Chapter 5: The Lesson’s Not Over

The Academy

The morning sun slowly rose over the high walls as they reached the ridge road, with the forest fading into a sea of mist behind them. Ahead, carved into the mountain’s slope as if the rock itself had shaped it, stood the Academy of Penza, a fortress of light and alloy, shining against the dawn.

Situated at the heart of Planet Penza, it was more than just a structure. It was a living citadel of learning and discipline, built for a single purpose: to train the youngsters of Zena in mastering their elements, their minds, and their destinies.

From afar, it appeared silent: towers piercing the light mist, banners heavy with dew, and a series of terraced training fields glowing faintly gold in the sunlight.

The gate stood tall, composed of two dark steel slabs engraved with the academy’s crest—a circle divided by four lines, each representing a kingdom and topped by a mark denoting its origin.

To Zyrian, that symbol had always looked less like unity and more like restraint.

They entered via the archway, their boots echoing on the floor. Cool air replaced the smell of soil and blood. Inside, a large courtyard of pale stone stretched out. Cadets in perfect uniforms crossed each other’s paths, moving with discipline, their faces untouched by what the seven had just witnessed.

Zyrian stopped in the centre of the courtyard. The sounds of the academy echoed around him: bells, chatter, clashing weapons. For the first time, the academy seemed smaller and quieter.

As they approached their wing, a sharp voice echoed through the courtyard speakers, clear and unmistakable:

“Level Two, Squads One, Two, and Three. Report to the briefing hall immediately.”

Everyone stopped mid-step and sighed.

They walked down the long corridor toward the briefing hall. The corridor leading to the Briefing Hall was long and cold. Their boots clacked against the polished stone, out of sync, each step dragging.

Eventually, the wide doors stayed open, light pouring out, and the noise of other squads already lining up.

As they stepped into the briefing hall, the other two squads were already present, neatly arranged but still bruised and dusty. Four figures stood at the instructors’ dais—three familiar and one unfamiliar.

The familiar figures included Lead Instructor Merck, who was broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed; Instructor Tael, responsible for tactical formations; and Instructor Kriya, the calm yet relentless strategist.

The fourth person was unfamiliar: tall and calm, with eyes like still water, without insignia or words.

Merck advanced, his boots deliberately clicking on the stone. “Level Two,” he began, his voice steady but firm enough to silence the faint murmurs. “You are summoned here to evaluate your recent assignment completion.”

He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air as his gaze swept over all twenty-one of them. Each glance seemed intentional, not just observing but assessing. When no one questioned his words, he continued, a faint smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“Though you were a bit roughed up,” he said casually, “we can at least say we’ve accomplished some of what we aimed to teach you.”

A low, collective groan swept through the hall. Cael grimaced as he rolled his shoulders.

Leon muttered, “A bit roughed up, he says,” loud enough for Ryra to elbow him in the ribs.
A few from the other squads exchanged tired, knowing looks. Merck ignored them all, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Now,” he said, his tone shifting from light to sharp, “let’s get into the assessment part.”

The room straightened, instinctively. He turned slightly, gesturing to Instructor Kriya beside him.

Kriya gave a slight nod, nothing more.

Merck continued, “She will be conducting a review of your performance.

Silence. The air seemed denser, almost suffocating. The only sound was the soft hum of the ceiling lights in the hall.

“Miss Elira, play the feed,” Merck ordered without turning.

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, clear, even, unmistakably familiar.

Hearing her voice, Zyrian’s bored stance immediately stiffened as if a switch had flipped. His eyes swiftly shifted to the dais, and a slow grin, always hinting at mischief, spread across his face.