Sylverwyn Academy.
One of the most prestigious academy in the world , nestled within the capital of the Astral Empire, Eldoria, just east of the Edenfield border. It was a place of legacy, power, and destiny—accessible only to nobles and the rare few who were chosen.
Even beyond the Astral Empire's lands, whispers of the academy drew prodigies from afar. Now, with peace between empires following the Great War, even applicants from the Imperium were allowed entrance.
Sylverwyn wasn't just a school. It was a forge of destiny.
And for most, attending was a blessing.
But not for Natan Blazeforge—the shame of the Blazeforge bloodline.
He knew what this really was.
This wasn't a gift.
This was an exile dressed in opportunity.
It was a ruthless, quiet removal—orchestrated by his own father.
The kind that wouldn't be mourned.
His father didn't care about the shame of sending a mana-less child away. The man was more than willing to let Natan rot far from home, hidden from sight, erased from legacy.
Natan knew the truth. His father wasn't simply casting him out—he was erasing him.
There was no shame in the act. No guilt. Only cold resolve.
Sending his mana-less "failure" of a son away was not a burden—it was a convenience. A silent removal from the estate, from the family, from the Blazeforge name.
And Sylverwyn Academy, for all its glory, was merely the perfect excuse for it.
But that wasn't the end of it.
His father knew what awaited him there.
The scrutiny. The ridicule. The cruelty of peers bred on power and privilege. Natan would be bullied, isolated, broken down to nothing. And if—when—he slipped up, even once, he knew exactly what would follow.
Punishment.
Not a reprimand. Not a lesson.But exile.Or worse—death.
And if it came to that, his father wouldn't intervene. He might even ensure the punishment was harsher. Quicker. Permanent.
Because this wasn't just about sending Natan away.
It was an execution hidden in plain sight.
Natan had known for years. Even as a child, he had seen the way his father looked at him. Not only with disappointment—but with calculation. As if weighing the cost of keeping him around.
And now, the solution had presented itself.
Sylverwyn.
To the world, it was a gift.
To Natan, it was a sentence.
And he knew he could do nothing but obey.
---
Outside the Blazeforge estate—grand, tall, and imposing—a very young boy stood in silence. His jet-black hair clung damp to his forehead, and a dark coat wrapped around his small frame.
Beside him stood an elderly man in his sixties, dressed sharply in a butler's suit. Impeccably neat and composed, he held an umbrella in one hand and a leather suitcase in the other—Natan's suitcase.
To the boy's right stood a woman, the same maid who had delivered the letter. Her chestnut hair neatly tied back. She held a second umbrella, shading both herself and the boy.
Tchk... tchk... tchk…
Raindrops pattered gently against the umbrellas overhead, soft and rhythmic like a whisper.
The world around them was quiet. The sky was darkened by the drizzle. The air felt still and heavy.
Natan, the maid and the butler said nothing as they waited.
Squish- Squash- Squelch.
The horse's hooves pressed into the damp, muddy path as the carriage arrived—plain and unadorned. Certainly not the kind used for the departure of a noble son.
As it came to a stop, Natan looked up at it. His crimson eyes caught a glint of light, but his face was hollow and expressionless. It was as empty as ever.
He took a step forward, dragging his feet toward the carriage.
'Won't even bother sending me off personally, huh?''You really hate me that much...?'
The thought echoed in his mind as he climbed inside—alone. Sent away. Forgotten.
Natan's face was gloomy, his expression cast in shadow. His eyes were lifeless, his hands open at his sides.
He had already given up—resigned to his fate.
'Well, it's not like I wanted you people anyway,' he continuedly thought bitterly.
Creak...
"Young master, you may enter," the maid said softly.
She opened the carriage door and gestured for Natan to step inside. He did, without a word, and sat down quietly. The butler handed the briefcase over, and the maid took it before joining him.
Creak... thunk.
The door closed behind them. The carriage began to move—departing toward Sylverwyn Academy.
Natan sat still, staring out the window. His crimson eyes were blank and hollow.
The maid glanced at him for a moment, her eyes flickering with something unspoken, then turned her gaze to the window as well.
They sat in silence.
No words passed between them.
None were needed.
And none were wanted.
---
After a long day of travel, Natan finally arrived at Sylverwyn Academy.
The academy was enormous—far larger than he had imagined. It loomed like a castle, regal and intimidating. Towers of white stone rose high into the misty sky, their spires tipped with gold. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and grand archways, each engraved with centuries of arcane history.
Yellow and silver banners fluttered gently in the breeze, emblazoned with the crest of the Astral Empire: two golden feathers crossed behind a radiant, glowing sun. The stone pathways were spotless, lined with manicured hedges and magical lanterns that glowed faintly even in daylight. The entire place radiated prestige, power—and expectation.
As Natan stepped out of the carriage with his maid beside him, they were greeted by a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, neatly tied back, and soft brown eyes. Her uniform was immaculate, and her posture carried quiet confidence.
"Welcome to Sylverwyn Academy, Master Blazeforge... and miss,"
she said with a gentle bow. Her voice was soft and professional, every word polished. "Allow me to guide you to your dormitory."
She led them through the courtyard and down a winding stone path bordered by flowering trees and floating, rune-lit lamps. Other students passed by—some in elegant uniforms, others in enchanted robes—yet no one paid Natan much attention. It was as if he didn't exist.
Eventually, they reached one of the dormitory wings. The hall was quieter here, more personal.
They stopped in front of a wooden door—simple, unadorned. Nothing grand, but clean and well-kept. It gave off a feeling of quiet normalcy, a rare comfort in a place so overwhelming.
"We've arrived, miss. This is your room. I'll take my leave now," the guide said with a polite nod, her voice calm and professional.
"Thank you,"
Natan's maid replied softly, returning the nod.
Natan said nothing. He simply stood there—silent, unmoving—as he stared at the door.
Creak... thud.
The door opened, and they stepped inside.
The room was modest. A single bed, a wooden desk and chair, and a wardrobe in the corner. Compared to Natan's room back at the estate, it was small—but it was clean, comfortable, and quiet.
The maid quietly unpacked his belongings, placing them neatly in drawers and organizing the wardrobe. She dusted the surfaces and adjusted the bed linen before stepping back and smoothing her skirt.
"Alright, young master... I'll head back to the estate now," she said gently.
Natan turned his head slightly at her words, his red eyes flicking toward her. He didn't speak. Just a faint nod, barely more than a twitch.
Then, his gaze drifted toward the window.
She stood there a moment longer, waiting for something—anything. But he remained silent.
Her task was simple: escort Natan safely to the academy and ensure he reached his dorm. That was all. The academy would handle the rest—food, housing, training.
There were options available for students of noble blood to retain a personal attendant, with separate living quarters. But his father—her lord—had declined that option.
He hadn't sent her out of concern.
He had sent her for appearance's sake. A gesture.
A performance of goodwill.
Nothing more.
And now, her role was over.
Natan had already expected this.
He sat alone on his bed, in silence. The walls around him echoed nothing but the quiet hum of isolation.
A week later, the academy held its official welcoming ceremony.
Natan was seated at the far end of a long table inside a massive stadium. Around him were hundreds of children roughly his age—most of them five years old, the standard age for nobles to begin their formal magical education.
Every student wore the traditional Sylverwyn uniform: white and blue. The boys wore tailored coats, while the girls wore elegant dresses stitched with subtle arcane threads.
This ceremony was for the newcomers only. The senior students would have theirs on a different day, in a separate hall.
At the front stood a large raised stage with a podium in its center. Behind it stood eight robed figures, each one wearing a different style and color of robe, symbolizing their magical discipline and status within the academy.
As the murmurs of the children faded into silence, a man stepped up to the podium.
He looked to be in his early forties, with silver-streaked hair and an aura of quiet authority.
"Greetings,"
the man began, his voice rich and composed.
"I am Archon Luminous, Headmaster of Sylverwyn Academy. I welcome you all—sons and daughters of noble houses, blessed by bloodlines rich in legacy and power."
He scanned the crowd with a gentle but piercing gaze.
"You are the future of the Astral Empire—and perhaps of the world itself. Today marks your first step. Each of you will now be evaluated and sorted by your innate magical potential. The orb you will touch is a high-grade Mana Sight Orb—one that can assess not just the quantity of your mana, but its purity and stage of refinement."
He raised his hand, motioning toward the glowing blue crystal spheres on pedestals.
"This is a chance to showcase your strength. Your path begins here."
A pause. A slow, deliberate breath.
"Let the evaluations begin."
Natan stood still, fists clenched, his expression blank. His crimson eyes held no spark—only a heavy mix of dread and certainty.
He already knew what would happen.
The students began lining up, guided by the eight robed instructors.
There were eight lines in total, each led by one of the academy's staff. The process was orderly, the instructors calling students forward one by one.
Each student placed their hand on the orb. The crystal pulsed with light in response.
The orb's glow revealed their potential, based on both mana quantity and refinement:
Red – 1 Star
Orange – 2 Stars
Yellow – 3 Stars
Green – 4 Stars
Blue – 5 Stars
Violet – 6 Stars
Purple – 7+ Stars
The closer to violet, the more powerful the core. The brighter the light, the more refined and stable the mana.
Most students emitted a dull red or bright red. Sometimes, although very rarely, a faint orange.
But then, a stir of excitement spread across the room.
A girl approached the orb—elegant, calm, and undeniably noble. Her posture was flawless, her golden hair tied neatly behind her back. Her eyes, a glowing yellow, matched the sunlit embroidery on her chest: a gold emblem marking her as royalty.
Celestine Everglow.
Third daughter of the Everglow line— The princess of the Astral Empire.
As she placed her hand upon the orb, a brilliant yellow light exploded from within it.
Gasps echoed through the stadium.
"three stars at just five years old…"
"She's already at peak yellow?!"
"How is that even possible..."
"Amazing…"
Headmaster Archon Luminous muttered, a rare flicker of admiration in his otherwise composed expression.
"As expected of the Everglow... truly a royal blood."
Applause erupted.
"Woooaahh!"
"She's incredible!"
"Royalty for a reason!"
Celestine, however, didn't react to the praise. She walked off calmly, her chin raised—not out of arrogance, but expectation. Her poise was natural, practiced. She didn't need to boast.
Everyone watched her until she disappeared off stage.
Then the applause faded.
And the next name was called.
"Natan, please come forward"
He slowly stood, the noise around him dull and distant. His feet felt heavy.
All eyes weren't on him. Not yet.
But they all would be.
And he already knew what they would see.
--chapter 6 end