The notice appeared twelve days before the expedition.
I knew because I counted every single one of them.
Someone had pinned it to the first-year announcement board between a revised library schedule and a reminder that summoned creatures were not permitted in the dining hall. An outrageously ordinary location for the most exciting announcement of my academic career.
FIRST-YEAR FIELD PRACTICUM.
I read the heading twice. Then the rest. Then the heading again, just to make sure nobody had slipped the word theoreticalinto it while I wasn't looking.
An expedition beyond academy grounds. Assigned teams. Navigation. Monster identification. Practical skill application.
Actual monsters.
Not diagrams. Not wooden targets. Not an instructor asking how I might hypothetically respond to something attempting to eat me.
I turned to Tomas, who had approached the board carrying a stack of books.
"We're going on an adventure."
He leaned around me to read the notice. "It says field practicum."
"An adventure with funding."
"It also says there's a written reflection afterward."
I ignored that part. No sense letting reality poison a beautiful moment.
For weeks, I had been practicing toward something that existed mostly in my imagination. I wanted to know how Tomas's barriers worked when the ground wasn't level and somebody wasn't politely announcing when they would attack. I wanted to find out whether all my training translated into useful decisions outside a designated range.
Mostly, I wanted to walk through somewhere interesting with a weapon in my hands and companions beside me.
I had wanted that long before I knew either of those things could be mine.
The academy spent the following days making absolutely certain we understood that enthusiasm was not a qualification.
Mistress Soren devoted an entire lesson to managing mana outside supervised ranges. Another instructor explained the difference between territorial behavior and hunting behavior. We studied maps, emergency procedures, and illustrated descriptions of the creatures we might encounter.
I paid attention. Enthusiastically, even.
This was homework with teeth at the end of it.
The exercise would take place at Graycut Quarry, a worked-out excavation surrounded by woodland and maintained as an academy training ground. Its established routes offered changes in elevation, restricted sightlines, and enough minor wildlife to provide practical encounters.
"Controlled does not mean harmless," Instructor Harlowe told us during the preliminary briefing. "A small creature can injure you. A short fall can kill you. Your system does not exempt you from either possibility."
A square-built woman with cropped brown hair, Harlowe possessed the calm authority of someone who didn't need to repeat herself often.
"Your purpose is to demonstrate judgment. If you consider that less exciting than demonstrating power, reconsider your priorities before departure."
I reconsidered them.
Then continued being excited.
Tomas noticed.
"You're smiling at the safety instructions."
"They imply there will eventually be something to be safe from."
He shook his head, but he was smiling too.
Over the next few days, I found excuses to discuss the exercise whenever we trained together. We practiced placing barriers without blocking my firing angles. I experimented with smaller movements between shots. Once, I asked whether he could create a shield above us while we ran.
He considered that carefully before answering.
"Briefly."
"How briefly?"
"Do you want the optimistic answer?"
"The accurate one."
"Then don't plan around it."
That was useful. Disappointing, but useful.
By the evening before departure, I had packed three times.
The first attempt emphasized firepower. The second acknowledged that I might get thirsty.
Milo took charge of the third.
He arranged everything across my bed while I sat at the desk pretending not to hover. Water flask, food, bandages, identification, emergency instructions. My gloves sat on top of the pile.
A pointed statement.
"I was going to remember those," I said.
"I know."
He said it politely, which somehow made it worse.
His notebook lay open beside the equipment list. Master Pell had apparently incorporated my expedition into Milo's instruction on travel preparations, giving him an opportunity to practice on someone likely to notice a missing rifle before a missing meal.
"Your medical pouch is stocked," he explained. "There's additional water in the side pocket. The food is wrapped separately."
"And the permission forms?"
"In the satchel."
"Excellent."
He paused. "You're not checking?"
"You checked."
His eyes lifted to mine. For a moment, he looked as pleased as I felt about finally leaving academy grounds with a legitimate reason to carry weapons.
Then he consulted his notebook again.
"Master Pell's expecting me after breakfast. We're learning transport accounts."
"Learn how to make carriages go faster."
"I don't think that's part of it."
"An obvious weakness in the curriculum."
He smiled and returned to his work.
I left the equipment alone. Trust, I was discovering, occasionally meant resisting the urge to be helpful.
I woke before the bell.
For several seconds, I lay staring at the ceiling with the ridiculous certainty that something wonderful was supposed to happen. Then I remembered.
Adventure day.
An old man's memories occupied my head, and apparently none of them could prevent me feeling like a child on the morning of a festival.
Good. I had spent enough years being difficult to impress.
By breakfast, the dining hall was full of speculation. Somebody claimed the exercise included a hidden dungeon. Somebody else insisted an upper-year student had once earned immediate promotion by defeating an unexpected monster.
That sounded suspiciously like the sort of story older students told while waiting for first-years to embarrass themselves.
I ate anyway, checked my mana, and met Tomas in the southern courtyard.
Three covered wagons waited beside a board listing team assignments. Instructors inspected equipment while students tried to look less excited than they were.
"Find our names?" Tomas asked.
"Not yet. I'm savoring the atmosphere."
"It smells like horses."
"Authentic atmosphere."
We found our assignment beneath TEAM SIX.
Darien Lewis. Tomas Reed. Clara Ashcombe.
"Which one's Clara?"
"Here," someone said behind us.
The girl approaching wore her dark hair in a practical braid. Her boots were broken in, her uniform immaculate, and a small silver pin fastened her collar.
She looked at me, then Tomas.
"Clara Ashcombe."
"Dare."
"Tomas."
"My father is Count Ashcombe," she added. "In case either of you needs that established before we start behaving normally."
I liked her immediately.
"Mine's Duke Lewis. We can compare parental correspondence later."
"Thrilling."
Tomas's shoulders loosened.
Clara turned toward him. "Your system?"
"Barriers."
"Stationary or mobile?"
"Both. Stationary is stronger."
"How long can you hold one?"
He began explaining. She listened without interrupting, then asked what happened when he lost concentration.
Useful questions. No theatrical surprise that a common boy possessed an opinion.
An encouraging beginning.
Harlowe gathered us before departure.
"Today is an assessment of observation, cooperation, and judgment. Not individual power."
A tragic opening.
"The quarry grounds have been surveyed. Patrol instructors will remain within the exercise boundaries. Your signal rods summon assistance. Breaking one ends your assessment, not your enrollment."
She demonstrated with a practice rod, sending a bright plume above the courtyard.
"Students who conceal injuries will fail. Students who deliberately seek unassigned threats will fail. Students who abandon teammates will find our subsequent conversation unpleasant."
I believed her.
We boarded the wagons with our assigned teams. Tomas and Clara discussed barriers while I watched the academy disappear behind us.
Beyond the city walls, cultivated fields gave way to rougher ground. Eventually, a wooded ridge rose beside exposed shelves of gray stone.
Graycut Quarry.
Winding paths. Weathered walls. Trees clinging to ledges.
Exactly the sort of place where a hero might discover something ancient.
Naturally, the academy had installed numbered signs.
Our objective was to retrieve three brass tokens from marked stations and return before the afternoon bell. Instructors would observe portions of the route. Minor creatures inhabited the outer woodland; anything beyond the assigned threat range required withdrawal and a signal.
I examined our emergency rod before securing it where I could reach it.
Break here in case of educational failure.
Clara unfolded the route map.
"Old cutting path first. Then the lower shelf."
"Agreed," Tomas said.
She looked at me.
"What?"
"Do you agree?"
"I was enjoying the atmosphere."
"Try doing both."
An excellent addition to the party.
Clara explained her perception skill while we walked. It wasn't a permanent map floating before her eyes. She could focus on irregularities: movement, disturbed ground, something breaking an established pattern.
"So it tells you what's wrong?" I asked.
"No. It helps me notice something different."
"Important distinction."
"Yes."
Tomas glanced toward the wooded slope. "Does it work underground?"
"Only if something below affects what I can perceive."
Knowing her limitations made her easier to trust.
Our first obstacle appeared where runoff had cut a shallow channel across the path. I would have stepped over it, but Clara raised a hand.
"The lip's hollow."
Tomas tested it with a branch. A section collapsed into the channel.
"Well," I said. "That would have been an undignified beginning."
He placed a small barrier across the weakened edge, giving us a stable point to cross one at a time. No dramatic speeches. No wasted mana. Just useful magic.
The first token waited in a marked box beyond it.
We collected it feeling outrageously competent.
The second station introduced teeth.
Two thornbacks emerged from brush near the path, low-bodied creatures with bristling quills and a profound objection to visitors. Clara noticed the one circling left before it disappeared behind a stump.
Tomas set a barrier between us and the nearer animal.
I summoned the carbine.
The circling thornback darted forward. One controlled shot dropped it. The second struck Tomas's shield, recoiled, and presented a clear angle.
Another shot.
Quiet returned.
An instructor stepped from behind an observation screen and questioned us about identification, positioning, and output.
"Reduced," I explained. "Clear background. No reason for more."
He made a note and waved us onward.
I caught myself grinning.
A party. A quest. Monsters. Conveniently portable rewards.
The rewards happened to be assessment tokens, but I was willing to start small.
"Enjoying yourself?" Clara asked.
"Immensely."
"You look like somebody promised you a festival."
"Better. Approved projectile use."
Tomas laughed, and we continued uphill.
We ate beside an old retaining wall after collecting the second token. Clara produced neatly wrapped food. Tomas had academy bread and cheese. I retrieved an apple from Pocket Dimension and offered dried fruit around.
"You've trained before," Clara said.
"Some."
"Your movement's unusual."
"Veronica Cakes."
Her eyebrows rose. "That explains part of it."
I decided not to ask which part remained suspicious.
Tomas leaned against the wall. "Clara's barriers would probably be prettier than mine."
"I don't have barriers."
"I know. You'd still organize them better."
She considered that.
"Probably."
We laughed. For a few minutes, the exercise became simply pleasant: three students eating lunch somewhere interesting.
Then Clara stopped chewing.
"What?" I asked.
She listened.
"Nothing."
I waited.
Her frown deepened. "That's what I mean."
The woodland had gone quiet. Not completely. Leaves moved; somewhere, water dripped against stone. But the small, busy noises had faded.
We packed without discussing it.
Farther along the path, the next route marker leaned against a broken post. The wood had splintered near the ground.
Clara crouched beside it.
"Something struck this."
"Could be part of the assessment," Tomas said.
"Could be," I agreed. "We report it from the checkpoint."
The third token lay farther uphill. I checked the map, then folded it.
"Back the way we came."
Clara studied shallow grooves near the post. "Those might be from a stone cart."
"Might be."
She glanced at me.
"If it's nothing, we lose a little time."
After a moment, she stood. "Agreed."
I took out the signal rod and kept it in my free hand. We began descending together, Tomas watching the uphill path while Clara examined the ground ahead.
We had barely passed the retaining wall when a tremor reached the soles of my boots.
Tomas stopped.
Another followed, closer. Loose grit trickled down the quarry face.
Clara's expression changed.
"That isn't behind us."
The path bulged.
I seized Tomas's shoulder and pulled him backward as stone split where he had been standing.
Something enormous forced its way into daylight. Overlapping gray plates scraped against the wall. Thick forelimbs tore through compacted earth, dragging a long, armored body onto the path.
Its head turned toward us.
Clara went white.
"Slateback ravager."
I snapped the signal rod.
Red light screamed into the sky.
The creature opened its mouth, and I raised the carbine.
For the first time all morning, I wasn't thinking about my assessment score.