The professor hadn't moved.
Still at the front. Still watching the room like he'd already decided most of them weren't worth remembering.
No one spoke. Not anymore.
He unrolled another scroll.
"Assessment begins today," he said. "Four domains. Four scores. No exemptions."
He didn't pause to let it sink in.
Just continued, as if reading a grocery list.
"Theory. Combat. Imperial Structure. Court Conduct. Results will determine ranking, privileges, and facility placement. Low scores are accepted. Replacements are, too."
That time, he looked up.
Only for a second.
"You are not here to belong. You are here to survive."
The bell rang.
...
The benches creaked as students stood.
Chairs scraped the floor. Bags were lifted. Polite chatter resumed — but quieter this time.
Some were already talking about which exam would ruin them.
Others about who they'd end up paired with.
Eliza walked out with the rest.
Same pace. Same posture.
Like air moving with air.
She didn't ask where to go. She didn't need to.
Everything was written out in the courtyard.
...
The sky had turned clearer. Blue, but not soft. The kind of morning that made you feel watched.
The crowd was already pressed around the central board, fingers tracing lists.
Some groaned. Others smirked. No one stepped aside.
Eliza waited until they did.
"Caerwyn, Eliza — Theory, Room 2."
No glance from anyone. No comment. Just a name like any other.
She left the crowd. Crossed the courtyard alone. Her boots moved quietly over the stone.
...
Room 2 smelled like cold paper.
Stone floor. Dusty glass panes. Desks older than anyone inside them.
The professor already looked bored.
He gestured vaguely toward the seats.
"Sit. Time starts when you do. No questions. No talking."
Scrolls were passed out. Wax-sealed. Black — the serious kind.
Most students sat a little straighter at that.
Eliza didn't react.
She opened hers. Read it once. Then again.
Didn't touch her quill.
Not yet.
The boy beside her had already started writing. His sleeve brushed hers every time he leaned.
She adjusted her elbow. Not much. Just enough.
Then she wrote.
No scribbles. No hesitations. Just quiet, clean answers, one after the other.
...
At the front, the professor finally looked up.
Eyes narrowed slightly.
He saw her.
Another overconfident one, he thought.
Finishing fast to seem impressive. They always quote something they half-read.
He scoffed under his breath.
> "Caerwyn," he muttered. "House of no one."
...
Eliza stood.
She placed her scroll on the desk. Bowed.
Didn't wait for a word, didn't offer one.
She walked out. Soft steps. Door closing behind her with a whisper.
The professor didn't reach for the scroll.
Not yet.
...
He picked it up sometime later.
Unsealed it. Glanced at the first line.
Then again.
Slower.
His eyes moved.
Stopped.
Moved again.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Just slightly.
One finger tapped the page.
Then stilled.