Chapter 56

  School Life II

  Mags had expected sweat, strain, and the dull ache of repetition.

  After all, Physical Enhancement sounded like just another way to say run laps until your legs give out. And after Malacoda’s training, no amount of physical exercise could phase her.

  Instead, she stepped into a room that didn’t smell of sweat and exertion but of polished wood and something faintly metallic—like storm-charged air.

  The walls were paneled in mirrored glass, stretching from floor to ceiling. The floor beneath her feet was smooth, flexible wood, softer than a training hall’s usual stone or packed dirt. There were no desks, no equipment, no rows of training dummies waiting to be pummeled.

  Just a room. Odd, Mags thought.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  Galiel was there, stretching out his long arms with exaggerated exhaustion. Edvard stood beside him, his usual silence making him seem all the more focused. Across the room, Isolde adjusted the sleeves of her uniform, her expression unreadable. And then there was Chandrakant, one of the other Specially Recommended recruits, standing near the mirrors, his sharp eyes flicking across the space with quiet assessment. He would have all but faded into the background had Mags not known him from the Welcome Ceremony.

  “Alright, what fresh torment do you think they’ve cooked up for us this time?” Galiel muttered, cracking his neck.

  Mags snorted. “You really think anything here will be worse than the Training Field? My first couple of courses haven’t been too bad…”

  Galiel gave her a pained look. “I still dream about that obstacle course. The walls… the ropes… the shame…” He sighed. “But, I must agree. The first day of classes hasn’t been as terrifyingly soul-crushing as I had expected.”

  Edvard, standing beside him, merely shrugged.

  Before Mags could tease Galiel further, the quiet murmur in the room died. A shift in the air, the way the atmosphere seemed to press in, made the recruits instinctively straighten.

  Two men had entered.

  The first was older, somewhere in his forties, though the exhaustion hanging off him made him seem older still. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and disheveled in the way that suggested he had once cared but had long since stopped trying. His brown hair was a mess, falling past his ears in uneven waves. Gray eyes sat beneath thick brows, carrying the weight of someone who had seen far too much. Stubble covered his face, shadowing his sharp jawline.

  His uniform—if it could even be called that—was worn loose, sleeves rolled up in defiance of regulation. Over it, he wore a long, weathered coat that swept down to his ankles, and around his neck, a thick red scarf was wrapped haphazardly, as if he had thrown it on in a half-hearted attempt at warmth.

  He looked… tired.

  The kind of tired that settled in the bones. The kind of tired that never really left.

  Beside him stood someone very different.

  Younger, and only slightly shorter. But built like a siege engine.

  The second man—probably not much older than herself now that she was getting a good look at him—was a slab of muscle, with shoulders like a fortress wall and arms that could probably break steel. His black hair was pulled back into a high bun, tight against his scalp. A long, thin scar ran from his hairline, across his forehead, ending at his left temple. Unlike the older man, this one looked… alert. Too still. Like a statue waiting to move.

  The older man sighed.

  “Alright, you miserable lot. Welcome to Physical Enhancement.”

  His voice was rough, like gravel ground underfoot.

  He surveyed them, gray eyes scanning the room, lingering on each of them for just a moment longer than was comfortable.

  The older man rubbed at his stubble with a sigh, as though debating how much of himself he could be bothered to offer. Then, as if remembering where he was, he straightened slightly.

  “Right… I’m Sergeant Rainn Safilo,” he said, voice a tired rumble echoing off the mirrored walls. “But on Academy grounds, you’ll call me Professor Safilo.”

  He gestured absently to the mountain of muscle beside him. “This is Guarani Adonargui, a second-year cadet at Brightwash. He’ll be assisting me today.”

  At the name, Galiel let out a sharp breath beside Mags. Whispers rippled through the room like wind through tall grass.

  Adonargui...

  Mags’ mind fumbled with the name, trying to tie it to something solid. It was familiar, like a melody hummed half-remembered. Then it clicked.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She leaned toward Galiel, keeping her voice low. “That’s Rue’s classmate, right?”

  Galiel gave a tight nod, eyes fixed on Guarani.

  Guarani stepped forward with a booming laugh, as if he was totally oblivious to the ripple of recognition that passed through them. His voice filled the room like the crack of a war drum.

  “Thank you, Professor!” He bowed at the waist, low, despite his bulk. He then turned his attention towards Mags and the other first-year students. “What a beautiful day it is to improve ourselves, is it not?”

  His grin was wide, and oddly sincere, despite his intimidating frame.

  Professor Safilo sighed, shaking his head as though resigned to Guarani’s energy.

  “Seats. All of you.” When the class hesitated, looking around the bare room, Professor Safilo pointed a finger downwards. “If you don’t mind.”

  Guarani immediately plopped to the floor, cross-legged, back as straight as a spear shaft. The rest of the class hesitated for only a beat before following suit, murmuring among themselves as they settled into a loose circle on the soft wooden floor.

  Mags found herself seated between Galiel and Edvard, legs folded beneath her, heart still thudding. The mirrored walls reflected the seated class back at them like pale ghosts.

  Professor Safilo waited until the last of them was settled before speaking again, the weight in his gaze silencing even the whispers.

  “Good,” he said. Professor Safilo clasped his calloused hands together and leaned back against the mirrored wall, letting the room quiet down further until the only sound was the soft rustle of uniforms and boots against the polished wooden floor.

  “Let’s start with a brief primer of why you’re here,” he began, voice steady and sharp like a sword’s edge. “You’re here because you’ve proven yourselves worthy of taking a series of tests… Trials.”

  Mags sat straighter, sensing the weight behind the man’s words. Around her, the rest of the recruits held their breath, locked onto the professor like a flock of hawks eyeing prey.

  “These Trials,” Safilo continued, his gray eyes sweeping across the group, “will determine if you’ll become true soldiers in training. Eventually, you’ll be placed into squads, and you’ll operate during your time as official cadets as you will during your service.”

  He pushed off from the wall and began pacing slowly. “Fail, and you’ll be sent to the frontlines as auxiliary soldiers, supporting the war effort against the Maldrath.”

  A low murmur spread through the recruits. Mags’ stomach twisted at the thought, but she kept her face steady.

  “Pass,” Safilo went on, “and you will graduate. If you put in the work. You’ll join the Crown Coalition as officers, as official members of a cadre of Soulsingers. Positions envied across the Thirteen Crowns.”

  He held up four fingers. “The First Trial: Physical Enhancement.”

  Mags tensed, feeling the room shift as the recruits straightened up.

  “The Second Trial: Soul Refinement.”

  A hush fell over them.

  “The Third Trial: Team Building and Small-Scale Conflict.”

  Galiel let out a breath beside her.

  “And the Final Trial,” Safilo said, voice dropping lower, “a testament to what you’ve been training for. A large-scale field exercise. Against actual Maldrath.”

  He let that hang in the air for a beat before continuing. “But we begin with the First Trial: Physical Enhancement. This Trial will be in approximately three weeks time.”

  Safilo gestured toward the mirrored walls. “Soulsinging is built on two foundations: the refinement of the body, and the refinement of the soul. Even if you aren’t Bonesingers, your bodies house your souls. They are conduits for aetheric energy.”

  Mags could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

  “One must purify, refine, and improve the body to further refine the soul,” Safilo said, circling them like a hunting cat. “As vessels for your souls, unprepared bodies will only limit your potential.”

  A hand shot up near the back.

  Safilo sighed, shoulders drooping slightly. Still, he pointed at the student.

  “But aren’t you born with a soul with specific potential upon ignition?” the student asked. “Like a Glistening Soul versus a Diamond Soul, for example?”

  Safilo chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “True,” he admitted. “But that only measures potential. And potential can either be enhanced… or smothered.”

  His gray eyes locked onto each of them in turn. “And most people smother theirs before they ever realize what they’ve lost.”

  Professor Safilo dove into his lesson, guiding the class through different breathing exercises and techniques, with Guarani’s assistance.

  The floor was warm beneath Mags’ palms, the polished wood subtly radiating the heat from the bodies seated around her. The mirrored walls reflected back a crowd of young recruits, cross-legged and rigid, facing Guarani and Professor Safilo at the head of the room. The air felt thick with tension, but Guarani’s booming voice carried effortlessly through it.

  “Physical Enhancement,” Guarani announced, voice deep and full of vigor. “The simplest, yet most difficult of skills. You must find focus, align your soul with your body. I’ll show you how.”

  He knelt easily, like gravity meant little to him, settling into a perfect cross-legged position. “We begin with meditation, like we have been practicing. Close your eyes, breathe, and focus on your life essence. Feel it moving through you… through your breath. Draw from your ideals. The pillars you live by.”

  Mags stole a glance at Galiel and Edvard, both sitting beside her, expressions somewhere between nervous and skeptical. Across the room, Isolde sat ramrod straight, eyes already shut, breathing calm.

  Guarani’s voice softened. “For me, I center myself with two guiding ideals: Manliness and Beauty. They are the stars by which I navigate.” He flashed a grin. “It might sound simple, but they are everything to me.”

  Galiel’s face turned a deep shade of red as he fought to hold back a laugh.

  Manliness? Mags thought. Was this guy—Rue’s friend—really serious?

  Professor Safilo stood with arms crossed, sharp eyes surveying them as if measuring each soul. He remained silent.

  Guarani continued guiding them. “Breathe in, hold, release. Again.”

  Mags obeyed, pulling slow breaths through her nose, feeling the tension ebb from her shoulders. The mirrored walls seemed to blur around the edges as she focused inward.

  “Feel your heart,” Guarani’s voice rumbled. “Sense your essence. Let your breath be the wind that stokes your inner fire.”

  Minutes passed. The room quieted to nothing but the soft rise and fall of synchronized breaths.

  Finally, Professor Safilo’s voice cleaved through the calm. “Enough. That’s it for today.”

  Mags opened her eyes, blinking rapidly against the sudden return of light and sound. She glanced at Galiel, who stretched his legs with a groan.

  Safilo’s voice was sharp. “If you wish to survive the First Trial, keep practicing. You all need more than the time you’ll get in this class, so use your personal time wisely. Those who don’t will wish they had.”

  Students began to gather their things, quiet murmurs filling the room. Mags rose to her feet, ready to follow Galiel and Edvard out.

  “Wait up, Sister! I have a question for you!”

  Mags turned, spotting Guarani striding toward her, broad smile splitting his face. His heavy footsteps thudded on the wooden floor.

  Galiel gave Mags a teasing look. “Good luck.”

  Mags squared her shoulders, trying to suppress the rising mixture of curiosity and apprehension as Guarani approached.