple:Summon a beast. It tells the academy what kind of mage you are.

  High-tier summons meant things like drakes, phoenixes, storm spirits, or—like my father—a Samander, which apparently marked him qualified to become a court mage.

  And now it was my turn.

  I stepped into the ring. The proctor began the chant, the circle ignited, and the fmes swirled upward around me. My core vibrated. My blood heated. Mana surged.

  I called inward. Focused on my essence. Fire and wind. Controlled chaos. Calm rage.

  And then the fmes roared—and something slithered out.

  A long, dark-scaled serpent, coiled in golden embers, slid from the smoke and curled at my feet. Its eyes glowed orange. Fmes flickered from its open mouth.

  A fire serpent.It hissed, then spat a jet of fme into the air like a dragon pretending to be a noodle.

  The proctor narrowed his eyes. “Not a samander...”

  “Definitely not,” I muttered.

  “Intelligent. Tempered mana. Elemental control moderate. Threat css: Tier 4—Combat Aptitude Type. Recommended track: Battle Mage.”

  Battle Mage? Not Court Mage?

  I mean... sure. Battle Mage sounded cooler. Less paperwork. More fireballs. But still.

  I gnced at my summon. It stared back, like it was judging me.

  “Do you breathe fire in your sleep?” I asked it under my breath.

  It blinked once. Then promptly curled into a loop and napped.

  Great. My summon’s as zy as I was in my st life.

  Later That Day: Sword Brains and ShowoffsRielle found me lounging under a tree near the academy courtyard.

  “How’d it go, Lord Lectures?”

  I gave her a sideways look. “Passed. Summoned a snake. Spits fire. Sleeps a lot.”

  She plopped down beside me, grinning. “I beat my dummy in one hit and knocked my duel partner off his feet. They called me a ‘high threat level sword user.’”

  “Sounds accurate,” I muttered. “Your volume is a threat.”

  She elbowed me. “So. Battle Mage, huh? Guess you’ll be in the fshy csses.”

  “And you’ll be in the sword arena, trying not to stab your teammates.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  I leaned back, arms behind my head, as the sun dipped behind the academy towers.

  This wasn’t how I’d pnned to spend my second life.

  But then again...I’d been given power. A family. A rival who wouldn’t let me rot in peace.

  And a snake that belched fire.

  Maybe school wouldn’t be completely hell.

  Just mostly.