The sun beat down hard on the training grounds of the Bratias Military Academy, and Edran Jorund stood there, like any other recruit, trying not to get distracted. The smell of earth mixed with the sweat of hundreds of other young men was all too familiar.

  He was there to take a test, of course. Like everyone else. What kind of Jorund would he be if he didn’t follow a military career? His grandfather, his uncles, and even his father, Regal Jorund, had made their names in the army, each with their own story of bravery. Now it was his turn. Edran had never questioned it much. It was simply what was expected of him, and what he would do—and do well.

  Next to him, Julius was sweating, visibly uncomfortable. Julius wasn’t exactly warrior material. His father, though respected, didn’t carry the same weighty name as Edran’s, but he got along well with Regal Jorund. For some reason, this had made the two of them friends, something Edran had always found a little strange. Julius didn’t have that fire in his eyes, that military discipline, and he never seemed particularly thrilled about fighting. Yet, here they both were, ready to take on the test.

  Edran glanced around. Many of the other recruits seemed to be there just to try their luck, with no clear idea of what they truly wanted. Some even seemed more excited than they should, as if they were on a field trip. But for Edran, this wasn’t new. His future had been set long ago. He had no choice, and he didn’t really care.

  As he scanned the crowd, his eyes landed on a blond boy across the field. The guy was nearly two meters tall, a towering wall of muscle. He was the son of Colonel Amstrog, a high-ranking officer at the Academy. The boy stood as rigid as a sword, but Edran felt no need to worry about him. It wasn’t their parents being tested—it was them.

  Julius noticed where Edran’s gaze was fixed.

  “The Colonel’s son, huh?” Julius said with a smirk. “The guy looks like he stepped straight out of a bronze statue.”

  Edran gave a faint smile but didn’t respond. The test was about to begin, and he didn’t care about the competition.

  The instructor, a burly man with a thick mustache, signaled with his hand, indicating that the first exercise was about to start. The recruits lined up in front of a set of training equipment designed to test endurance, agility, and strength.

  “Let’s go, boys!” the instructor barked, his voice firm and authoritative. “Time’s ticking, and you’ve got no excuses! Remember, no magic allowed. No tricks. This is a test of pure grit—no shortcuts. Anyone caught using magic will be disqualified on the spot. Now, move it!”

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  Most recruits seemed nervous, but Edran remained calm. He was confident. As he prepared for his turn, he noticed that some of the others shared his determination.

  The test began. One by one, the recruits had to tackle a series of obstacles, each more challenging than the last. Edran didn’t hesitate. He ran effortlessly, leaping from one side to the other, and when he reached the final part—a series of ropes and suspended platforms—he didn’t lose his rhythm. Without effort, he navigated the course.

  But then, something unexpected happened.

  As Edran reached the last rope, ready to make the final jump to the platform, a strong arm shoved him aside, throwing off his balance. He stumbled but quickly recovered. He looked to the side, irritated, and saw the familiar face of Colonel Amstrog’s son, one of the Academy’s most imposing recruits. The boy smirked arrogantly, as if he had done it on purpose.

  “Slow down, Jorund,” said the Colonel’s son, his voice thick with arrogance. “Not everyone here was born knowing how to do this stuff.”

  Edran felt heat rising up his neck. The test had been easy up to that point, but now his patience was wearing thin. He stepped forward quickly toward the boy, who was walking away with a smug grin, and shoved him back.

  “I don’t need your help, Amstrog.” Edran’s voice was colder than he expected, but the anger building inside him was impossible to hide.

  The boy sneered.

  “Oh, you’re going to give me orders now, Jorund? Just because Daddy gives you everything you want?” he said, glancing at the other recruits watching. The provocation was clear, and his smug smile only deepened.

  Edran couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged again, faster this time, but Amstrog was quicker still. He dodged and gave a shove that threw Edran off balance. As his body faltered, his emotions clashed with his discomfort, and something inside him snapped.

  Suddenly, a loud roar cut through the air. A blast of heat and a burst of fire shot from his hands, a streak of flames so intense that the recruits around him jumped back in panic. The fire quickly dissipated, but the damage was done. The blast had struck the platform where Amstrog stood, setting it ablaze for a few seconds.

  The sound of the explosion echoed across the field, and the silence that followed was thick. The instructor, who had been watching in silence, rushed to the scene with other recruits, all of whom were in shock. Amstrog stood frozen, wide-eyed, staring at the burning platform. Edran felt his body tense and hot, as if he were about to erupt again, but something held him back.

  The instructor approached, his face a mix of disbelief and fury.

  “What was that, Jorund?!” he roared, pointing at the burning platform. “You know the rules! No magic during the test!”

  Edran, still trying to process what had just happened, looked at his hands. He had no idea how it had occurred, but the heat inside him was still there.

  Amstrog, now with a dark expression, glared at him with disdain.

  “That’s what you call ‘control,’ Jorund?” he said, his voice low but venomous.

  Edran felt a surge of anger. It was as if Amstrog had managed the impossible: to make him lose control of himself. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. This wasn’t the time for another fight. But one thing was certain: he wouldn’t let this slide.