The seventh day arrived beneath a sky so clear it felt almost intentional, as though the heavens themselves had stripped away every cloud to ensure nothing distracted from what was about to unfold.
No bells rang that morning.
No deep metallic chimes rolled across the academy grounds to tear students from sleep. No instructors stormed through dormitory corridors, barking orders and dragging exhausted bodies into yet another relentless cycle of training. The courtyards remained still, the pathways quiet, and the usual rhythm of discipline—so harshly enforced over the past week—simply did not come.
For the first time in days, the academy was silent.
But it was not the silence of rest.
It was the silence of anticipation.
A tension stretched invisibly through every tower, every training field, every stone corridor. It pressed against the air itself, coiling tightly like a drawn bowstring waiting for release.
Every student knew what day it was.
