For one brief, shining second, Ray felt like the protagonist again.
Then the herald spoke: “Lucien D’Roselle.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air tightened. It felt as if the courtyard itself had taken a sharp, collective inhale. Ray blinked, the triumphant glow inside him flickering.
Lucien stepped forward through the line—silent, unhurried, his storm-grey eyes half-lidded as though he were bored of existing. Sunlight caught the silver strands of his ash-blond hair, giving him the unintentional air of a wandering spirit who had accidentally joined an exam. He approached the altar without expression. No tension. No nerves.
He looked like a boy who believed nothing in the world could possibly surprise him.
“Is that the boy who threw the squire?” a girl whispered. “He looks half-asleep…” “No, look at his eyes. Something is fundamentally wrong with him.”
Ray swallowed hard. Yeah. Something is definitely off.
Lucien placed his hand on the obsidian stone. For a few beats, there was nothing. No glow. No hum. Not even a flicker of warmth.
“…Did he break it?” someone muttered. “Maybe he has no affinity at all?”
Then, a sound split the air.
CRACK.
Then another. CRACK-CRACK-CRACK.
Jagged veins of white lightning burst across the obsidian surface, branching like a dozen glowing rivers. The entire altar ignited, bathing the courtyard in a blinding, blue-white radiance. Instructors shielded their eyes. Students gasped, stumbling back from the sudden pressure.
The stone didn’t just shine—it roared from within, as if a localized thunderstorm had been trapped inside the slab and was clawing its way out. A sudden, violent wind swept through the courtyard. Loose papers flew like birds; hair whipped; the torches lining the arena flickered and died.
Ray staggered back, shielding his face. “That’s—that’s not normal, right?!”
Elaine didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on Lucien—sharp, narrow, and calculating.
“That’s not an affinity,” Garret muttered, his hand instinctively moving toward his belt. “That’s a damn natural disaster.”
“He’s resonating with Lightning,” Isolde whispered, her usual boredom replaced by genuine shock. “That’s impossible. Lightning is a high-tier primal element... most nobles can’t even stabilize it, let alone command it.”
The light around Lucien surged upward in a final, deafening flash—then collapsed inward with a sound like a breath being sucked into a vacuum. The glow vanished. Silence returned, heavy and smelling of burnt ozone.
Smoke curled from the surface of the altar. Lucien still stood there. Unmoved. Unimpressed. Unbothered.
An instructor, pale and sweating, stepped forward with trembling hands. He announced in a cracked voice, “Lightning affinity. Powerful soul.”
The courtyard erupted. “Lightning?!” “A commoner with Lightning resonance?!” “That power... it eclipsed the noble heirs!”
Ray’s stomach dropped through the floor. “…Extreme… lightning?” he whispered. “That’s illegal. That should be illegal! Where is the balance patch for this world?!”
Elaine did not smile. She simply watched Lucien with icy calculation. “Lightning,” she murmured softly. “Affinity alone is rare. Resonance of that magnitude is… unprecedented.”
Sera stood behind her, her fingers resting near the hilt of her blade. “…Troublesome,” the knight muttered.
Lucien finally lifted his gaze. It was cold, detached, and as empty as winter air. His eyes moved across the crowd and landed squarely on Ray. For a heartbeat, Ray forgot how to breathe.
Lucien’s expression didn’t shift. He didn't smirk. But Ray felt the message clearly:
You are not the only one with a path.
Then—Lucien’s gaze slid past Ray.
He looked at Elaine.
It was only for a second, but in that heartbeat, the atmosphere shifted. The coldness in his eyes softened—barely, subtly—like frost touched by the sudden edge of sunlight. There was a microscopic hesitation in his breath, a fleeting gentleness in his expression that hadn't been there for the instructors, the squire, or the altar.
Elaine blinked. Confusion flickered across her face—a ripple too small for the crowd to notice, but unmistakable to Ray.
Why… is he looking at her like that?
Elaine tilted her head, a slight frown forming. She looked as if she were trying to reach for a memory that shouldn't exist, a name on the tip of her tongue that she had never heard.
Before she could speak, Lucien broke the moment entirely. His gaze returned to its usual void of indifference. His posture slumped back into a bored, effortless glide. He walked into the crowd without a word, disappearing between the ranks of stunned students like a ghost returning to the fog.
The courtyard’s roar continued without him, but the air felt thinner.
Ray sagged forward, gripping his knees as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “I don’t… get a break… do I?”
Elaine placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a grounding touch, firm and real. “Of course not,” she said softly. “This is only the beginning.”
But she wasn't looking at Ray. Her eyes were still fixed on the empty space where Lucien had stood. She was still thinking. Still wondering why a stranger—a boy who had just neutralized a squire and shattered an altar—had looked at her with such haunting familiarity.
Ray watched her, his stomach twisting for a whole new reason.
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Rival flag? he thought grimly. No. This is something much worse.
The Academy courtyard shifted from roaring applause to a tense, simmering silence as the instructors stepped onto the central podium. Sunlight glinted off their silver badges, and every student straightened—some with desperate pride, others with palpable dread.
A bell tolled once, the sound heavy and final. The Head Examiner unrolled a long, gold-trimmed parchment.
“By order of the Academy Board,” she announced, her voice ringing across the stone yard, “the rankings for this year’s entrance examinations are as follows.”
Ray swallowed hard, his throat dry. Elaine clasped her hands behind her back, her posture a perfect line of composure. Rowen Vernhard stood tall, already wearing a victorious smirk as if he had written the list himself.
The examiner began:
“1st Place — Lucien D’Roselle.”
The courtyard erupted. Even students who didn't know his name whispered it like a storm rolling in. Lucien didn’t react. No pride, no smirk—just a soft exhale, as though the highest honor in the Empire meant nothing to him. But when his eyes flicked briefly toward Elaine, that same strange softness appeared again—a quiet, haunting recognition that no one understood.
Elaine blinked once. …Why? Her brows knit for the faintest moment before she forced her expression back into a mask of ice.
“2nd Place — Ray Melborne.”
Ray’s jaw practically hit the pavement. “ME?! SECOND?!”
A chorus of gasps rippled through the noble ranks. Garret froze mid-smirk. Even Rowen stumbled as if he’d been kicked in the shin.
Elaine looked at Ray, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips. “You exceeded expectations, Ray.”
Ray trembled, his head spinning. “I—I’m actually a main character… the stats don't lie!”
Sera, who was busy polishing a speck of dust off her blade nearby, murmured, “Mm. Temporarily. Don't let the ego outpace the ability.”
Ray deflated, but only slightly.
“3rd Place — Rowen Vernhard.”
Rowen stepped forward with forced grace, but his face was a mask of pure horror. “THIRD?! Him? Above ME?!” He pointed a shaking finger at Ray. “He got lucky! He cheated! His face is—is—aggressively average!”
Ray raised a finger, his confidence surging. “Your insult lost momentum halfway through, Rowen. Try harder next time.”
Rowen made a sound like a boiling teakettle.
The remaining placements were read out—nobles, commoners, prodigies, and failures—but Ray barely heard them. His heart was a war drum in his chest. Second place. Out of the entire Empire's elite, he was second.
When the parchment rolled closed, the Head Examiner raised her voice again: “All students will now proceed to the Great Hall for division assignments and Engraving orientation.”
A collective shiver passed through the crowd. The "orientation" was where the theory ended and the pain began.
“Don’t relax yet,” Elaine murmured as they began to move. “The real Academy begins now.”
Upper-year students moved smoothly through the massive doors of the Great Hall, their confidence creating a natural current that the wide-eyed first-years couldn’t help but follow.
Garret marched ahead, already wearing the insignia of a Knight Division intern. His posture was easy, almost bored—the look of a man who had conquered this ceremony years ago. Isolde, elegant in her flowing Mage robes, drifted beside him. She paused only once to ensure Niva was securely holding Alden’s hand before they entered the upper-tier seating.
Garret glanced over his shoulder at Ray with a final, sharp smirk. “Don’t faint, kid.”
“And don’t embarrass the name,” Isolde added flatly.
Ray opened his mouth to retort, but the massive doors closed behind them with a soft, echoing boom. Just like that, the veterans were gone, swallowed by the machine of the Academy. Ray stood at the threshold, the weight of his "2nd Place" rank heavy on his shoulders.
And somewhere in the shadows of the hall, Lucien D’Roselle watched him with a distant look.
Ray and Elaine stood in the outer antechamber, shoulder to shoulder with dozens of jittery examinees. The marble floor hummed faintly beneath their feet—ancient runes carved into the stone were busy guiding heat and sound away into unseen channels, keeping the air unnervingly still.
Ray tugged at his collar, which suddenly felt three sizes too small. “Ah… my heart is definitely going to explode.”
Elaine didn’t look at him. “That would be inconvenient,” she said simply. “I’d rather not have to explain the mess to the janitorial staff.”
Whispers swirled around them like a frantic wind: “Is it true the engraving happens today?” “I heard the Knight instructors throw you at a wall to test your durability.” “What if my band stays gray? Does that mean I'm a commoner again?”
Ray swallowed hard. Elaine, meanwhile, stood perfectly still—a lone island of composure in a sea of panicked first-years. Even the other nobles unconsciously stepped aside, giving her a respectful radius of silence. Behind her, Sera Lorne stood like a quiet storm, her jewelry glinting like tiny warning bells.
“Sera,” Elaine said softly, “you may return to the estate.”
Sera blinked, her golden eyes widening slightly. “…My lady?”
“You’ve fulfilled your escort duties. The grounds are secure, and I won’t require protection here.”
Ray nearly choked. Won’t require— She said it with the casual finality of an empress dismissing a royal guard.
Sera bowed her head. “As you command. Should anything arise, simply send word. I will come.” She lingered for a heartbeat, her gaze flicking to Ray with a look that clearly promised I will haunt your nightmares if he gets a scratch, and then she was gone.
Ray exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. “S-so… what happens now?”
Elaine sighed with the patience of a master tutor. “We’ve finished the three measures. Now the Academy will sort you into a division. If you pass, you receive your placement, followed by your first Engraving.”
Ray’s breath stopped. Engraving. The moment that turned ordinary people into legends.
“Sheesh,” he whispered. “No pressure.”
Elaine’s blue eyes slid toward him, cold and sharp. “There is extreme pressure, Ray. This day defines the trajectory of your entire life.”
A line formed as an assistant in Academy blue stepped forward, carrying a wooden tray of thin, metallic wristbands.
“Take one and secure it around your wrist,” she commanded. “Do not remove it.”
Ray turned the item over in his hands. It was cool, smooth, and etched with faint runes that pulsed with a rhythmic light.
“Attention, first-years!” the assistant called. “These bands determine your preliminary division. When you enter the Great Hall, the enchantment will activate. The color will shift to match your path.”
She raised her arm to demonstrate:
- Red: Knight Division
- Blue: Mage Division
- Green: Scholar Division
- Silver: Engraver Division
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. “Silver… actual Engravers,” someone breathed. last year, only two people were chosen for the Silver path.
Ray fumbled his band twice before the latch finally clicked shut. Beside him, Elaine slipped hers on with the practiced ease of someone who already knew what color it would turn.
“Enter when ready,” the assistant said, bowing slightly.
The Great Hall doors groaned open. Light spilled out from the interior—golden, ancient, and blinding. From inside, a bell tolled—a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate in Ray's very marrow.
“FIRST-YEARS—ENTER!”
The hallway held its breath. Ray glanced at Elaine. She gave him a small, microscopic nod of encouragement. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the Great Hall, into the Academy, and into the life he had only ever seen on a screen.
Somewhere inside, Garret and Isolde were waiting. And somewhere in the line behind him, Lucien D'Roselle walked in silence, his own band yet to turn a color.