In Medias Res

The Trials of the Royal Magic Academy pitted students against each other, by design. Each exam period, they were set loose on the trial grounds—meticulously crafted stages, engineered to bring out and gauge a student’s potential. Each was unique, designed with their own battlegrounds and victory conditions. But the Trials were, without exception, brutal. 

Bloodshed was a given. Critical injuries were common. Casualties were routine. 

And the Third Trial, this semester’s final exam, was no different.

How many of her peers had lost their lives today? Elana had already lost count. She and Soren—her registered defender for the Trial, per usual—could easily have been among them, if they hadn’t managed to find this hiding spot.

The cramped janitorial closet they’d wedged themselves into was the only feasible shelter they’d found on the sixth floor. It was located immediately off the main hallway, and poorly insulated. They couldn’t risk any unnecessary movement or noise. 

Elana stood with her back against Soren’s, one hand clasped against her mouth to stifle the sound of her panting. Catching her breath had never felt like such an impossible task. They had been running for too long. But they couldn’t outrun the competition forever. Not when Soren was injured. 

Elana closed her eyes, trying to focus on getting control over her breathing. Behind her, she could feel Soren trying to do the same. His shoulders rose and fell with the force of his heaving lungs, a rare moment of being as winded as she was. Usually, he'd be making this look like child's play—except, he'd taken a pyromancer’s spell to the abdomen.

The nature of the wound meant it had at least been immediately cauterized, but it wasn’t a shallow one.  Now that they were pressed back to back, she could feel the unnatural heat radiating off of him. Shit. They'd landed a burn status multiplier on him? No wonder he was struggling—on a normal day, even injured, he could run circles around her without breaking a sweat. 

Thinking about it made her chest strangely tight—something she'd have to examine later, but definitely not now—but she forced herself to grasp Soren's forearm. 

She cautioned him with a tap of her finger, a silent code they'd long since refined. 'Quiet.' 

He needed to get his breathing under control, or he was going to give their position away. Forcing him to hold back his labored breathing was the last thing Elana wanted, but there wasn't a choice. The hallways were dead quiet. They would be in a better—and worse—position the second the countdown began, and all hell broke loose. 

Soren returned the grip, giving her forearm a quick, reassuring squeeze. It wasn't in code, but she heard the unspoken message in it, loud and clear. 'It's fine. Don't worry.' 

Here he was, injured, and still trying to console her—as if he knew exactly how little she wanted to give him that signal. The faintest of smiles tugged at her lips. He really did understand her better than anyone.

A few seconds later, his breathing quieted.

They had spent so much time together that reading each other had become second nature. For as long as she could remember, he’d been a constant presence in her life. Once a thorn in her side, now her loyal attendant and most stalwart defender. They’d gotten comfortable enough with each other that they didn’t need to rely on words to communicate—nor did they currently have the luxury of using them. 

As soon as she could, Elana was going to make sure his wound was taken care of. But first, she needed to figure out how to get both of them out of this alive. 

She squeezed his arm. 'Hold on, Soren.'

Each trial ground was unique, and this one was a sprawling, abandoned dormitory. From what she could tell, this trial was designed to force students into frequent, head-on confrontations. 

The entire trial ground was made up of long, linear hallways lined with dorms on either side. Some were locked, some were wide open, some were simply closed. Each was a dead end. Elana had checked. Not a single one had a second entry or exit point—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Elana tensed. 

It sounded like a group of people, coming up fast. 

She tapped Soren’s forearm urgently, but he had already picked up on the approaching threat. His back was rigid against hers, every muscle taut with lockspring tension as he angled her away from the door and him towards it. 

"Hey, does this section look a little off to you?" a voice asked, slowing down feet away from their location. 

The sound of a mage's staff hitting the floor announced another of the unknown party members. "What part?" they asked. 

"This bit—doesn't it look like someone just came through here recently?"

Elana heard the faint rattle of steel on steel—chainmail. This would be better handled with her artifact than his sword. And she was certain she was out of mana stones loaded with offensive spells. Unlike her classmates, Elana couldn't conjure her own. They were fucked.

What do I have left? A Petrify? 

Elana didn't want to activate her magic artifact to check and risk knocking over a broom before she was ready. She would have to operate on blind faith. She was going to have to move quickly once the approaching party got to the door. 

Elana pushed back against Soren. 'Out of the way.'

But the man was a solid wall of resistance, no doubt mentally preparing himself to do something monumentally stupid. She grabbed his wrist. There was no code for, are you an idiot?—but she was screaming it in her head.

The unknown mage spoke again, "I don't see it."

"Right there, see? Blood!" The rattle of chainmail drew closer.

Fuck.

Elana gritted her teeth and pushed harder against Soren's back. 'Move!'

He didn't budge. And they both knew that he understood what she was trying to communicate. The insubordinate, stubborn ox. 

"Hey! You two!" a third voice called from the other side of the hallway. "Get a move on! It won't matter if we can't breach the checkpoint on the roof. Hurry up." 

"Yessir!" 

As suddenly as the footsteps and voices appeared, they retreated. 

Elana released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Soren sagged against her as the tension left his body. His breathing was still uneven, but subdued. 

She smacked his leg with the back of her hand, twice. 'Stupid! Stupid!'

Elana clenched her fists, collecting herself. They didn't have time to waste. They needed to figure out their next move. Elana reached for him again, this time for another coded message rather than more abuse. 

'Need a minute. Planning.' 

This would be over soon.

Elana knew her limitations. Direct, head-to-head battles were her weak point. Unlike the students she was competing against, relying on magic wasn’t an option for her. Instead, she needed to rely on artifacts, potions, and Soren. 

Her defender was a flawless swordsman, but a limited mage. He had command of a handful of basic spells, but she couldn’t task him with holding their offense and defense on his shoulders. He needed to conserve his mana for the sake of his own strength, speed, and durability. 

All told, Soren was more than capable of holding his own, when he didn’t have to protect her. This Trial had, unfortunately, required more of that than she'd planned for.

At first glance, the advantage of the Third Trial was that, unlike earlier ones, combat wasn’t an explicit requirement to meet the victory conditions. Instead, its conditions were twofold:

1) To survive until the end of the Trial

2) To be at the rooftop checkpoint when time was called

Technically, only Elana needed to be at the checkpoint for both of them to pass the Trial. If she made it to the end, he would complete the Trial by default, since he was her registered defender. 

They’d received no specific time frame for how long the Trial would last. Their only indicator was going to be the thirty-second countdown that marked the end of each Trial. 

Elana checked the magic artifact on her wrist. A neat row of numbers glowed up at her. Sixteen hours and thirty-six minutes had elapsed since the Trial began. 

It was impossible to say how much longer this would go on for, but they needed to get back to the roof. They’d made it to the roof earlier, but Soren had paid for it. She’d miscalculated and put him in an impossible position. 

It was a common strategy for stronger teams to stake out the Trial checkpoints, thinning out the competitors as they arrived at the finish line. Elana had been careless, assuming her classmates were as loath to shed unnecessary blood as she was. This Trial wasn’t pitched as a battle royale. She’d expected everyone’s behavior to reflect that. 

But when she and Soren arrived at the top, bodies were already beginning to pile up in front of the checkpoint. Elana hadn’t been able to tell which of her peers were responsible, but whoever they were, they were a gifted pyromancer. Elana and Soren had spent weeks shoring up his defenses with all manner of potions and anti-status inoculations—but that caster had still managed to land a powerful spell on him, and with it a burn multiplier. 

Elana gritted her teeth. It should have been her, but Soren had body-checked her out of the way. Again. How many times had she told him that, between the two of them, it was better for her to be the injured one? She couldn’t compensate for Soren’s physical combat skills, but he could easily make up for hers. 

The assets Elana brought to the table—namely, her magic artifact and her mind—didn’t require her to be in good physical condition. She just needed to be alive. But no, her attendant—strong, loyal, brave—just had to have a penchant for heroics. 

Because of that, they were down their most powerful combatant. She still couldn't believe he'd done that. Stupid. He was relentlessly, infuriatingly self-sacrificing.

Elana ran her fingers over each of the mana stones equipped to her magic artifact. She’d started with ten single-use spells equipped, but only five were left. And she didn’t know how much time was left in the Trial. 

She glanced down, taking a mental inventory of which spells were still available to her. 

(1) Petrify: transforms any matter into stone for 5 mins, 1x

(1) Reflect: protective barrier around the user repels any spell back to original caster, 1x  

(1) Veil of Silence: soundproofing within a 2m radius of the user, 30s

(1) Thief’s Shroud: allows user to move without being perceived, 15s

(2) Rush Step: allows user to increase speed x5, 15s

There wasn’t a single recovery spell left. Elana gritted her teeth. She should have used them more sparingly. 

Damn it.