The arena was packed.
Soren had never seen so many people in one place. Upper-year students filled the stands, their voices a constant rumble. Instructors lined the observation deck, tablets in hand, eyes sharp. And in the private boxes above, figures in expensive suits watched through tinted glass. Clan representatives. Lyra's mother. Zara's father.
His stomach churned.
"First time in the main arena?" Mira appeared beside him, her twin training blades strapped across her back. She looked calm, but her fingers kept twitching toward her weapons.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You've got that 'deer in headlights' look." She nodded toward the boxes. "Ignore them. They're not fighting. You are."
Easy for her to say. But she was right.
His AR display showed the assessment schedule.
Combat Endurance (30 min)
Strike Accuracy
Enhancement Efficiency
Team Coordination
Survival Scenario
Five tests. Five chances to prove he belonged in the top ten. His hands were sweating.
"You're thinking too much," Mira said. "That's what kills people in assessments. Overthinking."
"Easy for you to say. You've trained for years."
"And you've got instincts I'd kill for." She started walking toward the staging area. "Trust them."
He followed, weaving through clusters of students who were stretching, checking weapons, muttering strategies to each other. The energy was different from the preliminary matches. Higher stakes. More pressure.
Lyra sat in a corner of the staging area, eyes closed, breathing slow. Meditation. Her black hair was pulled back, her training gear fitted and dark. She looked like she was asleep. But when Soren passed, her eyes opened. She gave him a small nod, then closed them again.
Zara was across the room, reviewing data on her AR display. Her silver eyes flickered as she scrolled through what looked like combat logs. She didn't look up. She was already calculating.
Marcus Webb was stretching, cracking jokes with another student. His wolf DNA made him naturally loose, movements fluid. He caught Soren's eye and grinned. "Ready to get smoked, beetle boy?"
"We'll see."
"That's the spirit."
Soren found an empty corner and tried to center himself. Breathe. Focus. Ten-second burst windows. Stamina management. Strike timing. He'd drilled it for two weeks. His body knew what to do.
[You've done everything you could,] the System said. [Two weeks of training. Eleven percent integration. A solid strategy. That's enough.]
What if it's not?
[Then you drop in rankings. Learn. Come back stronger next month. One assessment doesn't define you.]
He wanted to believe that. But in the private boxes above, people were watching. People who could decide his future.
Instructor Vale's voice echoed through the arena.
"First-years! Combat endurance assessment begins in ten minutes. Report to your assigned zones."
Soren checked his AR. Zone Seven. Middle of the arena floor.
He walked out into the light.
The arena had been transformed overnight. Instead of open floor, there were now barriers, obstacles, and a rotating platform in the center. Holographic emitters lined the edges, ready to spawn enemies. The whole space hummed with energy.
Soren's zone was a thirty-meter square with four barrier walls that shifted positions every few minutes. He'd have to adapt constantly while fighting wave after wave of simulated threats.
He took his position, batons in hand. Around him, other students moved to their zones. Lyra was three zones over, rolling her shoulders, ready. Zara was four zones away, already in a combat stance, her silver eyes fixed on the emitters.
His AR counted down.
03:00
He stretched. Checked his grip. Breathed.
02:00
[Remember. Ten-second bursts. Perception-only when you can. Save your stamina. The later waves are worse.]
Got it.
01:00
He saw Lyra glance his way. She didn't nod this time. She didn't need to.
00:30
Zara's voice came through his AR. Private message. "Your burst windows are optimized for eleven seconds. Don't exceed that. Watch your left side—your stance still drifts."
He almost smiled. Even now, she was analyzing.
00:00
"Begin!"
The first wave spawned. Six holographic creatures, wolf-sized, charging from different angles. Their eyes glowed red, their movements jerky but fast.
Soren triggered his enhanced perception. The world slowed. He tracked all six movement patterns, identified the fastest approach, the most dangerous angle. His batons felt light in his hands.
He waited. Three seconds. Four.
Then burst.
He covered six meters in a heartbeat. His baton connected with the lead creature's skull. Strike enhancement triggered—the hologram shattered into pixels.
He landed, spun, caught the next attacker with a backhand strike. Gone.
Four seconds into his burst window. He pulled back immediately, dropping to perception-only. The remaining four creatures adjusted, circling him. Smarter than the first wave. They were learning.
He counted their patterns. Two seconds of observation. Three.
They charged together. He burst again—three seconds—took out two more. Pulled back.
Six seconds left in his window. He'd killed four creatures in two bursts. Efficient. Exactly as planned.
The last two creatures circled, waiting. They'd seen his pattern. They knew he needed to rest between bursts.
So he changed the pattern.
He dropped his perception entirely. Let the world speed back up. Let the creatures think he was exhausted.
They took the bait.
Both charged. He waited until the last possible moment—then triggered perception and burst simultaneously. His body moved before his brain finished processing. One strike, two strikes. Both creatures shattered.
First wave cleared. Thirty seconds elapsed. Eleven seconds of burst used. Nineteen seconds remaining in his reserve.
He was breathing hard but functional.
[Good start. Keep it up.]
The next wave spawned. Eight creatures. More aggressive. Smarter formations. They didn't charge blindly. They flanked.
Soren reset his stance. Watched them come.
Forty-five minutes later, Soren collapsed against a barrier wall. Combat endurance was supposed to be thirty minutes. It had run forty-five because Vale kept adding waves until half the participants failed.
He'd made it to wave twelve. Seventeenth overall. Not top ten. But not last either.
His AR updated.
COMBAT ENDURANCE RANKING:
1. Lyra Shadowmane (Wave 18)
2. Marcus Webb (Wave 17)
3. Zara Steelheart (Wave 17)
...
17. Soren Cross (Wave 12)
"Seventeenth," he muttered.
[Acceptable. You're still in the top twenty. Endurance is your weakness. You knew this.]
He knew. Still stung. His legs felt like jelly. His arms trembled from holding the batons for so long.
Mira came over, looking equally exhausted. She'd made wave fourteen. Thirteenth place.
"You held," she said, handing him a water pouch.
"Barely."
"That's all that matters." She drank from her own pouch. "Survival scenario's next. That's where things get unpredictable. People with high endurance fail there because they can't adapt. You adapt better than most."
He hoped she was right.
His AR pinged. Lyra.
Lyra: Wave twelve is solid. Don't let rankings mess with your head. Survival scenario is where you'll shine.
She'd been watching his scores. He didn't know why that made him feel better, but it did.
Another ping. Zara.
Zara: Your stamina consumption was inefficient after wave eight. Recommend adjusting burst windows to eight seconds for remaining tests. Preserve reserves for survival scenario.
He wanted to argue. But the data was right. He'd burned out early because he pushed for eleven-second windows every time. Eight seconds would let him last longer.
Soren: Got it.
He closed his eyes, let his body recover. Two hours until survival scenario. Enough time to eat, hydrate, and stop his hands from shaking.
The private boxes above glittered with watching eyes. He didn't look at them.
He had bigger things to focus on.