Lucien moved toward the final trial: the Soul Response Exam.

  Despite his cold exterior, being inside the Academy was a surreal experience. In his previous life, he had been a wanderer, a survivor, and eventually a corpse—he had never stood within these hallowed marble halls as a student. He found himself glancing back toward the medical tent, wondering how Ray Melborne would recover from that strange, oily surge of power.

  "Young Master," Sebas whispered, appearing at his side. "I’ve confirmed the identities of those with the Ray Melbourn. The two older ones and the girl are the Melborne siblings. They’ve come to oversee their brother’s 'debut'."

  Lucien didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the center of the testing plaza, where a massive, obsidian pillar stood. The Soul Stone. It was designed to pull a fragment of one's inner essence and manifest it as a physical phenomenon.

  "Rowan Vernhard!" a proctor barked.

  Rowan strutted forward like a peacock dipped in arrogance. He pressed a hand onto the stone with a flourish.

  FWOOSH.

  A sharp flare burst upward—red, jagged, and roaring like cracking embers. The instructors actually leaned forward. “Fire affinity, powerful soul,” one announced. “High-intensity reaction,” another noted. Rowan turned slowly, locking eyes with Ray. He mouthed something to him. Lucien scoffed. It looks like someone had it out for Ray.

  “Ray Melborne!” they finally called for him.

  Lucien felt his posture stiffen instinctively, a phantom itch blooming in the scars on his chest—scars that hadn't even been carved yet in this timeline.

  He looked small. He was muttering to himself—some nonsense about "arcs"—as he stepped toward the obsidian altar. To the rest of the class, he was just a Melborne trying to prove he wasn't a total dud. To Lucien, he was a ticking time bomb wrapped in a childs skin.

  Ray reached out, his palm hovering over the black stone. For a second, nothing happened. The silence stretched, and Lucien watched Ray’s shoulders slump.

  Maybe it’s different this time, a small, traitorous part of Lucien’s mind whispered. Maybe the world tilted enough that he’s just a background character. Maybe I can actually go back to sleep.

  Then the world broke.

  FWOOOOOM.

  A violent, scorching pillar of red-orange light erupted from the obsidian. It wasn’t a flicker or a glow; it was a vertical scar of soul-intensity that seemed to scream into the sky. The heat of it brushed against Lucien’s face, and for a terrifying heartbeat, the courtyard vanished. He was back in the ashen ruins, watching that same light incinerate the Empire’s walls.

  The students gasped. The instructors—men who usually treated soul-testing like a grocery list—straightened up as if they’d been struck by lightning. Lucien watched Elaine’s eyes. They widened by exactly one millimeter. For a woman who planned for every contingency, it was the equivalent of a mental breakdown.

  “Remarkably strong soul-force…” one instructor whispered.

  “Exceptionally rare,” another scribbled furiously.

  Lucien didn't need to read their notes. He knew what that light meant. It meant the boy's soul was stable enough to survive the kind of high-tier engraving that turned humans into monsters.

  “I—I’m strong?” Ray stammered, staring at his hand as if it were a foreign object.

  Strong doesn't cover it, Lucien thought, his stomach sinking into a bottomless pit. You're a catastrophe in waiting.

  Niva was cheering, her voice a high-pitched frantic blur of “RAY IS BLAZING!” Every cheer felt like another nail in the coffin of Lucien's peaceful retirement.

  Rowan Vernhard stormed over, his voice a shrill note of noble suffering. “WHAT—HOW—NO! Test it again! The stone malfunctioned! He’s a Melborne; they don't have souls this bright!”

  Lucien watched Ray turn to his rival, a massive, uncontainable grin spreading across his face. He was clearly preparing some classic "Main Character" trash talk.

  But Elaine’s hand snapped out, gently but firmly covering Ray's mouth.

  “Next candidate: Lucien D’Roselle.”

  Lucien stepped forward through the line, silent and focused. This was a new experience for him; in his previous life, the gates of the Academy had been a dream beyond reach. Now, he stood before the Obsidian Altar, the heavy silence of the courtyard pressing in as he placed his hand on the 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?”

  Lucien ignored the whispers. He was sending his senses deep into the stone, relishing the sensation. Deep in the core of his soul, a familiar rumble was accumulating. Lightning. He missed the violent, sharp clarity of that element. He closed his eyes and activated Equilibrium, not to balance the energy, but to exacerbate it—to tilt the scales of his energy until the pressure became unbearable.

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  CRACK.

  A sound like a whip split the air.

  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 as students gasped, stumbling back from the sudden, static pressure that made their hair stand on end. 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 from the brilliance.

  “That’s—that’s not normal, right?!” Ray yelled over the hum of electricity.

  Elaine didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on Lucien—sharp, narrow, and calculating.

  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 ozone and burnt air. 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!”

  Lucien finally lifted his gaze. He was happy with the results; the output was sufficient. His eyes moved across the crowd and landed squarely on Ray. That's right, Lucien thought. I'm not as powerless as I was. Equilibrium made sure of that.

  Then, his gaze slid past Ray and landed on Elaine. He couldn't help but reminisce. She was an indispensable ally and a good friend—on the right occasions—but mostly, she had been one of the biggest pains in his ass. He couldn't help relish those moments.

  Lucien walked down from the altar and made his way to the central plaza where the final rankings were to be announced. There was no physical prize, but prestige was the currency he needed for his future plans.

  The head proctor stood on the dais, unrolling the final scroll.

  “1st Place — Lucien D’Roselle.” Lucien smirked.

  “2nd Place — Ray Melborne.” Ray’s jaw practically hit the pavement. “ME?! SECOND?!”

  “3rd Place — Rowan Vernhard.” Rowan 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, his voice rising to a screech. “He got lucky! He cheated! His face is—is—aggressively average!”

  Ray, recovering his bravado, raised a finger and looked down his nose at Rowan. “Your insult lost momentum halfway through, Rowan. Try harder next time.”

  Rowan made a sound like a boiling teakettle, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. The remaining placements were read out; Zack Bellmont had managed 5th place, his perfect written score dragged down by his mediocre combat and soul evaluations.

  Lucien watched the chaos with a cold, detached amusement. The "protagonist" was in second place, the "Scribe of the Void" was shedding tears, and the most dangerous girl in the Empire was already watching him.

  Good, Lucien thought, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Just where I want to be.

  Sebas approached, his chest puffed out with a pride he couldn't quite mask. "Congratulations, Young Master. To take the top seat in every category... it is unheard of."

  "All according to plan," Lucien replied, his eyes scanning the grand marble plaza. "Now, it’s time for you to depart, Sebas. Stay within the Capital for the next week. I will still have need of you."

  "Sir?" Sebas blinked, his brow furrowing.

  "Don’t question, just go. Enjoy what the Empire has to offer for a few days. I have other plans that require me to be alone."

  Sebas, knowing better than to push when Lucien had that look in his eye, bowed deeply and disappeared into the crowd of departing families. Lucien turned toward the Grand Hall, his gaze lingering on the duo of Elaine and Ray. He still felt a jarring sense of conflict; the goofy, hyperactive boy currently trying to high-five a disinterested Elaine was a far cry from the god of death who had once haunted his nightmares.

  As the students filed into the hall, mana-conductive bands were distributed. Lucien’s band glowed a sharp, aggressive crimson.

  "Knight Division," he murmured.

  A deep, iron resonance tolled from the clock tower, signaling the official start of the academic year.

  “First-years—proceed to your assigned seats!”

  Lucien took his place, watching as a figure stepped onto the high dais: Headmaster Merinth Vallog. The man was a titan of the academic world, draped in robes that shimmered with shifting constellations. “Welcome, first-year students of Velhraine Imperial Academy,” he began, his voice echoing through layered amplifying sigils. “This institution stands upon five thousand years of tradition, forged by heroes, scholars, sovereigns…” Lucien didn't bother listening. Vallog was an integral piece of the next phase of his plan, but the man was as unreachable as a mountain peak for a first-year student. How to make contact... Lucien mused.

  Then assistants in dark uniforms showed up and led all groups to their assigned wings. The Knight Division was led to a massive, vaulted hall. A chime rang when all students were seated, and a tall, thin man appeared.

  “I am Professor Halden Marris,” he said, his voice carrying an undeniable, dry authority. “Deputy Head Engraver and instructor of introductory engraving theory.”

  Lucien looked at the thick textbook on the desk and the long-winded diagrams on the board. He had already mastered these concepts a lifetime ago. He didn't need a lecture on the basics of the "Veins".

  He slumped slightly in his chair and activated his power.

  In an instant, he cut off his sense of hearing and sight. The world went silent and black. In exchange, he amplified his sense of touch to a superhuman degree. He could feel the vibration of the air, the subtle shift of the stone floor, and the rhythmic breathing of every student in the room.

  Secure in his sensory cocoon, Lucien closed his eyes. He didn't need to learn; he needed to rest. The two-month trek and the intensity of the exams had taken their toll. As Professor Marris began to drone on about the flow of energy, the top-ranked student of the year drifted into a light, tactical slumber.