After leaving Vernia’s office, Kael walked through the corridors in silence. The cold marble bounced back the echo of his footsteps—the only rhythm in that murmur-less emptiness.

  He couldn’t wait to drop off his things.

  Once inside his room, he tossed his bundle onto the bed and emptied it mechanically.

  His long brown coat was inside, neatly folded. A pleasant scent of soap lingered on it.

  “Really need to thank the laundry women… They do phenomenal work.”

  Never had he—nor his clothes—smelled this good.

  He also found his Needle-Case Band, whiter than ever.

  “Looks like my little warning worked. Good.”

  But then a thought hit him.

  “Shit… where am I supposed to go for class? I didn’t even ask Vernia! Idiot.”

  He shut his eyes, digging through his memory.

  Only one place came to mind: the Spring Grove.

  Of course.

  He rushed to the window and scanned the horizon.

  A few silhouettes had just gone inside. Bingo. He didn’t wait.

  He stepped through the door, took two steps… then came right back to grab the Needle-Blade.

  The thin blade rested on the bed, half lost in the morning light.

  “You’re coming with me. Just in case.”

  He set off again, took the stairs four at a time, weaving through the corridors.

  He passed only one servant, visibly amused by his haste.

  “First day and I’m already late. Great start…”

  He burst outside, crossed the edge of the grove, and looked for a group to join.

  Two students—late as well—were walking not far ahead. They each carried a sword at their hip.

  “I thought I’d be the only one bringing a weapon to a theory lesson… Guess they’re not as na?ve as I thought.”

  He quickened his pace to catch up.

  “Hey! This is the survival class, right?”

  The two youths looked him over from head to toe with disdain.

  “Yeah. But what exactly do you plan to do with that toothpick of yours?”

  The other just let out a mocking snicker.

  They walked off as if his mere presence annoyed them.

  Kael followed from a distance, hands in his pockets.

  “Didn’t think beating up two or three rich brats would stick a label on me for life. They really are something…”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  They came out into a circular clearing nestled in the heart of the grove.

  Other students were already waiting, gathered inside a roughly drawn circle carved into the dirt.

  Kael frowned.

  “Probably a boundary we’re not supposed to cross. Makes it easier for the instructor to keep an eye on everyone…”

  A powerful voice snapped:

  “You three! Over there! Hurry inside the circle! Class is starting!”

  They obeyed.

  The circle wasn’t very large, but wide enough to hold about twenty students.

  Kael took his place, the Needle-Blade securely fastened at his belt.

  Something in the air made his skin prickle.

  The instructor turned slowly on her heels, hands clasped behind her back, her gaze landing on each student in turn.

  Her voice, though calm, carried effortlessly.

  “You all believe that surviving means knowing how to pitch a shelter, purify water, or avoid a varghe bite. And you’re right. But those things are secondary.”

  Kael arched a brow.

  Purify water… Varghe? Seriously? We’re doing that already?

  I thought we’d go over protocol, navigation, first aid…

  She continued, relentless:

  “What kills you first is not what you don’t know.

  It’s what you think you know — and what turns out to be wrong. .”

  Kael narrowed his eyes.

  Okay… a little dramatic, isn’t it?

  It’s just a class, not a suicide mission.

  He crossed his arms, leaning on one leg, as if to signal how calm he was.

  But his thoughts churned.

  Why is she insisting so much? Why that tone?

  It’s a class, not an execution ceremony…

  “When you walk through an Overdrawn zone,” she went on,

  “a blade of grass might be an illusion.”

  A heavy silence dropped over the circle.

  Kael felt a chill crawl up the back of his neck.

  He looked around for some sign of second-degree—

  a smirk, a snicker.

  Nothing.

  Every student was focused.

  Not frozen with fear—

  but as if they already knew.

  Why so much emphasis on details?

  She paused, then added slowly, driving it in:

  “You will not be able to trust your eyes.

  Nor your memory.

  Nor, at times… your own voice.”

  Kael’s throat tightened.

  What the hell is this?

  She’s not talking about survival… She’s talking about madness.

  He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease.

  But it sat there, cold, between his shoulder blades.

  Are they testing us already?

  Is this circle… more than just a safety boundary?

  His gaze returned to the uneven mark scraped into the dirt.

  And the feeling returned with it, like a prick at his nape:

  This isn’t a simple class…

  Kael hesitated, then raised his hand.

  Slowly. High. Too high to pretend subtlety.

  The instructor turned her head slightly toward him, her icy stare sliding over him like a blade.

  “Yes?” she said, her tone already laced with annoyance.

  “Uh… it’s just that…”

  He felt every gaze turn on him.

  Too late to back down.

  “I was wondering… why insist so much on details? Sounds, smells, memory…

  Isn’t this supposed to be a theoretical class?

  Weren’t we supposed to learn first aid, markers, basic survival techniques…?”

  The instructor blinked slowly.

  Her expression didn’t change.

  But the silence around her thickened.

  She stared at him for a long second.

  Then sighed.

  “Interesting.”

  She turned to the rest of the class, her back to Kael, and announced loudly:

  “Does anyone else have a question as ridiculous as this one, for a hands-on lesson in real conditions?”

  Several students exchanged glances.

  Kael, meanwhile, froze.

  Wait… what? A class… in real conditions?

  She didn’t wait for any response. She resumed her monologue exactly where she had left it.

  But Kael wasn’t listening anymore.

  He felt a weight settling slowly on his shoulders.

  This isn’t a prep class.

  It’s a testing ground.

  A trial.

  And I walked right into it like some tourist.

  He slowly lowered his hand, his breath tightening.

  Then he raised it again—

  lower this time.

  “Excuse me… I think I signed up for the wrong class.

  Wasn’t there a workshop called ‘How to Tie a Tourniquet in Ten Easy Steps’ right next door?”

  A few students snickered quietly.

  The instructor did not smile.

  She clapped her hands. Once.

  And everything disappeared.