The notice appeared everywhere at once.
On slate boards.On corridor walls.Projected into dormitory halls and training chambers.
Not with ceremony.
With inevitability.
OFFICIAL NOTICE — ELEMENTAL CAPACITY ASSESSMENT
All registered students are hereby informed that a mandatory Evaluation will commence within seven days.
Participation is compulsory.
Preparation is advised.
Absence will be recorded.
No signatures.
No explanation.
Just the seal of the Council.
The academy changed in less than an hour.
Training halls filled before dawn. Instructors extended sessions without being asked. Healers prepared additional beds. Archives opened restricted material—not enough to teach, just enough to frighten.
Whispers spread faster than orders.
"What kind of test?"
"Combat?"
"Selection?"
"I heard entire villages are being evaluated."
"No, just us."
"No… us because of them."
In the upper galleries, instructors met behind closed doors.
"This is not a skills exam," Masako said quietly. "If it were, they wouldn't need this much silence."
Mizuki nodded. "They're measuring behavior under anticipation."
Raishin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Then they started the test already."
Across the academy grounds, students responded in different ways.
Some trained harder—driving their elements until hands shook and lungs burned.
Some studied obsessively—diagrams, historical reports, redacted conflicts that ended with footnotes instead of names.
Some withdrew.
They sat alone, staring at their hands, waiting for fear to choose for them.
Kurogane did none of it.
He walked the outer paths of the academy, where wards weakened and stone forgot it was supposed to listen.
The internal brace remained quiet.
Not restrained.
Not eager.
Waiting.
That unsettled him more than any countdown.
In the dormitory common hall, an instructor finally addressed the gathered students.
"This Assessment," she said carefully, "will not reward spectacle."
Several students relaxed at that.
"It will not reward aggression."
A few smiled.
"But," she continued, "it will record everything."
The smiles faded.
"Your decisions. Your reactions. Your silences."
A pause.
"Prepare accordingly."
One student raised a trembling hand. "What happens if we fail?"
The instructor hesitated.
Then told the truth—only part of it.
"You will be classified."
No one asked what that meant.
Because everyone already knew.
That night, sleep came unevenly.
Some dreamed of applause.Some dreamed of blank spaces where faces should be.Some dreamed of standing still while others were chosen for them.
Kurogane stood at the edge of the academy grounds and looked toward the dark horizon where the five villages lay, unseen but no longer abstract.
Seven days.
He exhaled slowly.
"This isn't about being strong," he said to no one.
The wind did not answer.
Lightning did not stir.
Somewhere beyond oversight and anticipation, an old observer listened—not to power, but to preparation.
And in every chamber, corridor, and quiet room, the same truth settled in:
The test would not begin on the announced day.
It had already started the moment the warning was given.