---
There was a peculiar stillness to the world when the storm finally broke.
Not the kind that comes with peace, but the sort that clings to the bones and warns of things waiting in the quiet.
That was Zane's welcome mat. Not a trumpet. Not a ribbon. Not even a "Hey, sorry for body-jacking you." Just silence… and stone.
He stood at the base of an obsidian tower so tall it stabbed clouds. Moss crept between ancient runes along the steps. Gothic windows blinked like tired eyes, and the air—it wasn't fresh.
It was waiting.
"Alright, world," Zane muttered, adjusting the lopsided collar of the school-issued coat that smelled like boiled parchment and pride. "You've got ten seconds before I declare this a horror movie."
No answer. Not from the tower. Not from the sky. Not even from the wind.
> [SYSTEM BOOT: Stabilizing mental pattern... Done. Synchronizing host reality… Done. S.A.S.S. Online. Welcome back, Zane. Try not to die.]
He rubbed his temples. The floating blue interface had returned, blinking with unearned enthusiasm like a toaster that wanted to be his best friend.
"We're still doing this, huh?"
> [Until the end.]
"That's comforting in the 'I'm-being-stalked-by-a-sentient-meme' kind of way."
---
Now.
Zane stepped forward.
The double doors ahead loomed like jaws, tall enough to swallow carriages whole. With a groan and a hiss of damp hinges, they parted at the mere graze of his palm.
He entered.
And the world changed.
The entrance hall of the Academy was not grand. It was wary.
Walls of black stone veined with silver pulsed faintly beneath torchlight that flickered too intelligently. The floor was laid in sharp white tiles that formed a sigil he didn't recognize—though something in his gut warned it might be watching him.
No paintings. No tapestries. Just chill and shadow and silence.
He moved forward, each step echoing longer than it should have.
Far ahead, a wide staircase curled upward like a marble serpent. Thin balconies ringed the chamber above, where gargoyle statues perched like silent sentries. A single chandelier hung at the center, filled not with candles but suspended droplets of light—levitating, flickering, and dimming at random.
Magic. Ancient. Old enough to dislike new people.
He looked around.
No one. Not yet.
Or—wait.
---
Footsteps.
Zane heard them before he saw them.
The soft, assured click of polished boots. Several pairs.
From the opposite hallway emerged students—two, then three, then a dozen. All dressed similarly to him in Academy black, though theirs fit better. Cleaner, pressed, accompanied by emblems and the subtle glitter of house sigils.
And then came the air.
Thick. Heavier now. Pressurized.
Magic. Stronger than his. No surprise there.
He watched as they passed the threshold without flinching, eyes scanning the hall, some curious, most dismissive.
One girl, tall and straight-backed, paused only to glance his way.
Her eyes were like polished opal—white and blue with a depth he didn't like. Her coat bore an embroidered phoenix, threadwork faintly glowing.
She looked at Zane the way one might look at a wet mop left in the hall.
Then moved on.
Zane sighed. "Nice to meet you, too, Miss I-woke-up-magically-superior."
> [Appraisal Unavailable. Insufficient proximity. You are still irrelevant.]
"Oh shut up."
---
Zane leaned against a nearby pillar, pretending to look unbothered.
He remembered now—at least enough to piece it together. The memories weren't his, not really, but the body's.
The boy he now was… had come from the far east fringe of the Shardlands, a human border town clinging to the last dregs of civilization.
They didn't even have a school. Just a stone with a glyph. You touched it on your twelfth birthday and hoped something sparked.
Most didn't.
But Zane's spark had flickered. Weak, like a dying candle—but real.
A mage.
Even the slimmest thread of true mana was enough to earn a slot for evaluation.
And in a world where mages were rare—not extinct, but nearing it—every ember was precious.
The Mage Division had only twenty-four open seats this year.
He wasn't even on the list originally.
Until a girl from House Dross collapsed during her exam. Her core shattered. The seat opened. And Zane's score—just barely high enough—slid him in.
The examiner hadn't even looked him in the eye. Just stamped his pass with a tired mutter:
> "Try not to die before orientation."
---
Now, the room filled. Slow at first, then like a wave.
Dozens of students, then over a hundred, filing in groups—by region, by clan, by crest.
They sorted themselves instinctively.
Zane watched:
The Knights, proud and polished, with their visible training scars and oversized swords
The Elementals, radiating confidence, elemental glyphs tattooed along veins or collars
The Summoners, eerie and calm, some with live familiars already perched on shoulders
The Magic Swordsmen, lean and sharp-eyed, hand never far from blade
And the Mages… far fewer. Quieter. More dangerous.
One by one, they glanced at each other—not with camaraderie, but recognition.
Predators in the same cage.
Zane stood alone.
He remembered the lessons.
Centuries ago, humanity had ruled half the continent.
Then came the Collapse—when magic broke loose from the hands of men and fell into the jaws of monsters.
The elves retreated. The beasts rose. The demons laughed. And the dragons simply waited.
Now, humans held only ten percent of the land—the Shardlands.
Everything else belonged to things not human.
But mages?
Mages still ruled.
Not by numbers.
But by fear.
Because a true mage could annihilate cities, call down storms, or silence armies.
Even now, five of the seven human fortresses were governed not by kings, but by Archmages.
Even weak mages—if trained properly—could become valuable.
Which is why Zane was here.
---
A Voice Breaks the Air
A bell rang.
Not from metal.
But from the very walls.
It shivered through the stone, humming in his bones, pulling all heads upward.
From above, a tall woman in violet robes stepped out onto the balcony. Her voice rang clear and sharp.
"Candidates. Welcome to the Academy."
"You will now be escorted to the Hall of Foundations, where your official selection will begin."
"Do not speak unless asked. Do not attempt spells. And most importantly..."
She paused.
"Do not lie to the stones. They do not forgive."
And with that, the crowd stirred.
The ceremony was about to begin.