There was a hush in the air that didn't feel sacred.
It felt... measured. Like something ancient had opened one eye, judged the room full of would-be legends, and decided it would wait.
Zane followed the crowd in silence.
He didn't walk fast.
He didn't walk slow.
He just walked last.
Not because he wanted attention, but because last meant forgotten. Forgotten meant underestimated.
And underestimated?
That was the best kind of spotlight.
The corridor stretched out like a cathedral's ribcage, the walls carved from obsidian and marble. Long, vein-like runes pulsed faintly across their surface, ancient and alive, whispering incantations long lost to common tongues.
The torches mounted along the sides didn't burn—they glowed. Softly. Intelligently. Casting light where it was needed, and shadows where it wasn't.
Zane tilted his head as he passed one.
The light refused to touch him for a second.
Then it did.
The others hadn't noticed.
Good.
> Appraisal: Active. Warning – Trace magical residue detected along wall curvature.
Zane side-eyed the wall.
The stone was smooth in a way nature didn't shape.
Something—or someone—had slammed against it with force unnatural.
He grinned.
"Comforting."
Soon, the crowd fanned out as the corridors gave way to space.
The Knights walked up front, steel-toed and swaggering. Their uniforms were tighter, their backs straighter. Most bore insignias of noble houses on their shoulders. Crest of the Flameborne. Sigil of House Craven. Banner of the Ironroot Legion.
A few gave curt nods to the teachers lining the hall. Clearly legacies. Future war commanders. Professional egos.
Behind them moved the Elementalists—unpredictable and expressive.
Air-affinities floated down the hall like wind-blown leaves, cloaks trailing behind them in perfect suspension.
The fire types... well, they smelt like pride and smoke.
Water users moved like dancers, serene and unbothered.
Earth affinities walked like they owned the floor beneath them. Some of them probably did.
Then came the Summoners—quiet. Dangerous.
One girl had a floating salamander circling her braid. Another had a living shadow crouched behind her, pretending to be a second cloak.
Then… came the Mages.
Zane's group.
Only 50 of them.
Mages were rare.
Not extinct. But rare enough that even one admission stirred whispers.
Zane was the fiftyith.
And the weakest.
He still remembered the test—how the mana crystal barely reacted. No explosion. No dramatic shatter. Just a dull flicker and a pity-filled nod from the examiner.
"You're a mage," they'd said. "But just barely."
Still, a mage was a mage.
And titles had power.
Even if his power was on life support.
"Move."
Zane turned slightly. A figure stepped beside him—taller, polished, robes custom-stitched with violet embroidery and silver thread.
The air around him shimmered faintly, as if magic refused to leave him alone.
"Kael of House Myrrh," the boy said, brushing past.
His voice was casual. His arrogance wasn't.
Zane offered a low whistle. "Damn, you say that like your name comes with a subscription."
Kael paused. "Do you speak like this to all your betters, or am I just lucky?"
"Oh, I don't discriminate," Zane replied brightly. "I annoy equally."
> [S.A.S.S. Note: Your self-preservation instincts are uninstalled.]
"I noticed."
Kael studied him for a heartbeat longer before gliding away.
Zane grinned.
Score: 0-0. But the match had begun.
The corridor ended at a jagged stone arch—no doors, just runes carved in languages older than kings.
One by one, the students stepped through.
Some flinched.
Some gasped.
Zane just blinked.
It felt like gravity changed direction for half a second. Like falling sideways into a reflection.
Then, he was inside.
---
The Hall of Foundations
Massive.
Not in space, but presence.
The obsidian floor reflected the ceiling—a stained mosaic of mana streams and constellations.
A raised dais stood at the center, where five stones floated in orbit around a beam of white-blue light. Each stone pulsed gently, waiting.
🔥 Red.
🌊 Blue.
🌪️ Silver.
🪨 Brown.
🧬 Green.
Fire, Water, Air, Earth... and Vitality. Rare. Sacred. Dangerous.
Rumors spoke of a sixth.
But the sixth did not float.
It watched.
The Head Examiner—robes violet, voice like silk on steel—spoke clearly.
"You are not yet students. You are candidates. The stones will decide what lies dormant within you."
No chanting. No dramatics.
Just names.
And judgment
Each student stepped onto the dais. The beam of light scanned them.
Fire users were easy. Red burst like flares.
Water pulsed calm. Air sang softly. Earth growled deep.
Then came a girl who lit both Fire and Earth. Genius class.
The room whispered her name: Sylvia Craven.
Another boy triggered Air and a faint pulse of Silver from the unknown sixth stone.
Even the professors leaned forward at that one.
Then…
"Zane Kingslay."
Silence.
He stepped up.
The beam washed over him.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Snickers rippled through the hall.
Even Kael's sigh was audible.
Then—faint green.
Barely there.
Vitality.
Not strong. Not blazing.
But alive.
The Head Examiner raised an eyebrow.
"…Accepted."
Zane turned and walked back.
Kael's eyes locked with his.
Pity.
Amusement.
A flicker of... concern?
Zane didn't care.
The floor had seen his color.
Weak or not, he was spotlight
As the last names were called, one of the stones—the one not named—shimmered.
Not brightly.
But with awareness.
And somewhere, in the dark beyond the arches, something chuckled.