“Line up.” Kieran’s voice cuts through the morning chatter.
We scramble into formation, and I end up between Evie and Sam, who’s already sweating despite the cool air.
Kieran stands before us, arms crossed, his dark eyes sweeping over us like he’s calculating who’s going to fail first.
“It’s been one month since you arrived at Blaze Academy,” he begins. “One month of basic training. Of learning to throw a punch without breaking your own thumb, and of using fire to your advantage at every chance possible.”
Garrett shifts in the front row, and Nina glares at him.
“Recent events have reminded us that danger doesn’t wait for you to be ready.” Kieran’s voice drops, and the reference to Miles hangs heavy in the air. “Danger doesn’t care if you’vehad enough practice. It doesn’t give a damn about your family name, your bloodline’s reputation, or your grade on your latest theoretical essay.”
He glances at Evie, who holds his gaze without backing down.
“So, we’re accelerating your education.” He pulls a black notebook from inside his jacket. “Starting next week, you’ll compete in duels against each other. Real fights. Real consequences. Real rankings.”
Murmurs ripple through the group. Nina stands perfectly still, although her fingers twitch. Vera’s smirking, probably seeing this as her chance to prove superiority once and for all. Garrett’s puffing out his chest, as if he’s already won whatever challenge Kieran has planned for us.
“The rules are simple,” Kieran continues. “Each week, you’ll face a different opponent in one of the Scorched Circles. First to yield or stay down for five seconds loses. If the safety wards trigger, you’d be dead in real life, which means you’ll automatically lose here, too. Win three matches to pass. Fail to reach three wins by semester’s end, and you’ll spend next semester on kitchen and grounds duty.”
The punishment lands like a slap. Kitchen duty means scrubbing pots until your hands crack. Grounds duty means raking volcanic ash and polishing stones until you can see your own reflection.
All of it means less time to sleep, and less time to study. It’s basically like playing Blaze Academy on hard mode, which for me would translate toimpossiblemode.
“But—” Kieran’s smile turns sharp. “The student with the most wins gets an automatic A for the semester. No final paper. No practical exam.”
Now everyone’s paying attention. Although, what does it matter to me? There’s basically a zero percent chance I’ll get themost wins. The best I can hope for is not ending up with kitchen and grounds duty next semester. And even that would be a high, high hope.
“Refusal to fight means expulsion,” Kieran continues, his gaze sweeping over us again. “Throwing a match counts as refusal. And don’t for a second think you can fool me, because I know what real effort looks like versus playing dead.”
Vera smirks, as if she’d never dream of such a thing. Which, to be fair, she wouldn’t.
Kieran gives her a small nod of acknowledgment, then returns his attention to the rest of us. “You can train here until ten each night. Get caught after that, and you’ll answer to the proctor.” He pauses. “The real one, once he returns next week.”
My chest tightens at the mention of Logan.
Then Evie takes a small step forward, her head held high, and Kieran looks at her to speak. “What if instead of kitchen and grounds duty, the more academically inclined students could submit research papers on combat theory?” she asks.
“No alternatives.” Kieran’s voice is flat. “Three wins, or kitchen and grounds duty.”
The dismissal should end it, but I can see Evie’s mind racing, calculating angles like this is an advanced math problem to solve.
“Could we earn partial credit by analyzing other students’ fighting techniques?” Her words tumble out faster now. “Like a written assessment of combat strategies, or?—”
“No.”
“But historical precedent shows that magical institutions often allowed theoretical examinations for students who?—”
“This isn’t a history class, Thorne.” Kieran walks toward her, each step slow and deliberate.
The rest of us shift back, creating space.
When Kieran stops directly in front of Evie, her breath quickens. “You’re terrified of losing,” he says simply.
Pink floods Evie’s cheeks, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m simply suggesting that different students have different strengths.”
“Your fear is making you weak before you’ve even started.” His voice drops, becoming almost intimate. “Fear of failure. Fear of not being perfect. Fear of getting your hands dirty.”
“That’s not?—“
