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He meets my gaze. He knows I can’t do much against him—his family’s wealth and connections are powerful. I push him away and leap back onto the bank, my heart pounding as I leave the scholars behind.

I slump against a sprawling tree, looking over at Florentius, who is blowing on his chilled fingers. He’s alone, watching the scholars on the canal with a resigned, wistful expression.

“Why did you help me yesterday?” I ask, frustration in my voice.

Florentius scoffs. “I have no respect for cheats.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “So it’s luck that you pointed out the culprit just as I was being shown the door?”

He narrows his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to be forced out by liars. You’ll be eliminated soon enough, but it should be based on merit.”

We exchange a long look, his eyes revealing little. Then a bell chimes, signalling the final announcement. My stomach twists into knots as I follow Florentius to where the judges and redcloaks await.

“If your name is called, come forward with your soldad,” announces the head judge. “Those not called will be escorted off the grounds. Remember, you’ve all come a long way. Better luck next year.”

There will be no next year for me.

“Rufus Galipus.” A silver-cloaked scholar strides confidently forward.

“Florentius Chiron.” He steps up with a nod, looking unruffled.

“Jeremias Wilus.” The smug pink cloak from earlier makes his way to the judges. My heart races.

“Quantaus Bevelis. Zenon Lasites. Arsenios Chomatianos…”

I close my eyes, trying to calm the storm in my chest. Each name called makes my heart pound harder. The judge’s voice seems to echo through the courtyard.

“Caelus Amuletos.”

I almost collapse.

The murmurs and cheers blur into the background as I clutch my soldad. I made it. I’m officially a medius vitalian.

Skriniaris Evander smiles at me with genuine warmth as he stamps my soldad, marking it with three water wyvern symbols—proof of my new status. I press the badge to my chest.

I did it.

* * *

Snow drifts gently from the sky, settling on carriages and huddled commoners. Noble parents emerge to celebrate their children’s success. I pull my hood tight and exit the scholar prefecture, trying to shield myself from the cold and the weight of expectation.

Strangers approach me with congratulations and gifts—a bundle of herbs from a young girl, a heartfelt message from a child, an elderly man’s encouragement. Their hopes and dreams press on me, and my heart aches with the burden.

Akilah finds me and pulls me away from the crowd, her concern evident even in her silence. We make our way home, where a special dinner awaits. The dining room, usually reserved for guests, is filled with my family, and the table is laden with my favourite dishes.

My parents look at me with a mix of pride and worry. Father raises his cup, and the room falls silent. “What’s next?” someone asks.

I explain the final exam’s process, and the room buzzes with speculation about what challenges might lie ahead.

“What if you reach first place?”

“That’s very difficult,” I murmur, hearing Quin’s ringing certainty that Florentius will place top.

“But whatif?”

“If,” my father says, finally speaking, rendering the table silent, “he’ll move to the palace. Make sure to say your goodbyes. He won’t exit those grounds until he’s a complex vitalian or is carted out in a coffin.”

Mother’s face pales, and her eyes are full of unshed tears. “Maybe... maybe don’t go to the final exam?” she suggests. “You can do very well as a medius. We can help you set up your practice.”