Dawn crept slowly across the battlements of Knight’s Crucible, casting pale orange light through the latticework of the South Hall windows. Celeste stood by her bedside, already dressed in her cadet uniform, fitted dark navy tunic, reinforced leggings, and her polished black boots secured with military precision. Her blade rested at her side, sheathed but humming faintly with a residual charge.

  Before she left for her assessment, she sat at the edge of her bed and unsheathed the weapon her father had given her. The steel glimmered in the early light, quiet arcs of lightning occasionally snapping along the edge. She ran her fingers along the length of the blade, feeling its balance, its weight, its energy.

  She could feel something within it. Not sentient—no, but responsive, as if the blade knew her grip, resonating with her mana. It was unlike any weapon she had held before.

  A soft breath escaped her lips.

  "Not yet," she whispered, gazing at the weapon. "You deserve a name. But it should be earned."

  She stood, sliding the blade smoothly into its sheath. "After the trials."

  Outside, the bell tower rang once. Assessment day had begun.

  By the time she stepped onto the parade ground, dozens of other cadets had already assembled. Most wore tense expressions; some whispering, others pacing. A few couldn’t stop adjusting their gear. She could feel their nerves bleeding into the air like static.

  She wasn’t nervous.

  She was ready.

  Instructor Halvane emerged from the shadows of the coliseum archway, flanked by a handful of junior officers and assessment overseers. "Cadets," she called. "Today, you will demonstrate your aptitude. Mana efficiency, physical endurance, spell casting precision, and real-combat reflex. You were not chosen for this academy lightly. Do not shame the standards we uphold."

  Celeste’s name was one of the first called.

  She stepped forward.

  The first trial was mana output calibration. In an open warded field, she stood before three crystalline columns that glowed faintly with magical resonance. The task: channel raw mana into them evenly, balancing strength and control.

  Her hand lifted. Lightning crackled.

  The columns lit perfectly in sync.

  The overseer nodded, noting something on his clipboard.

  The second trial was spell casting. Cadets were required to demonstrate a series of elemental spells. Celeste delivered her Chain Lightning with surgical precision, arcing it through a sequence of moving targets mid-air. She followed with Lightning Cloak, briefly dazzling the instructor with her controlled emission.

  "Mana flow is unusually stable," the assistant whispered behind Halvane.

  Next came the physical evaluation: agility, strength, and reflex. Celeste sprinted through the obstacle course with mechanical precision, vaulting over barriers, and parring incoming projectiles from rotating dummies using her bare hands.

  Her movements were efficient, honed, a culmination of what feels like years of conditioning, far beyond her apparent age. Watching her made it difficult to remember she had only turned seven not long ago. That fact lingered at the back of the observing instructors' minds, some scribbled notes more quickly, a few exchanged wary glances.

  The final trial: live combat simulation.

  She stepped into the training arena.

  Across from her stood a senior cadet chosen for the assessment bouts, a lean boy with dual sabers and flame-casting gloves. He looked confident, his stance wide, expression cocky.

  He bowed. Celeste returned it.

  The signal horn blew.

  He charged.

  But Celeste was already moving.

  She dodged low, kicked off the ground, and parried one saber in a flash of steel. His flame glove ignited as she countered with a burst of lightning from her blade, intercepting the strike before it reached her. The crowd hissed.

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  She pressed forward, disarmed him with a twist, and drove the back of her fist into his chest. He dropped.

  Silence followed.

  Then applause.

  Halvane’s eyes didn’t move from her.

  “Impressive,” the instructor said. “Very impressive.”

  Celeste bowed again and stepped from the arena, sweat lightly tracing her brow, her breath steady.

  This was only the beginning.

  As Celeste stepped off the dueling platform, the murmurs among the assembled cadets and instructors grew louder. Some cast glances laced with disbelief, others with quiet recognition. She paid them no mind. Her focus remained centered, inward, on what came next.

  A staff member handed her a damp cloth and a flask of water. She accepted both with a nod of thanks and moved toward the benches reserved for assessed cadets. Her movements were composed, almost ritualistic. As she sat, she pulled her journal from her belt pouch and began scribbling observations.

  | Mana response at 94% efficiency. the blade resonated cleanly with lightning spells—no drag. Flame user lacked footing post-second exchange. Reaction speed acceptable, but improve left pivot recovery. |

  Across the training grounds, other cadets began their trials. Lightning danced, earth surged, and flame spiraled into the sky. Halvane and the other instructors moved through the crowd, noting everything with hawkish precision.

  Celeste finished her notes and looked up as the next bout concluded with a flash of wind magic. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed an archer class student, manipulate the air pressure to enhance their arrow velocity. Not bad.

  She analyzed every movement, every mistake. Not to boast, never that. She sought only understanding. Improvement.

  "You don’t miss much, do you?"

  The voice came from her left. A girl with dusky rose hair and piercing violet eyes sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin in hand.

  "Lyra Dawnveil," she said before Celeste could ask. "Scholar class. You fight like an experienced soldier."

  Celeste raised an eyebrow. "You study observation or just eavesdrop on everyone's battles?"

  Lyra smiled. "Both. And yours was one of the most controlled simulations I’ve seen. That's a lightning infused blade, isn’t it? Custom made?"

  "Inherited," Celeste said simply.

  Lyra’s smile widened. "Mystery and strength. Dangerous combination. You’ll make interesting waves around here."

  Before Celeste could reply, Instructor Halvane’s voice rang out again. "Final trials complete. Those who have been assessed may report to the east hall for initial rankings and cohort assignments."

  Lyra rose smoothly. "Guess we’ll find out just how high the bar’s been set."

  Celeste stood and followed. Her blade hummed softly at her side, and for the first time since arriving at Knight’s Crucible, she allowed herself a small, quiet smile.

  The east hall was a formal stone atrium lined with crystal fixtures and decorative weaponry from past academy champions. Inside, cadets were seated in rows beneath large banners representing the four primary divisions: Vanguard, Arcana, Recon, and Tactica.

  A senior instructor stepped up to the elevated platform. “Cadets, your performance today has been scored, reviewed, and processed. Rankings are preliminary and subject to change. But for now, these will determine your cohort placement.”

  Names appeared one by one on a floating screen of light. Celeste waited, arms crossed behind her back.

  “First cohort, Vanguard Division... Celeste Silver.”

  Whispers flared instantly around the room. Some surprised, some envious.

  Celeste remained expressionless.

  Lyra whistled softly nearby. “Top slot. Color me intrigued.”

  The list continued, assigning cadets into their respective groups. After the ceremony, instructors handed out cohort badges. Celeste’s bore a stylized lightning bolt wrapped around a sword, unique to her placement.

  The moment she accepted it, Halvane approached.

  “You’ll be leading your cohort’s first simulation next week,” she said without preamble. “Make sure you don’t waste their potential.”

  “I won’t,” Celeste replied.

  The instructor nodded and walked away.

  Celeste looked down at the badge in her hand, then toward the crowd of cadets already organizing themselves. Her next trial was not combat. It was command.

  And she intended to conquer that, too.

  As cadets began drifting out of the hall, some approached her, offering congratulations or curiosity disguised as flattery. She acknowledged each with brief nods but made no promises, gave no invitations.

  Lyra caught up beside her again. “You really plan to lead? Or just show everyone what happens when a storm takes charge?”

  Celeste allowed herself the faintest curve of her lips. “Maybe both.”

  She turned back toward the setting sun pouring light across the courtyard outside the atrium.

  The crucible had tested her.

  But it was only the beginning of the fire.

  That evening, once she returned to her room and shut the door behind her, she sat on the edge of her bed again. She drew the blade free and stared at it, letting the hum of lightning crawl up her fingers.

  "Raiketsu," she said aloud. "That's your name. Thunderblood. It's who we are."

  The blade shimmered in her grip, the lightning along its edge flaring once as if in acknowledgment.

  Celeste smiled faintly, then sheathed it once more.

  She reflects on the day's events as she lays in bed. "Tomorrow more challenges await. I'll face them head on."