The arena buzzed with energy, lit by the warm glow of magical orbs hovering in the air, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Though the academy was indoors, the vast expanse of the arena felt charged, as if the very air was alive with the anticipation of the students gathered around, leaning eagerly over the railings, their excited shouts echoing through the space.

  At the center of it all stood Charcoal, his red hair catching the flickering light, his stance firm and his expression cold, calculating. At eighteen years of age, he carried himself with the air of a leader among his peers. In his right hand, his sword gleamed with imbued magic, while in his left a fire whip crackled, sending bright flames with each flick of his wrist.

  Across from him stood his sparring partner, his pale breath visible in the chilled air. The two had faced each other before, but every match felt more intense.

  "Focus on the battle" Charcoal’s voice cut through the noise without raising its volume. The arena grew quieter as the crowd watched in suspense, but whispers of excitement still trickled through. “You’ll need that and a bit of luck.”

  Without another word, his fire whip cracked through the air, trailing bright embers as it lashed toward his opponent. The other student reacted swiftly, raising a hand to summon a dense fog of ice that swirled in the air, chilling the whole arena.

  The crowd roared as the end of the match neared.

  Charcoal's fire whip cracked through the air as flames licked at the icy mist. His opponent’s ice clouds twisted and swirled, creating a barrier between them, but Charcoal’s gaze remained steady. He had already set his trap.

  With every step, the ice-user grew more confident, pushing forward as the cold fog spread across the arena. But in his focus on controlling the ice, he failed to notice the subtle shift on the ground. Charcoal had coiled his fire whip into a noose, its glowing embers barely visible under the haze.

  Just as his opponent took another step forward, the noose tightened around his ankle and with a swift motion, Charcoal yanked hard, pulling the student off balance. Before anyone could react, the ice-user was sent flying through the air, his body crashing into a pile of haystacks just beyond the arena’s edge.

  The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter, the arena alive with the thrill of the battle. Charcoal stood at the center, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face as his fire whip dissolved back into embers.

  His opponent, still catching his breath, grinned as he sat up from the hay. “Good job” he called, his voice laced with a playful acknowledgment of defeat. “So this makes it 6 wins for you, 3 for me, eh?”

  Charcoal nodded, offering a rare gesture of respect. “Keep practicing. Maybe you’ll catch up.”

  Charcoal was soon surrounded by a crowd of cheering students, their voices blending into the ambient hum of the arena. Soon after, another duo of students stepped into the ring, eager to take their turn.

  Nearby, a teacher stood quietly, recording the results of the sparring match on a large parchment. Every win, loss, and technique was documented, a permanent record of each student's progress in combat. Charcoal barely paid attention to the teacher’s meticulous note-taking. His focus remained on the arena, his sharp eyes tracking the next match, studying openings and weaknesses.

  But then, whispers reached his ears, murmurs coming from a few students standing near the entrance to the hall.

  “Who’s that?” one of them asked.

  “I think his name is Tuoqo,” another replied, his voice tinged with curiosity. “First year at forging.”

  “Teacher’s pet, isn’t he?” a third chimed in, their tone slightly mocking. “Apparently, he’s got some rare ability. Can’t believe thems wasting their time on him.”

  Charcoal’s attention shifted toward the entrance. Standing there, barely noticeable amid the chatter and clamor of the arena, was the dark haired boy in question. There was something quiet, almost withdrawn, about the way he carried himself.

  A rare ability? Charcoal’s brow furrowed slightly. He had heard of many students with unique powers, but this boy had a presence that intrigued him. Charcoal turned back to the fight, but his mind lingered on the name, Tuoqo.

  After the last arena fight of the day, Charcoal strode through the bustling hallway, his steel sword securely sheathed at his right side. The echoes of laughter and excitement faded behind him as he made his way toward the food serving area, lost in thought about his own fighting stance and techniques.

  Just as he turned a corner, a familiar voice broke through his concentration.

  “Charcoal!”

  He turned to see his older sister, Aora, her expression a blend of seriousness and affection. Despite her more somber demeanor, she often lightened up when they were alone.

  “Hey! I was hoping to catch you before you vanished into the cafeteria,” she said, her tone teasing yet warm. “Another victory to add to your collection? Or did you let lady luck help them this time?”

  Charcoal chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Best of my year. Not bad, right?” He shot her a playful glance. “But enough about me. Shouldn’t you be poring over those ancient texts for your Exodus?”

  Aora rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with a mock sigh. “I can multitask. Besides, watching you spar is far more entertaining than deciphering those musty old documents. They’re all just theories and dusty scrolls anyway. I'll be leaving tommorow.”

  As they walked together, the familiar comfort of their banter filled the air. Charcoal appreciated her presence, especially amidst the whirlwind of competition and expectations at the academy.

  “So, what’s the latest gossip?” Aora nudged him gently. “I overheard something about a new student. Apparently, he possesses a time ability?”

  Charcoal hesitated, then nodded. “Inthink i know the one you are talking about. He’s been branded a teacher’s pet, to be honest.”

  Aora’s curiosity piqued. “Really? A teacher’s pet? What does he do? Can he breathe fire?”

  Charcoal chocked on his spit while trying to breathe and laugh at the same time. “Not sure yet. Maybe he just fetches their shoes.” They both laughed a bit. “ But the way the other students talk about him, there’s something... intriguing about him. I just wonder what it is.”

  “Maybe you should find out. You know, make a new acquaintance,” she suggested, her voice light but laced with sincerity. “You can’t always rely on your own strength, you get me? Make some friends”

  Charcoal smirked, fully aware of her wisdom. “I’ll keep that in mind, but i already have my buds watching my back.”

  As they approached the food serving area, the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread and hearty stews enveloped him, drawing him in. He allowed himself to relish the comfort of family.

  As they reached the food serving area, Charcoal and Aora fell into a comfortable rhythm, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria enveloping them. Students milled about, chatting and laughing as they filled their plates with warm food. Teachers watching over them intrusively.

  Aora glanced around, her expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ll be leaving soon to explore the next floor as you already know” she said, her voice steady but tinged with excitement. “I’ll be heading down the tower with my husband and our year of strong fighters.”

  Charcoal's heart sank slightly at the thought. “It is true then?” he asked, trying to mask the concern that crept into his voice. “What if something goes wrong?”

  Aora met his gaze, her eyes reassuring. “I’ve trained for this, Charcoal. You know I can handle myself. Besides, I’ll be with a capable team. We’ve all prepared for this moment.”

  He nodded, though worry lingered in the back of his mind. “I just... I want you to be safe. Who really knows what you are facing out there?.”

  Aora smiled, her expression softening. “I promise I’ll be careful. And remember, no matter where we are in the tower, we’ll always find a way to meet again. whether it’s on this floor or lower down.”

  “Yeah,” Charcoal replied, feeling a sense of comfort in her words. “One day, we’ll sit down and share stories about our adventures.”

  She laughed softly, a sound that warmed him. “Exactly. So, don’t go getting soft on me while I’m gone. Keep sharpening that brain of yours!”

  “I will,” Charcoal promised, a smile breaking through. “And I’ll cheer you on from inside the academy until i come to find you.”

  They grabbed their meals and settled at a table, the atmosphere buzzing around them. Charcoal watched Aora as she animatedly shared her plans, her excitement infectious. After a while, she finished her meal and departed from the room.

  With Aora now gone, Charcoal sat in silence, staring at the stew in front of him. The rich aroma of the meat stirred his hunger, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere. The meat was hunted by the Forged, students who had passed their trials and been assigned roles in the academy.

  He idly stirred the stew with his spoon, thinking about the forging process. Every student, at some point, faced the trials. How they performed determined the rest of their future. Some became Descenders, those who fought and ventured down the tower, risking their lives in the endless descent toward the unknown floors below. The most skilled, the bravest.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Others became Pillars, tasked with defending and exploring the floor where the academy was located. They were responsible for hunting monsters, gathering resources, and ensuring the survival of everyone within the academy walls.

  The Residents, though, were different. Some had failed their trials, others had passed but weren’t good enough to be fighters. Many became Teachers, offering their knowledge to guide the next generation. Valuable, but in a different way. Their roles, though vital, seemed to lack the thrill or honor of being a Descender or a Pillar.

  Charcoal let out a quiet breath, his eyes drifting back to his bowl. This simple meal was a reminder of the academy’s structure, the rigid roles that defined everyone’s purpose. Soon, Aora would take her place among the Descenders, while he, still in training, would need to prove his own worth. The pressure to succeed was constant, weighing on him as heavily as the sword at his side.

  This is the nature of the academy. One way or another, everyone was Forged.

  Charcoal’s thoughts were abruptly shattered as five familiar faces approached, laughter on their lips. The first was the ice-user he had sparred with earlier, his grin wide as he grabbed a seat nearby. Another friend—one of the more boisterous of the group—threw an arm around Charcoal’s shoulders in an exaggerated hug, squeezing him tightly before sitting with a thud, down beside him. The remaining three stood nearby, balancing wooden trays of food in their hands.

  “Man, that arena was something today,” the ice-user said, sliding into the bench across from Charcoal. “You nearly sent me flying into the next realm with that fire whip.”

  Charcoal smirked. “Next time, maybe you’ll keep an eye out for enemy traps. But hey, gracely falling into haystacks has its charm.”

  “Yeah, a graceful sack of potatoes!” someone exclaimed. The table erupted in laughter, the mood instantly lighter. As the rest of the group settled down, the conversation quickly turned to the matches they had seen earlier, each recounting the best moments with animated gestures and teasing remarks.

  “You have to admit, though,” one of the standing friends said, gesturing with his spoon. “The fight between those two second-years was ridiculous! I’ve never seen someone move that fast.”

  “Right? That spin move with the double blades? I was sure it would go badly for him, but then, bam! He pulls it off!”

  They all burst into laughter, voices blending into the hum of the busy cafeteria. But the real shift in tone came when one of the girls, Oob, was nudged by the friend sitting next to her.

  “Oob,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face, “spill the tea about those first years. You’ve always got the inside scoop. What’s the deal with that Ayla girl?”

  Oob leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she glanced around the table. “Oh, you haven’t heard?” she began, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “Apparently, some guy, what’s his name, was caught in his sleep muttering, Ayla, my love.”

  The group erupted into laughter, Charcoal chuckling despite himself as Oob continued. “Truly! He said it in front of half the dorm room, with teachers there too. The poor guy didn’t even know what hit him.”

  “Man, talk about awkward,” the ice-user chimed in, shaking his head. “Imagine waking up to that.”

  Charcoal just shook his head, smiling as the table dissolved into more laughter. The camaraderie was infectious, and for a brief moment, all thoughts of trials, battles, and future responsibilities slipped away, replaced by the easy rhythm of friendship and gossips.

  The day passed in a blur, but as night fell, Charcoal found sleep elusive. His thoughts circled around Aora’s upcoming departure, tugging at his mind. He knew she was more than capable, strong and trained to take on the trials ahead. He knew he would follow in her footsteps soon enough since his skills had been honed for that very purpose. But they were siblings, and the thought of her leaving the academy’s safety weighed heavier than he expected.

  The following morning unfolded as usual. Teacher lectures filled the early hours, with strategy analysis following soon after. Charcoal focused on the lessons, but his mind kept drifting to the day’s upcoming event.

  By early noon, the entire academy gathered in the central courtyard, a large space barricaded by towering stone walls reinforced with metal to keep the monsters from breaching the inner grounds. It was a solemn place where Descenders set out on their dangerous journeys and Pillars left each day, in both cases never knowing if they shall return..

  Charcoal stood among the crowd of students, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The large, iron doors at the far end of the courtyard loomed ominously, waiting to be opened. This was the day the next wave of Descenders would leave. The academy had seen this ceremony many times before, but for Charcoal, ithis timewas personal.

  Aora stood near the front, her expression calm but focused. She was dressed in armor, her weapon at her side, ready to begin her descent. Her team of fighters gathered around her, each one strong and capable in their own right. Her husband stood beside her, exchanging quiet words of encouragement.

  Charcoal’s heart tightened in his chest as he watched. This was it. She was truly leaving.

  Charcoal threaded his way through the gathered crowd, his gaze locked on Aora standing at the front. Her expression was serious, the weight of her mission clear in the way she stood. Charcoal approached, and for a moment, they exchanged a silent look, two siblings, both strong in their own right, but sharing a bond that no trial could break.

  For a long second, neither spoke. Then Aora’s lips curved into a small smile, the tension between them easing.

  “You’ve got that look again,” she teased softly.

  Charcoal couldn’t help but return the smile, shaking his head. “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re worried about me,” she replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. “You don’t have to be.”

  He held her tightly for a moment, his jaw clenched as the reality of her departure settled in. “Just... take care of yourself,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the concern he had tried to hide.

  As they pulled apart, Charcoal’s eyes shifted to the imposing figure of Arsenis, Aora’s husband and the commander of the wave. His presence was formidable. He radiated authority without needing to say much. His club and one-handed crossbow were slung across his back, the very sight of them a reminder of his prowess in battle.

  Charcoal met Arsenis’ gaze, his voice steady but firm. “Keep her safe.”

  Arsenis gave a nod, his expression serious and respectful. “Her safety is my priority, even before my own.” He crossed his arms, glancing between them. “You’ve seen us in battle. Aora and me… we’re a formidable pair.”

  Charcoal nodded, remembering the times he had watched them fight together. Aora’s double bladed sword and Arsenis’ club and crossbow moved in harmony, their strikes complementing each other like a perfectly choreographed dance. Together, they were nearly unstoppable.

  Arsenis placed a hand on Charcoal’s shoulder, his grip firm. “I expect to see you down there someday, as a commander. You’ve got it in you.”

  Charcoal’s heart swelled with confidence, though he shifted slightly, uncomfortable at the thought of appearing too eager. “I shall do my best,” he said, his tone modest. But deep down, he knew he could do it, he just didn’t want to seem selfish for thinking so.

  Arsenis smiled faintly, offering his hand. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Charcoal took his hand, gripping it tightly in a silent farewell. It was more than just a handshake, it was a promise, an acknowledgment of the road that lay ahead for all of them.

  As Arsenis and Aora prepared to lead the wave of Descenders, Charcoal stepped back, his chest tight with emotion but his face calm. He watched as the doors to the courtyard creaked open, the unknown stretching out beyond the barricades.

  The large iron doors groaned as they slowly swung open, revealing the wild, untamed world beyond the courtyard. Immediately, a handful of Pillars stepped forward, their weapons drawn, ready to confront whatever dangers awaited outside. The sound of clashing steel and battle cries soon followed, though from Charcoal’s position, the fight remained unseen. Only the distant sounds off violence reached his ears.

  The Descenders, twenty in total, clad in their red and golden armor, began to move into formation. Their movements were disciplined, almost mechanical, as they prepared to embark on their descent. Each one carried the weight of their mission on their shoulders, the tension palpable in the air.

  Charcoal took a step back, intent on leaving the courtyard before the moment became too overwhelming. But as he did, his foot caught on a raised stone, and before he could steady himself, he stumbled, crashing into someone.

  "Ah. Excuse me!" he muttered, quickly regaining his balance. He looked up to see a brown-haired girl with striking green lines running through her hair. Her expression was serious, though she barely flinched from the impact.

  “Ayla, are you okay?” Arsenis’ voice cut through the air, his tone concerned but measured.

  The girl, Ayla, gave a curt nod. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice steady, though there was a certain sharpness to it.

  Charcoal's face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry,” he said, addressing both Ayla and Arsenis. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Arsenis gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment, but his focus quickly returned to the girl. Charcoal, feeling the weight of the moment, quickly excused himself, backing away from the group.

  As he left the courtyard, his mind lingered on Ayla. He had seen her around Arsenis in the past, but he had never paid much attention to her.

  Moments passed in tense silence before the Pillars returned, their steps quick as they crossed the threshold. “Clear!” one of them shouted, their voice echoing across the courtyard, signaling that no immediate danger lurked beyond the gates.

  Arsenis stepped forward, commanding the attention of his team. His voice was steady, resolute. “We open our wings today to descend this tower, just as many before us have done. We will soon find those who left the academy in years past, may it be friends, family, comrades. Together, we will push the path forward, towards the exit.”

  His gaze shifted briefly to the teachers and headmaster, standing on an elevated stage above the crowd. With a sharp salute, Arsenis turned back to his team. “Let’s move.”

  Without hesitation, the Descenders began their march toward the open doors. Not one of them looked back, there was no room for second thoughts, no space for weakness. Charcoal watched, his heart heavy but his face impassive. To look back would show weakness, he thought, repeating the unspoken rule drilled into them.

  The Pillars re-entered the academy, their armor clinking softly as they crossed the courtyard. As the last Descender exited through the massive iron doors, they began to swing shut with a deafening clang. The handles vanished in an instant, the iron fusing together as if welded by some unseen force. Then, as if summoned by magic, thick tree branches curled and twisted over the door, sealing it from sight.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd of students, whispers of shock and confusion spreading like wildfire. No one had expected the door to change so dramatically, so suddenly.

  Charcoal’s breath caught in his throat. The gate wasn’t just shut—it was sealed. Permanently.

  Suddenly, the sound of battle erupted from beyond the sealed gates. Screams, clashing steel, and the unmistakable roars of monsters. Panic surged through the students in the courtyard as the noise from outside grew more intense. Something was terribly wrong.

  Without thinking, Charcoal drew his sword and lunged toward the vines and branches that now blocked the door. His blade struck the thick, twisted wood with all the strength he could muster, but the impact barely made a dent. The branches were too strong, too resilient, as if they were infused with magic.

  Frustration and fear gripped him as he struck again and again, but it was useless.

  Teachers rushed into the courtyard, their faces grim as they worked to gather the panicked students. “Get inside! Now!” one of them barked, waving the students back toward the safety of the academy halls.

  Charcoal barely registered the commands, his focus still on the barricade. But then, without warning, a presence appeared behind him, silent, intimidating. The headmaster.

  Out of thin air, the headmaster materialized, his imposing figure towering over Charcoal. He ignored the young fighter entirely, his eyes fixed on the twisted branches. Fire erupted from his hands, slamming against the branches, but the flames had no effect.

  The headmaster’s brow furrowed slightly. Without hesitation, he clenched his fist and drove it into the barricade. The impact, a thunderclap, a shockwave rippling outward from his fist. The sheer force of the blow knocked Charcoal off his feet, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

  Dazed, Charcoal watched as the headmaster took a few steps back, his face unreadable. Calmly, the headmaster bent down, picked up a small pebble, and tossed it over the barricade. It struck an invisible barrier and bounced back into the courtyard.

  “I see,” the headmaster muttered to himself before turning his back on the barricade. Without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the academy halls as if the chaos outside didn’t exist.

  Charcoal lay there, stunned, his heart pounding. He barely registered the pain from the shockwave, too focused on the terrifying questions swirling in his mind.

  His breath quickened, heart pounding with fear. What about the battle outside? His sister, Aora? The Descenders?