Three Days Before
Bessia sat in the medical bay, inventory sheets spread across her lap, but her mind was elsewhere.
Fifteen slots.
The number haunted her. She'd been running calculations since the announcement.
Healing soul talent. High tier fledgling. Decent combat record—twelve Trial wins, four losses. Age seventeen. No noble house backing. No rare talent that made her indispensable.
She was good. Solid. Reliable.
But in a competition for fifteen slots among hundreds of desperate candidates, good might not be enough.
"You're thinking too hard," one of the other medical assistants said, passing by with bandages. "Can hear it from across the room."
Bessia forced a smile. "Just inventory."
"Sure. And I'm the Queen of the Republic." The assistant—an older woman named Kira who'd been at Vester for fifteen years—paused. "The damn academy slots?"
"Is it that obvious?"
