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 could easily have been among them, if they hadn’t managed to find this hiding spot.

Elana stood with her back against Soren’s, one hand clasped against her mouth to stifle the sound of her panting. They had been running for so long that she was having a hard time getting her breathing under control. But they couldn’t outrun the competition forever. Not when Soren was injured. 

This cramped janitorial closet was their only option for shelter. It was located immediately off the main hallway, and poorly insulated. She couldn’t risk making any unnecessary movement or noise. 

Elana closed her eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm of 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, but he was doing his best to keep his breaths shallow. Even so, it was ragged. 

He’d taken a pyromancer’s spell right to his abdomen. The wound was cauterized, but it wasn’t a shallow one.  In addition to that, he had a burn status afflicted on him. She could feel it from the heat radiating off of him. It was no wonder his breathing was so rough.

Forcing him into this position was the last thing Elana wanted, but she didn’t have a choice. Her chest was tight, but she forced herself to grasp Soren's forearm, silently cautioning him with a tap of her index finger. It was their version of 'shh'. He needed to get his breathing under control. Even the smallest noise could give away their hiding spot.

Soren returned the grip, giving her forearm a quick, reassuring squeeze—as if he knew exactly how little she wanted to give him that signal. His breathing quieted.

A rueful smile curved at her lips. Soren really did understand her better than anyone. 

They had spent so much time together that reading each other had become second nature. For as long as she could remember, Soren had been a constant presence in her life. He had once been a thorn in her side, but was now her loyal attendant and most stalwart defender. They didn't need words to communicate with one another—nor did they 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 get them out of this. She needed to get centered and think.

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—

Elana's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She 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.

The thundering footsteps drew nearer and nearer. She could hear the clink of chainlink armor, but nothing that might hint at what weapons the unseen opponents had. Damn it. She could only assume that, if they were doing nothing to mask their presence, they weren't afraid of being overpowered. That wasn't a group whose attention she wanted to draw. Her hand hovered over her magic accessory, hands sweaty, as their boots echoed on the floorboards, feet away.

They passed without stopping in front of the closet door. The running footsteps grew fainter and fainter, until they finally disappeared. 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. Elana gave his arm another quick squeeze, communicating her intentions. She was just going to need a minute to plan their next move. 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 Trials, combat wasn’t an explicit requirement to meet the victory conditions. Instead, it's conditions were twofold:

1) To reach the checkpoint on the roof.

2) To survive until time was called.

No specific time frame had been given. 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 long the Trial would last, but they needed to get back to the roof. They were on the final floor. There were six floors in total. They’d made it to the roof earlier, but Soren had paid for it... and he was in no condition for a second attempt.