The bird turned and flapped once, suspending itself in midair. It flapped its wings again, and dozens of dagger-shaped feathers whistled through the air like arrows.

  Mal grabbed Philo and pulled him out of the way with a hard tug. A moment later, one of the blue feathers impacted the ground where Philo had been and cracked the stone clear in half.

  Philo paled. “Spirits almighty!”

  Rolam jumped backward out of the path of one feather, then jumped clear of another, then slid back, one of the feathers putting a long line across his pants and nearly hitting his foot. Nima took off screaming into the forest. Rolam cursed and followed after him.

  The two groups ran a few yards from each other in parallel. There was another screech, and Mal could feel in his gut that the creature had sent another wave of feathers.

  “Break to the side!” he shouted.

  Rolam’s eyes widened and he nodded. He grabbed Nima's sleeve, and the two broke to the left, while Mal and Philo went to the right.

  A dozen black feathers whistled through the air. One sliced through a tree. Another cut through the leaves, creating loud clicking noises as the metal leaves were thrown off the tree.

  Mal ducked behind a tree. Philo, noticing the tactic, did the same.

  The two took deep, heavy breaths. Mal strained his neck upward, attempting to see the Tungstenbird through the foliage. Nothing.

  He looked down at his hand and almost considered trying to summon a void orb before he shut that idea down. The orb would be weak, slow, and wholly unsuited for the task of hitting a Tungstenbird out of the air.

  He turned and looked at Philo. “I don’t suppose you have a spell in that book of yours that would be able to help us?”

  Philo’s eyes were wide and unfocused. “W–what? No, did you see the size of that thing?! It blotted out the sun!”

  Mal rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that big. The size of, like, a city block at most. Maybe a little bigger.

  Of course, he wasn’t going to say that directly to Philo.

  “We need a plan,” Mal said. “If we can just get someone into the air—”

  “Are you insane?!” Philo looked at Mal with a flabbergasted expression. “There’s no way that we’re going to be able to take something of that size out. Unless you’re secretly a master mage of the skies who can summon lightning bolts from your fingertips, there’s nothing any of us are gonna be able to do.” He let out a breath and stopped his glasses from falling off his nose. “No, our best shot is going to be taking the medallions and running for the extraction point.”

  Mal froze.

  What had he just said?

  “What about Rolam?”

  “You’re right.” Philo’s forked tongue came out and licked the air. “If we can expose their position, they’ll make for a good distraction.”

  Mal’s blood turned to ice. His head started to go light, and a faint red crept at the edges of his vision.

  Part of it was irritation over the fact that Philo was going to ruin Mal’s chances of getting into the school. But there was something behind that, a hot, heavy rage that he’d only experienced a few times before in his life.

  If Mal were in Philo’s shoes, and if he didn’t know the truth about the exam, it was exactly the sort of scheme he would’ve come up with.

  Sure, he’d enjoyed a nice conversation with Rolam, but he held no particular loyalty to the half-elf.

  But that was the thing. Mal was the bad guy. Mal was the one who would sacrifice lives for the sake of the greater good. Mal was the one who ran away from a fight when it was most useful. That was why he was the bad guy.

  Philo was a hero.

  Philo was supposed to be better than him.

  “Ape, we need to get going. That thing is going to find our position soon—”

  Mal stepped out from behind the trees and looked upward toward the sky.

  “Ape?” Philo looked up at the sky nervously from behind the tree. “What are you doing?”

  Mal cupped his hands around his mouth and tilted his neck upward.

  “HEY, YOU OVERSIZED TURKEY!”

  His voice echoed through the forest. Philo stared in open-mouthed shock at Mal. From behind the trees they’d been using as cover, Rolam and Nima peeked out and looked at Mal with wide eyes.

  The rain of black feathers ended. For a few moments, the forest was completely still.

  High-pitched whistles.

  Mal broke into a dead sprint. Behind him, he could hear feather after feather hit the ground. A feather bounced off of his metallic skin and a sharp, stinging pain hit his calf. Mal internally thanked whatever higher being existed that his iron skin potion was still effective.

  He made a sharp right turn and ducked behind a tree. He zigzagged through the forest before he found a large, hollowed-out log. He kicked at the ground, and metal leaves flew into the air to cover his tracks. He ran and dove forward into the hollow log.

  A wave of feathers clicked and cracked against the metal log. Mal covered his ears to protect against the loud ringing.

  After several seconds, it finally stopped, and Mal let out a breath of relief. He waited for several minutes before he poked his head out, then crawled along the ground.

  He inched his way back to Rolam, Nima, and Philo. They all stared at him in open-mouthed amazement.

  “Are you insane?” Nima asked.

  Rolam stepped forward and reached out his hand for Mal to take. “That was either one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, or the stupidest.”

  Mal snorted and took the hand. He was pulled to his feet, then brushed himself off. “I didn’t score particularly highly on the written exam.”

  Philo had watched this interaction with narrowed eyes.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked. “You put yourself at an insane amount of risk. If one of those feathers had hit you—”

  “One of those feathers did hit me. I was fine.” Mal picked up one of the metal leaves and scratched it against his arm. A loud screech of metal grinding against metal caused everyone to back up and cover their ears.

  When Mal was done, he dropped the leaf to the ground. “I wasn’t in any danger.”

  Philo blinked. “Potion? Clever. But still, that must’ve been terrifying. What if your potion was overwhelmed, or you were pinned down when the bird swooped in?”

  Not really a bit concern. Sure, Mal could’ve died in theory, but he was fairly certain that the judges would’ve pulled him out before that would happen.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  A high-pitched screech prevented them from talking any further. Nima looked up at the air, his lips visibly chapped.

  “I think Mal’s distraction b–bought us time,” Nima said. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible—”

  “No.”

  All three of the other students looked at Mal in shock.

  “No?” Philo said. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I had a different idea in mind.” Mal felt a smirk rise to his lips. “How do all of you feel about taking that overinflated balloon and grounding it?”

  Mal looked over the expressions of each of the individuals standing across from him and didn’t like what he was seeing. Philo looked utterly shocked, Nima was already sweating bullets, and even Rolam had a thin trail of sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Honored friend,” Rolam gulped. “That was brave and amazing, but you were lucky. We should just get out of here and find another set of medallions. We’ll split up, and hopefully we can both get—”

  “Didn’t you say yourself that missing these medallions would be an enormous risk? What if other people have already gotten to the others?”

  “Yeah, but at least we have a chance if we go that route! If we try to fight that thing, we’re just gonna either get teleported out and disqualified at best, or killed at worst!”

  A flicker of that white-hot rage he’d experienced earlier crawled up Mal’s spine. He ruthlessly crushed it. There was no time to get emotional, even if these pathetic heroes were being a bunch of pansies.

  “So you’re saying that you don’t think we have a chance, and that’s your main objection?” Mal said.

  Rolam slowly nodded. “Yes? I mean, I’m all in favor of getting into a good scrap and ridding the world of one of these abominations, but even I’m not crazy enough to go into an unwinnable fight!”

  Nima nodded, the motion sending a few droplets of sweat to the ground. “H–he’s right. We’re first years. Most of us have just unlocked our cores. I only got mine five months ago.”

  Mal crossed his arms and looked at Philo. “And what about you?”

  “There’s no point.” Philo’s nostrils flared and smoke came out. “In the first place, Tungstenbirds are grade 3 beasts, bordering grade 2, to be fought by a team of C-grade cores in the second year or one A-grade in the third year.”

  “But that’s not your only objection,” Mal said.

  “Yes. We’re not here to fight monsters. We’re here to get the artifacts and then leave. This goal makes no sense for us to pursue.”

  Mal’s mind whirred into action. Again, he couldn’t risk saying out loud the truth about the test. If they were being watched by the examiners, that would be an instant red flag and grounds for disqualification.

  But there were other, valid reasons why Mal’s plan might make sense.

  “First, we’re already screwed.” Mal pointed up at the sky.

  A screech came out, and everyone flinched, save for Mal.

  “That thing has a lock on us,” he said. “It’s still in the area. I don’t think it’s gonna leave until we’re taken care of. This isn’t a situation we can run from. It’s either us or that thing up there. If you don’t want to fight the bird, then you can kiss your spot in the Academy goodbye.”

  Philo frowned sharply but didn’t contest the point.

  “Secondly,” Mal said. “You guys are talking like this is hopeless. I know for a fact that it’s not.”

  “How can you say that so confidently?” Philo asked. “As Philo said, it’s—”

  “We’re not cores.” Mal’s tone was filled with conviction as he said this. After all, he knew it to be absolutely true. “We’re more than that. Each of us comes with individual skills and talents that we bring to the table beyond our core quality, whatever that even means.”

  He looked over at Nima. “You said you can use illusions, right?”

  Nima hesitantly nodded. “Y–yes, but they’re really not that impressive.”

  “Do you think you’d be able to distract that thing and freeze it in midair, just for a second?”

  “I mean, maybe, but—”

  Mal turned to Philo. “You told me about that spell that lets you lighten objects. Could you do what you said the old wizards used to do and turn something into a projectile?”

  “I… I have studied it, but I haven’t practiced it extensively enough.”

  “There’s always a chance of failure in things like this,” Mal said. “We owe it to ourselves to at least give it a try.”

  Rolam screwed up his face in confusion. “Give what a try? You still haven’t explained what we’re doing.”

  Mal licked his lips. This was going to be a difficult sell, but he had faith he would be able to do it. And he had faith that each of these brats, despite their youth and inexperience, still had the makings of warriors within them.

  Except Nima.

  Mal had no idea if Nima would be of any use whatsoever.

  Mal reached into his satchel and pulled out one of the teeth of the Ironwolf that he’d harvested from.

  “These magical beasts only have a certain amount of aligned mana in them,” Mal said. “If they had too much, it could be potentially dangerous. Think about it. Not all of their body is flooded with metal-aligned mana all at the same time. The heart can’t have very much of that type of mana, otherwise it would seize up and be unable to pump blood. If we can overload the creature with metal mana—say, by dumping a potion with metal-aligned mana down it’s stomach—it’ll drop out of the sky from the extra weight, snap its neck, and kill itself.”

  Rolam’s eyes widened. “That… that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But how would we even get that up there?”

  Philo let out a small gasp, and Rolam looked back at him.

  “What?” Rolam squinted his eyes. “What’s that noise?”

  “That’s what you asked about with the lighten weight spell,” Philo said. “You want to throw the potion at the creature directly?”

  “Not throw at it. Throw into it. We have to make sure that as much of the potion as possible gets inside of the thing’s stomach.”

  “But Philo doesn’t have that kind of aim! That fireball shot was a fluke, Mal. Philo promises you, he normally can’t hit a target with that much ease, much less a moving one!”

  “That’s where Nima comes in. All he needs to do is slow it down for just a few seconds. Scare it with some kind of vision and hopefully freeze it in midair.”

  Nima stiffened. Philo shook his head.

  “Even so, the mouth is an incredibly small target,” Philo said.

  Mal frowned. Philo had a point. He was already asking a lot of these three, but to nail a potion throw directly down a flying creature’s throat might’ve been asking a bit too much.

  Rolam stared daggers into the ground.

  “What if you—” his elven ears twitched. “What if you threw me?”

  Philo’s head snapped up. “Threw you? You mean, using the lightening spell?”

  “Exactly. You just get me in the general range so that I can throw the potion directly down its throat.”

  Philo’s mouth flapped open and shut before he finally nodded. “That could work. There’s a chance.”

  “But how would you survive the return trip?” Nima's tone was frantic and hurried. “You’d be turned into a pancake!”

  “Not necessarily," Philo said.

  Mal turned to look at Philo, who had a calculating expression in his eyes.

  “That charm is inefficient, but Philo thinks that he has just enough in him to cast it twice. If he can cast it on Rolam right before the moment of impact, that will remove his weight and thus remove the potential damage.”

  Rolam’s mouth started to twist into a grin. “We could actually do this, couldn’t we? We actually have a chance of beating this thing.”

  Nima went pale as the grave.

  “Y—you’re all serious, aren’t you?” he said. “Are you all insane!? This Academy isn’t worth dying for! What if the examiners fail to teleport you out in time while you’re falling? What if we get hit by a stray feather and end up permanently disabled?”

  “Then that would be no less than the risk that we would be taking on by following the path of wizardry,” Mal said. “There will always be risks in this art. As I was coming in, someone blew up one of the departments by accident. Granted, I’m fairly certain that they weren’t following proper safety protocols, because all wizards are idiots, but still.”

  Nima's gaze flickered between the three before he shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He snapped his eyes open, then gave a shaky nod.

  “Y–you’re right. But this is still a terrible idea…”

  Mal grinned and clapped Nima on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now then—”

  Mal’s grin turned into a malicious smirk.

  “Let’s see how difficult it would be to kill one of those birds.”

  The problem with brewing a potion using an Ironwolf’s tooth was that it was incredibly difficult to reduce it all into shavings. Mal had ended up using another tooth to chip away at the first. Progress was minimal, and it didn’t help that he had three sets of eyes watching him like hawks.

  He finished breaking down the tooth and then pulled out more elder root. He paused.

  “Does anybody have any water?” Mal said.

  Rolam perked up. “I always keep the water skin on my side.”

  “Here, pour up to about half the bowl.”

  Rolam nodded and unclipped his water skin from his belt. He walked over and carefully poured the liquid into the bowl. Mal glanced up at the sky. A faint shadow passed overhead.

  It was still there, watching, waiting.

  Rolam pulled away the water skin. Mal grabbed his grinding rock and pounded the mixture together. After a few minutes, he had a thick, silver-like sludge, with faint bubbles coming up to the edge of the top.

  “I need a container,” Mal said.

  “Why don’t you just throw the whole—” Rolam asked.

  “I’m not throwing away my mixing bowl. You know how much a good mixing bowl is?”

  “No?”

  “I don’t either, but I’m pretty sure it’s at least moderately expensive for a good one.”

  “…Is that a good one?”

  “It could be.”

  Rolam squinted his eyes as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

  Nima raised a jittery hand. “I have an empty jar.”

  “Does it have a cork on top?” Mal said.

  “It does!” Nima reached into a pouch on his back and pulled out a small glass container, something halfway between a vial and a full-size jar. It was coated with some kind of purple residue.

  “What is that?” Mal asked.

  “Oh, this had my strawberry preserves.”

  Mal was taken aback. “Did you just say strawberry preserves? As in… jam?”

  “In case I got hungry.”

  Mal supposed that, in theory, there was nothing that would make it dangerous to store the iron skin potion with.

  Mal took his mixing bowl and carefully poured it into the larger vial. The silvery mixture inched its way down and into the glass with a gentle plop. A small tinkling noise rang out as more and more of the mixture was added. When it was done, Nima stopped it with the cork, then held it out to Rolam. Rolam took it and held onto it tightly. He looked up at Mal and nodded.

  “Let’s do this."