Team 47 met in the courtyard because no one trusted the dorms to be private.

  Evening light stretched long across the stone ground, gold fading into blue. Students clustered in tense circles, whispering, comparing their assigned teammates, gauging futures they couldn't yet see.

  Ayla, Ren, and Lami stood beneath a crooked pine tree—close enough to hear others, far enough not to be heard.

  Ren crossed her arms. "Where is he? If Cael makes a dramatic entrance, I'm biting him."

  "He won't," Ayla said. "He doesn't do dramatic."

  "I disagree," Ren replied. "Existing is dramatic for him."

  Lami paced, wringing her hands. "What if he refuses to work with us?"

  "He can't," Ayla said. "The rules don't allow team changes."

  "Doesn't mean he won't try," Ren muttered.

  Footsteps approached—measured, not rushed.

  Cael Darion stopped a few feet away, hands tucked casually behind his back, posture annoyingly perfect.

  "You wanted to meet," he said.

  Ren threw up her hands. "Oh, wonderful. He speaks."

  Cael ignored her and looked at Ayla instead. "Well? You requested discussion. Discuss."

  Ayla blinked. "I didn't."

  Cael frowned. "Someone slid a note under my door."

  Ren smirked. "Handwriting neat and suspicious? That was Lami."

  Lami flushed, mortified. "We needed to talk!"

  "It worked," Ayla said gently.

  Lami breathed out, relieved.

  Cael glanced at the three of them—and for the first time looked uncertain. "Fine. Talk."

  Ayla considered him—not his rank or privilege, just his stance, eyes, breathing. Confident, but not reckless. Annoyed, but not hostile.

  They needed structure—something to stand on.

  So she began simply.

  "We're a team now," Ayla said. "Whether we like it or not. Ranking week won't care about personalities."

  Cael's jaw ticked, but he didn't interrupt.

  Lami spoke next, voice small but steady. "I don't want to drag anyone down."

  "You won't," Ayla said immediately.

  Ren nodded. "You're competent. Which is more than we can say for half this Academy."

  Alya turned to Cael. "Do you want to be here?"

  He blinked—caught off guard by the directness. "I want to win."

  "That isn't what I asked."

  Silence stretched—thin, taut, dangerous.

  Finally, Cael exhaled. "No. I didn't want a team at all. But the Academy didn't ask me."

  Ayla nodded. "Then something about this format scares them."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Ren grinned. "I like the way you think."

  Cael studied Ayla—not dismissive, not superior, but curious again. "You're too calm about this."

  "I'm not calm," Ayla said. "I'm choosing not to panic yet."

  Lami let out a weak laugh. "That sounds nice."

  Alya motioned toward the courtyard path. "Walk?"

  No one objected.

  They moved together—awkwardly at first, four separate orbits forced into proximity. Other students watched them pass—whispers following like dust.

  "That's Team 47—"

  "Poor Cael—stuck with ground rank—"

  "No, poor them—he'll eat them alive—"

  "Five-root girl's on that team, right?"

  Ayla kept her gaze forward. Ren rolled her eyes at every whisper. Lami shrank slightly. Cael didn't acknowledge any of it.

  He was good at pretending the world didn't exist.

  They reached the training field fence. Beyond it, torches flickered, casting jagged shadows across sparring rings.

  Ayla stopped.

  "We should talk strengths," she said.

  Ren raised her hand enthusiastically. "I stab things."

  Cael sighed. "You're not helping."

  Ren shrugged. "Fine. I'm fast, situationally clever, and not afraid of bleeding."

  Lami looked down. "I'm fire-root, but my control isn't strong yet."

  "Doesn't matter," Ren said. "Fire is fire. It scares people. Useful."

  Cael waited, expectant. "Whitlock?"

  Ayla hesitated.

  She didn't want to say nothing, but she couldn't say five either. Not yet. Not until she understood what that meant.

  So she answered honestly—just not completely.

  "I observe well. I react without rushing. I don't make situations worse."

  Ren nodded approvingly. "Underrated skill."

  Cael tilted his head. "And your element?"

  Ayla met his eyes. "Complicated."

  Something flickered across his face—annoyance, intrigue, both.

  "Fine," Cael said. "My strengths—precision, endurance, and strategy."

  Ren snorted. "And modesty."

  "It's irrelevant," Cael said. "Ranking week won't measure personality."

  "Maybe it should," Ren muttered.

  Ayla stepped closer to the fence, fingers curling around the cool metal. "We're not the strongest team."

  Ren shrugged. "Could've fooled me."

  "But we might become the most adaptable," Ayla continued. "Different backgrounds, different strengths, different expectations—"

  "Different problems," Cael interrupted.

  "That too," Ayla agreed. "Which means we cover more ground than teams built from copies of the same student."

  Cael opened his mouth—closed it again—processing.

  Lami stared at Ayla like she was seeing her for the first time.

  "Why aren't you afraid?" Lami asked softly.

  Ayla considered.

  "I am," she said. "But fear doesn't change what's coming. Preparation does."

  Ren let out a low whistle. "Someone embroider that on a pillow."

  Ayla smiled.

  Then—unexpectedly—Cael spoke, quieter this time.

  "Expectation can crush people."

  Ayla looked at him—not mocking, not defensive. Just present. "Only if you carry it alone."

  Something tightened in Cael's expression.

  Ren clapped her hands loudly, shattering the tension. "All right, before this turns into group therapy—strategy?"

  Lami perked up. "Yes. Strategy."

  Cael straightened—grateful for structure. "We don't know the events yet. But every year includes something physical, something mental, and something unpredictable."

  "And something designed to make us fight each other," Ren added.

  Ayla nodded. "Which means we protect each other first, compete later."

  Cael froze. "Why?"

  "Because surviving gives us more opportunities than winning early," Ayla said. "Long game."

  Ren grinned. "I fully support not dying."

  Lami whispered, "Me too."

  Ayla turned to Cael. "Can you accept that?"

  He studied her again—longer this time, searching for weakness, deception, incompetence.

  He didn't find any.

  "...Yes," he said. "For now."

  Ren patted his shoulder. "That's basically a confession of love from you. Congratulations, Ayla."

  Cael recoiled. "Please stop speaking."

  Ayla laughed—quiet, but real.

  For a brief moment, Team 47 didn't feel doomed.

  It felt possible.

  A bell rang—deep, echoing through stone and sky.

  Curfew.

  Students began scattering toward their dorms, conversations breaking into hurried goodnights.

  Cael stepped back. "Training starts earlier tomorrow. Don't be late."

  Ren saluted sarcastically. "Yes, Captain Emotion."

  Lami waved. "Good night—really."

  Cael walked away—measured steps, shoulders straight, already thinking ten moves ahead.

  Ren stretched. "Well. I still think he's a pretentious mountain goat—but maybe a useful one."

  Ayla turned toward the North Wing. "We'll make it work."

  "You say that like it's inevitable," Ren said.

  Ayla didn't answer.

  Because it was.

  Not because fate demanded it.

  But because she refused the alternative.

  They headed back through the dim corridor, the day settling into tired muscles and heavy eyelids.

  Before entering Room 19, Ren paused. "Hey."

  Ayla looked up.

  "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

  Ayla considered.

  "Yes," she said. "When the time is right."

  Ren studied her—long, thoughtful—then nodded. "Fair enough."

  They entered the room. Lantern light flickered. Stone walls breathed cold.

  Ayla sat on her bed again, hands folded loosely.

  Team 47.

  Not chosen. Not earned.

  But hers anyway.

  Outside, wind curled around the mountain—restless, waiting.

  Three days until ranking week.

  Plenty of time.

  To learn.

  To watch.

  To prepare.

  Ayla lay down, eyes closing slowly.

  Five roots whispered inside her—not harmonious, not obedient—but no longer strangers.

  She wasn't ready.

  But she was becoming.

  Quietly.

  ??