Soren Shaw stepped forward as soon as Murong Xue stepped back, his expression easy and confident, like they were old acquaintances catching up rather than rivals who'd spent two and a half years trying to outlast each other in the arena.
"Sorry to corner you," he said, with a sharp, friendly smile. "Name's Soren. I ran the Tide Pact during the tournament. Your supply work was the cleanest I've ever seen. I've got a few questions about long-term stockpiling and underground logistics, if you've got a minute."
Laia's shoulders sagged a little, just out of sight. Of course another one.
She pasted on a polite smile and nodded. "Sure. I don't know how much help I'll be, though. Most of it was just… making do."
Soren laughed, low and warm. "Making do that beats two full alliances? I'll take all the 'making do' advice I can get."
His questions were different from Murong Xue's. He asked about storage rot rates. About how to keep grain edible through damp coastal air. About how to balance raiding parties and garrison size so you never left your back line too thin. They were practical, logistics-focused questions, the kind of thing a house built on trade and shipping would care about.
Laia answered as honestly as she could. She told him about dried moss liners for crates. About rotating stock so the oldest got eaten first. About never sending more than a third of your fighting force out at once, because you never knew when a void storm would blow through and you'd need every hand to patch the walls. She didn't mention that half these tricks had been learned the hard way, after her first winter as a god when half the granaries had molded over and they'd survived on void beast jerky for three months.
Soren listened intently, nodding every few seconds, like she was handing him piles of gold instead of common-sense pantry tips. By the time he thanked her and stepped back, Laia was fairly certain both of the top two students in the academy now thought she was some kind of logistics savant.
Great, she thought, staring at the sand at her feet. Now they're both going to keep asking questions. How long until they figure out I just have very hungry subjects and a very tight budget?
The heavy clink of armor on stone pulled her out of her thoughts. Lord Thorne was walking back across the training grounds, his iron-tipped cane tapping steadily with every step. The other apprentices snapped to attention. Laia scrambled to straighten her robe and stand up straight.
"Alright," Thorne said, stopping in front of the line. "Enough small talk. Let's see what's between your ears. First question: You wake up one morning, and your northern border has been breached. Low-tier Abyss corruption is seeping in. Spawn are pouring through. What's the very first thing you do?"
He gestured to the senior cadet on the far left. "You. Go first."
The cadet stood a little straighter. "I sound the muster call, sir. Assemble the full vanguard. March to the breach at once and seal it before the corruption spreads."
Thorne grunted. "Solid. Standard doctrine. Next."
The second cadet cleared his throat. "I order the temple priests to lay down blessing wards along the border. Bolster faith first. Strong faith keeps corruption out better than any shield wall."
Thorne's expression didn't change. "Next."
Murong Xue spoke next, her voice clear and steady. "I split my forces. One third holds the breach to buy time. One third evacuates the nearby villages to fortified ground. One third reinforces the granaries and armories so the corruption can't rot our supplies from the inside. You can't hold a border if your people starve first."
Thorne nodded once. "Better. Next."
Soren leaned forward slightly. "I pull every ship and coastal crew back to the deep-water harbors first. Abyss corruption poisons water faster than it poisons land. If it gets into the fishing grounds and trade lanes, you lose more than a border—you lose your whole supply network. You don't fight the breach first. You protect what keeps you alive first."
Thorne's eyebrow lifted a fraction. "Not bad. Last."
All eyes turned to Laia.
She froze for half a second. She'd been half zoning out, thinking about whether the academy dining hall served honey buns for dinner. Now everyone was staring.
"Uh," she said, then cleared her throat. "First I lock all the granaries and move all the seed stock down into the deepest cave vaults. Then I drag all the spare forge metal and medicine crates down there too. Then I send three scouts to check how big the breach actually is. No point marching the whole army out if it's just a little crack you can patch with stone and moss paste."
Silence.
The senior cadets blinked. Murong Xue's lips twitched, like she was trying not to look surprised. Soren outright smiled.
No one had said anything about saving the seeds first. No one had mentioned checking the size of the breach before charging in. It was so small-minded, so practical, so utterly unconcerned with glory, that it felt like a trick answer.
Thorne stared at her for a long, quiet moment. Laia started to fidget, wondering if she'd said the wrong thing.
"…Sir?" she said, tentative.
"Nothing," Thorne said, sharply. He turned away, pacing back to the front of the line. "Most of you gave textbook answers. Some were better than others. Not a single one of you asked how big the breach was before you committed your whole army. Not a single one of you thought to protect the seed stock before the soldiers."
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Soldiers can be replaced. Seeds can't. If your grain rots and your seed stock is corrupted, you don't just lose a battle. You lose the next five years of harvests. You starve. Everyone starves. The Abyss doesn't win by killing your soldiers. It wins by making you too hungry to keep fighting."
He stopped in front of the stone rack holding training dummies.
"Your first assignment," he said, over his shoulder. "One week from today, you will each deploy a company of one hundred standard subjects into the low-tier Abyss training chamber. They will live there for seven full days. No supply drops. No divine intervention. No healing scrolls. You give them whatever tools and rations you think they'll need before they go in. At the end of seven days, I will count how many are still alive, and how much corruption they're carrying."
A quiet murmur went down the line. Seven days in raw Abyss energy, no support? Even low tier was brutal. Most cadets lost a quarter of their subjects in three days. Seven days would cut most companies in half. Maybe more.
"Survival rate above seventy percent passes," Thorne said. "Below that? You're out of the apprenticeship. Don't waste my time."
He turned and started walking toward the barracks again.
"Dismissed. Be back here same time tomorrow. Laia. Stay a minute."
The other apprentices shot her quick, curious looks as they filed out. Murong Xue gave her a small, considering nod. Soren winked. A minute later, Laia was standing alone in the middle of the training grounds with the old War God.
Thorne stopped a few feet away, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"That baseline void tolerance your subjects have," he said, blunt as always. "It's not from training, is it. It's from your realm. It's thin there, isn't it. The veil between your kingdom and the void."
Laia hesitated, then nodded. There was no point lying. A man like him would see through it anyway.
"Yes, sir. It's always been like that. Void storms blow through every few weeks. Everyone's used to it."
Thorne hummed, low in his throat.
"Most gods would reinforce the veil. Patch it thick. Keep the void out. Keep their subjects soft and safe."
Laia shrugged, a little helpless.
"I tried, once. Early on. Cost a fortune in essence crystals. I ran out of money two months later and the veil thinned again anyway. After that we just… learned to live with it."
Thorne stared at her for another long moment. Then he huffed, something almost like a laugh.
"Learned to live with it. Most gods would rather burn through a fortune than let their subjects get scratched by void dust."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Seventy percent is the bar for everyone else. For you? I want ninety percent. No excuses. If your people can already breathe void air, they can damn well survive a week of low-tier Abyss. And if they can't? Then you're not as good as I thought you were."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked away, his cane tapping steadily on the stone path, until he vanished around the corner of the barracks.
Laia stood there for a minute, blinking.
Ninety percent survival rate.
Seven days.
No supplies. No healing.
She thought about her drakes, her apes, her wraiths. She thought about how they'd survived whole winters on nothing but void beast meat and sour berries. She thought about the cave systems they'd dug by hand, and the moss farms they'd built in the dark, and all the other tricks they'd picked up because they couldn't afford to do it the easy way.
Ninety percent, she thought. That's it?
She almost laughed.
They'd probably complain the whole time that the Abyss rations were worse than back home.
She turned and started walking toward the academy dining hall. Past the training grounds, past the marble statues, past all the fancy banners and polished stone.
First things first, she thought. Dinner. Honey buns, if they had them. I've earned it.
Somewhere behind her, the sun dipped below the mesa walls, painting the sky deep orange. The first day of the apprenticeship was over. The real work was about to begin.
And for the first time since she'd won the tournament, Laia thought maybe this whole apprenticeship thing wouldn't be so bad after all.
Assuming, of course, that it came with free meals.