The talent assessment was over, its echoes lingering like the hum of mana in the air. Those who failed were escorted out of Mystic Academy's testing chambers—some with heads bowed in silent resignation, others choking back sobs, their dreams of awakening shattered before they could take root. The rest of us, the ones who passed, were herded back into the grand main hall, a cavernous expanse of towering marble pillars and mana-infused crystal chandeliers that cast an ethereal glow across the polished obsidian floor. Runes pulsed faintly along the walls, their soft light a reminder of the Academy's ancient power, forged in the aftermath of the Great War.I claimed a seat in the furthest row, tucked in the shadow of a pillar, far from the prying eyes still fixed on me. The awakening ceremony had been a spectacle—my wind mana erupting in a Purple Grade surge, the orb pulsing with a violence that left even the instructors stunned. Attention was the last thing I wanted now. My fingers twitched, restless with the aftershocks of mana, my dantian humming like a storm trapped in a bottle. I forced myself to stay still, my gaze locked on the stage where the vice principal would soon appear. As a Tempest, an angel of wind and grace, I carried the weight of my family's legacy. Failure wasn't an option.
The hall buzzed with a chaotic symphony of excitement, jealousy, and unease. Whispers swirled around me, carried on the currents of mana that permeated the air."Did you see his awakening? A Purple Grade wind element… but the orb nearly cracked!"
"And the twins from the Scar Guild? Darkness and Vitalis? That's a dangerous combination."
"What about the elven princess? Her ice mana was like a winter storm."I caught glimpses of familiar faces in the crowd. Aria, the Second Princess of the World Tree, sat a few rows ahead, her elven grace unmistakable, her icy aura chilling the air around her. Carla, the human Princess of the Continent, stood near the center, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the nervous chatter, her water and earth mana subtly grounding her presence. Keith, the human-demon hybrid, lounged in a corner, his shadow affinity cloaking him in a faint haze, a smirk playing on his lips as he deflected curious glances. Rafael Flare, the fiery duke's son, radiated heat, his lava mana simmering as he flexed his hands, eager for action. Varen and Abby, the guild master's children, stood together—Varen's vitalis mana a warm glow, Abby's darkness a subtle void that made others step back.I tuned out the murmurs, my focus sharpening as the vice principal ascended the stage. My hands clenched, wind mana stirring in my dantian, a restless gale urging me to move, to prove myself worthy of the Tempest name.The Vice Principal's SpeechShe was young, perhaps in her late twenties, yet her presence dominated the hall—an aura of raw, predatory power that silenced the crowd. Unlike the other instructors, who carried the scholarly dignity of Mystic Academy, she moved like a blade, each step sharp and deliberate, her eyes scanning us like a falcon sizing up prey. Her dark hair was pulled back, revealing a scar along her jaw, a testament to battles fought and won. Some boys in the hall sat straighter, captivated by her striking beauty, but I saw only the warrior beneath, a force forged in Redora's unforgiving crucible.She spoke, her voice clear and powerful, cutting through the vast hall without need for mana amplification. "I am honored to welcome the 25th generation of awakened to Mystic Academy." Her gaze swept over us, piercing and unyielding. "For the next three years, this place will forge you into warriors, strategists, and leaders."She paused, letting the silence settle like a heavy stone. "Many of you hail from powerful bloodlines—Tempest, Flare, World Tree, Scar Guild. But hear this: talent means nothing without discipline."The hall stilled, her words sinking into us. "You will train. You will struggle. And only the strongest will rise."Some students nodded, their faces alight with determination. Others swallowed hard, the reality of Mystic Academy dawning. For me, her words were a familiar echo of the Tempest family's creed—mastery through effort, not just angelic birthright. My wind mana surged, a restless breeze within my core, but I held it in check, my thoughts drifting to the battle royale that would test us all.An instructor's voice rang out, sharp and final. "In one week, all of you will participate in a battle royale to determine your class and rank within the Academy. Your performance will dictate your mentors, resources, and place in Qilin Hall's archives. Prepare well."
As the speech concluded, students were ushered out in groups, the hall emptying into the Academy's sprawling courtyards. Some lingered, dissecting the test results with fevered excitement, while others darted off to explore the grounds, their mana flaring in bursts of youthful bravado. I lingered near the exit, catching Rafael's eye as he passed, his lava mana leaving a trail of heat. "Ready to burn the arena, Tempest?" he called, his grin half-challenge, half-respect. I smirked, waving him off, but his words stoked the fire in my chest.Victor waited for me at the exit, his composed expression a familiar anchor amidst the chaos. "I suppose this is where we part ways, young master," he said, his tone formal but laced with warmth."Seems like it," I replied, meeting his steady gaze.A brief silence hung between us before Victor sighed, a rare crack in his stoic facade. "Try not to cause too much trouble."A smirk tugged at my lips. "No promises."Victor gave a slow nod, then turned toward the academy gates, his figure blending into the mana-charged dusk. I watched him go, a pang of solitude settling in. As a Tempest, I was no stranger to expectations, but Mystic Academy was a new battlefield, and I'd face it alone.We were assigned single-room apartments in the Tiger dormitory, a sleek tower of mana-forged stone that hummed with latent power. I barely crossed the threshold of mine before my body gave out, the weight of the awakening ceremony dragging me into darkness. I awoke in an unfamiliar room, my vision hazy, the scent of clean linen and polished wood grounding me. A simple bed, a desk, a wardrobe—the stark efficiency of an academy dormitory. I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair, my body humming with a lingering heat. Wind mana coursed beneath my skin, a restless gale that refused to settle.Memories of the awakening ceremony flooded back—the orb's violent pulse, the surge of wind mana that marked me as a Purple Grade prodigy, the weight of my angelic heritage bearing down like a storm. But something else stirred, elusive and unformed, buried deep within my dantian, a whisper of power I couldn't name.Then, it came again—a voice, sharp and otherworldly. "Nephilim…"My breath caught, a sudden weight pressing on my chest, not physical but primal, resonating with my core. The word was foreign, unsettling, like a riddle I wasn't meant to solve. I was an angel, a Tempest, forged of wind and divine will—what could "Nephilim" mean? My vision darkened, and I was pulled under once more.
I stood in a vast, empty void, the air thick with mana, shadows flickering at the edges like specters of forgotten battles. My body thrummed, wind mana swirling around me, as if the void itself recognized the angelic power within my blood."The Nephilim were never meant to fade…" The voice wasn't sound—it was reality itself, a force reshaping something deep within my soul, stirring my dantian into a frenzy.A searing pain tore through me, my fingers twitching as wind mana surged, forming a gust that spiraled around me in a protective cocoon. The air pulsed, alive with my affinity, but a deeper power stirred—a legacy of battle, of divine fury, etched into my very being. The shadows coalesced, and a shape emerged—a staff, sleek and radiant, its form resonating with my wind mana, its weight a promise of mastery. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a part of me, a conduit for the storm within."Awaken."A force slammed into my chest, stealing my breath. The shadows collapsed, the void shattered, and a faint breeze lingered, as if the vision had followed me back.Aftermath of the VisionI bolted upright in bed, gasping, my heart pounding like a war drum. The word echoed in my mind—"Nephilim…" I pressed my hands to my temples, steadying myself. I was an angel, a Tempest, not some enigma from a fevered vision. Yet my body felt charged, restless, as if a storm raged within my dantian, its full power just out of reach.I swung my legs off the bed, my fingers itching to channel the wind mana coursing through me. The vision had left a mark—not just in my mind, but in my core, a spark of something greater, something I wasn't ready to face. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task ahead. Mystic Academy awaited, and I had a battle royale to conquer.
I forced myself to my feet, changing into the basic training clothes provided in the dorm—a sleek tunic and trousers, woven with mana-thread for durability. My goal was clear: Qilin Hall. Mystic Academy sprawled across five major sections, each a testament to its legacy:Tiger & Phoenix: Male and female dormitories, alive with the chatter of eager students.Turtle: Faculty and staff quarters, cloaked in quiet authority, their mana a subtle pressure.Dragon: Lecture halls and training grounds, where warriors were forged in sweat and steel.Qilin Hall: The treasury and mission center, the heart of the Academy's resources, where artifacts and destinies were claimed.Qilin Hall was a marvel, its domed ceiling inlaid with glowing runes, mana artifacts humming along the walls like living relics. Students crowded the chamber, their voices a low hum, each clutching forms to claim their weapons and uniforms. I caught sight of Keith near a counter, his shadow mana cloaking him as he tested a Grade 2 saber, his smirk daring anyone to challenge him. Abby stood apart, her darkness affinity a subtle void, her fingers tracing the edges of twin daggers with a rogue's precision.I stepped forward, handing in my form. A storage artifact shimmered, and a Grade 2 staff materialized in my hands, its sleek wood reinforced with mana-conductive alloys, its surface etched with faint Tempest runes. I flexed my fingers around its shaft, and a surge of recognition coursed through me. The staff felt like an extension of my soul, its balance perfect, its weight a promise of power. My angelic blood hummed, whispering of battles fought with every weapon—swords, their edges honed to slice through steel; spears, their thrusts piercing with divine force; axes, cleaving with raw might; bows, humming with lethal precision—all mastered under the Tempest family's relentless training. But the staff was different. It was my truest partner, a conduit for my wind mana, its movements a dance I'd perfected over years of discipline, each spin a symphony of grace and fury.Beside it, an academy uniform appeared, tailored for combat, its dark fabric inscribed with subtle runes that pulsed with mana. I gripped the staff tighter, a faint breeze stirring around me, as if my mana greeted its presence. A smirk curved my lips—swords might cut, spears might pierce, but this staff would carve my name into Mystic Academy's history.One week. I had one week to prepare for the battle royale—a war of talent, skill, and will that would determine my rank, my mentors, and my access to Qilin Hall's treasures. My angelic blood thrummed, my mastery of weapons a quiet confidence in my veins. The staff was my chosen blade, but I was ready to wield any weapon fate demanded.And I wasn't planning on losing.