Extra's POV: I am the Sixteenth Son

The bell hadn't rung yet.

But Ares was already sitting in the far corner of the room, back straight as a soldier on parade, legs folded like a monk in prayer. The air in their stone cell was cold enough to see his breath, but somehow it helped clear his head. Like dunking his brain in ice water to wake it up.

He breathed in deep, and felt the mana stir inside his chest like a sleeping dragon opening one eye. He held it there, letting it crawl slowly up into his shoulders like warm honey dripping from a spoon. Then he breathed out long and slow, and the energy pooled around his spine, feeding that small fire burning near his ribs.

His core pulsed steadily now, strong as a war drum. No more weak flickers like a dying candle in the wind. It beat in perfect time with his thoughts, powerful and sure.

Again.

And again.

Like a ritual he couldn't break.

Two months.

That's how long he had before he'd officially become a second year. Two months to push past novice rank and stop being just another face in the crowd. Two months to show everyone, including himself, what he was really made of.

---

The Fire Shrine loomed ahead like the mouth of a sleeping volcano, all dark stone and glowing cracks that promised pain. When the instructor called out pairings for today's endurance test, Ares's stomach did a little flip.

"Ares Eisenklinge and Lysandra le Eisenklinge."

Great. Just perfect.

Lysandra didn't even look at him when her name was called. She just glided over like she was floating on air, all perfect posture and ice-cold elegance. Everything about her screamed 'I'm better than you and we both know it.'

When she finally did glance his way, her eyes were like looking into a frozen lake, beautiful, but deep enough to drown in.

"Try to keep up," she said quietly, her voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade.

Ares almost smiled. Almost. "I'll do my best not to embarrass you."

Her eyebrow twitched. Just barely. But he caught it.

The two of them were herded into the fire chamber like cattle to slaughter. The heat hit them the moment they stepped inside, thick and heavy like walking into a baker's oven. They sat on carved stone circles surrounded by glowing embers that looked like angry red eyes in the dim light.

This wasn't about controlling fire or making pretty flame shapes. This was about not passing out while fire tried to cook them alive.

The instructor sealed their mana with a quick gesture. No cheating. No magical help. Just flesh and bone against pure, brutal heat.

They sat in silence that felt heavier than the air around them.

The warmth started friendly enough, like sitting by a cozy fireplace. Then it turned nasty. It pressed down on his lungs like an invisible weight, making each breath feel like swallowing hot sand. Sweat poured down his back in rivers, his clothes sticking to his skin like a second layer.

But Ares didn't move. Didn't even twitch.

Across from him, he could feel Lysandra's presence, still as a statue but not as calm as she looked. Her breathing was getting shorter, more controlled. Her mana signature, even sealed, was starting to flutter like a bird trying to escape a cage.

She was getting close to her breaking point.

He dug in deeper, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. The heat was like having his skin slowly peeled off with hot knives, but he'd been through worse. Much worse.

'Endure,' he told himself. 'That's all you have to do. Just don't be the first to quit.'

Time crawled by like a wounded animal. His vision started to blur at the edges, and for a moment he wondered if this was how cooked meat felt. But then he heard it, a tiny, almost silent gasp from across the circle.

Lysandra was wavering.

The bell rang like salvation itself.

Ares stood up slowly, his legs shaky but holding. Steam rose off his clothes like he'd just climbed out of a hot bath fully dressed.

Lysandra stood a few seconds later, her face pale as fresh snow but her chin still held high with pride that could cut glass. She didn't look at him as they walked out of that hellish chamber, but she didn't pretend he didn't exist either.

That was something, at least.

"Not bad," he said quietly as they reached the door.

She paused for just a heartbeat. "You either."

---

Later that afternoon, the Lightning Shrine waited for them like a storm trapped in stone.

This time, fate paired Ares with Sylas de Eisenklinge, a quiet, wiry boy who looked like he could disappear into shadows if he tried hard enough. His dark eyes were always watching, always thinking, like he was solving puzzles nobody else could see.

Sylas didn't say a word as they settled onto the stone floor that hummed with electric energy. Blue sparks danced along the walls like trapped lightning, zipping close enough to make their hair stand up but never quite making contact.

Another endurance test. Because apparently the Academy thought the best way to build character was to see how much pain they could take without crying.

Electric mana buzzed through the air like angry wasps, threading into their skin, bones, and nerves. It felt like being slowly electrocuted by tiny invisible needles. Ares gritted his teeth against the prickling sensation that flooded his arms and crawled up his spine like fire ants.

Beside him, Sylas looked perfectly calm. Either he was incredibly tough, or he was really good at hiding how much this hurt. Probably both.

The minutes dragged by like hours. Ares's muscles started twitching on their own, little spasms he couldn't control. His teeth were clenched so hard he was worried they might crack.

But he held on.

They both made it to the final bell, standing up at the same time like they'd planned it.

As they walked out, Sylas turned to him with something that might have been respect in his dark eyes.

"You don't break easy," he said quietly.

Ares raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Neither do you."

Sylas almost smiled. Almost. "Maybe we should spar sometime."

"Maybe we should."

And that was the end of it. But somehow, it felt like the beginning of something else.

---

The mess hall was quieter than usual that evening, students too tired from the day's trials to do much more than push food around their plates. The air smelled like roasted meat and defeat.

Then Veltrissa walked in.

She didn't announce herself with fanfare or dramatic speeches. She didn't need to. When Instructor Veltrissa entered a room, everyone knew it. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees, and conversations died like snuffed candles.

She walked straight to the merit board beside the food line and pinned up a fresh piece of parchment. The sound echoed through the silent hall like a judge's gavel.

Initiate Class Merit Rankings:

1. Sylas de Eisenklinge – 175 pts

2. Lysandra le Eisenklinge – 165 pts

3. Ares Eisenklinge – 160 pts

4. Maelia le Eisenklinge – 145 pts

Ares stared at the board, blinking hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Third place.

Not first, that stung a little, if he was being honest. But not last either. Not even close to last.

He was climbing the ladder, one painful step at a time.

Across the hall, he caught Sylas glancing his way. Not with a smirk like some victorious bully. Not with pity like he felt sorry for him. Just a quick look of acknowledgment, like one warrior recognizing another after a hard-fought battle.

Lysandra, meanwhile, stared straight ahead as if the merit board didn't exist at all. Her face could have been carved from marble, beautiful, cold, and completely unreadable. But he thought he saw her shoulders relax just a tiny bit when she saw her name in second place.

Maelia caught his eye from her table and gave him a small smile before going back to her soup. It wasn't much, but it felt genuine. Like she was actually happy to see him doing well instead of hoping he'd fail.

The tension in the room was quiet but real. Not the loud, obvious kind that ended in shouting matches and flying fists. This was the subtle kind that lived in sideways glances and careful words. The kind that could cut deeper than any blade.

---

That night, Ares dragged himself back to his chamber with the ache of fire and lightning still fresh in his bones. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been wrung out like a wet rag and left to dry.

Roul wasn't back yet, the older students had longer duties and more complicated lessons. Something about advanced combat theory that sounded about as fun as getting kicked by a horse.

Ares sat on the cold stone floor, drew in a deep breath that tasted like exhaustion, and reached inward for his mana.

It rose slowly from his core, thick and deliberate like honey on a winter morning. He guided it carefully into his tired limbs, letting the warm energy fill all the cracks that the day's trials had left behind. It felt like drinking hot soup after being caught in a blizzard.

His thoughts swirled like leaves in a windstorm.

He'd ranked third without even pushing his limits.

He'd survived fire that could melt steel and lightning that could stop a heart.

And he'd caught the attention of his peers, maybe even earned a little respect.

Not bad for a day's work.

But not enough. Not nearly enough.

'Two more months,' he thought as mana pulsed through him, slow and steady as a heartbeat. 'Two more months, and then I stop being just another student. I stop being overlooked.'

The fire hadn't burned him today.

It had made him stronger.

And tomorrow, he'd prove it all over again.