At the outside of the Astrea Academy.
The air outside Astrea Academy buzzed with energy—nervous tension, hushed awe, excited chatter. The wide stone steps leading to the enormous front gate were packed with young men and women from every corner of the continent.
They came in all forms: well-dressed nobles with escorts trailing behind them, rough-edged talents from border kingdoms, and even foreign bloodlines. The entrance exam wasn't just a test.
It was a stage.
In the middle of it all, cutting through the crowd like a blade, was a young man with jet-black hair and sharp red eyes.
Kaine.
He wore a simple, dark uniform that didn't boast wealth or title, yet his face, posture, and the way people instinctively made space around him said enough.
"Is that… him?" someone whispered near the gate.
"The bastard of Duke Kaelthorn. Tch. Look at him, like he owns the place."
"Heard he was raised in the outskirts, nowhere close to the capital. No etiquette, no backing. What's he doing here?"
A group of young noble sons stood in his way, half-smirking, half-curious—idiots who didn't know better. One of them stepped forward, clearly itching for attention.
"You sure you're in the right place, mutt? This isn't the slums."
Kaine didn't even slow down.
He looked up once. Just once. And that one look was enough to make the guy flinch. The red in his eyes wasn't just color—it felt like pressure. Like if Kaine wanted to, he could crush every bone in his body.
The noble boy gritted his teeth. "Tch. Think you're scary, huh?"
Kaine's steps halted.
He tilted his head, cracked his knuckles.
"I wasn't thinking," he said flatly. "But I do now."
The other guy barely had time to raise his voice before Kaine's foot was halfway off the ground, about to beat the smugness out of him—
"Enough."
A soft, feminine voice cut through the tension like a breeze, but everyone froze.
From the side of the gate, a figure stepped down—long pink hair flowing behind her like silk, her uniform crisp, posture regal, and her expression cold as ice.
Amelia.
Some whispered her name in full, barely audible. "Amelia of House Vaerwyn..."
A prodigy. A genius. The girl who memorized court records and ancient formation scrolls before she turned twelve. Daughter of a prime noble line. Her presence was impossible to miss—poised, clean, and powerful without even lifting a finger.
The boys who were picking on Kaine paled the moment they saw her. Their laughter died in their throats.
"L-Lady Amelia—w-we were just—"
She didn't spare them a glance. Her eyes were fixed on Kaine. And only him.
"You thought ganging up on him would earn you points with your houses?" she said coolly. "Astrea doesn't need parasites. If you can't even stand on your own, turn around and go home."
One of the boys tried to explain, but another already grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back.
"Let's go," he whispered. "She's his…"
They left without another word, disappearing into the crowd.
Kaine exhaled through his nose and continued walking forward. No thanks. No smile. Just kept moving.
Amelia stepped beside him without asking, matching his pace. The two walked in silence through the sea of students now too intimidated to block their way.
Technically, she was his fiancée. A political arrangement drawn up not long after Kaine's sudden rise to fame—when he awakened seven affinities, including the ultra-rare space and darkness. He'd broken the testing crystal that day. Literally shattered it. The nobles scrambled to bind him to their bloodlines before someone else did.
Amelia's father moved first. Fast. And effective. And while the two had never exactly acted like a couple, Amelia had never once turned away from him either.
They walked side by side now—Amelia, pristine and unreadable; Kaine, expressionless and coiled like a blade—as the gates of Astrea Academy loomed before them.
As Kaine and Amelia passed through the high ceremonial arch of Astrea Academy, the noise of the crowd behind them softened—and new sounds replaced it.
The deep crash of waves rolling against stone walls. A salty breeze wound through the towering marble pillars of the Academy's main courtyard, carrying the sharp scent of the sea.
Out beyond the western edge of the city, visible through the enormous open-air balconies, lay the dark, endless water. The ocean stretched so wide it blurred into the horizon. And somewhere beneath those waves… they could hear it.
RRROOOOOAARRRHHH—
A long, echoing cry ripped through the morning mist. One of the sea monsters—maybe a leviathan, maybe something worse—screamed from far beyond the cliffs. The sound rippled across the wind, rumbling through the stone beneath their feet. No one even flinched.
The sea was part of Astrea.
Astrea City.
A place that had stood for hundreds of years. Built at the meeting point between empires, nestled on the coast, surrounded by ocean to the west and mountains to the east. It was the jewel of the eastern continent. It was said that seven heroes once built it together—one from each major race—and forged peace between kingdoms that had warred for centuries.
Even now, the city bore their names in its landmarks.
Their statues stood in the Central Square.
Their bloodlines still ruled parts of the region.
And here, right in the middle of it all, stood the crown jewel of that peace—Astrea Academy.
The Academy didn't just sprawl. It spread.
Towers rose like mountains. Floating platforms hovered across walkways. There were full districts for training, libraries that ran underground for miles, massive arenas for duels, battle formations etched directly into the earth—and enough dorms, gardens, and restricted ruins to house thousands of students, staff, and summoned beasts.
It was so large, the inner walls of the Academy were the inner city.
And students didn't walk alone.
As Kaine and Amelia moved deeper into the entrance hall, other figures began filling the main plaza. Not just humans.
A tall, silver-haired elf walked past them, her robes marked with the runes of wind and spirit. Behind her, a young man with dark horns and slit pupils stood silently, his tail swaying lazily as he scanned the crowd—one of the draconian tribes.
Off to the side, a beastkin girl with wolf ears flicked a piece of fruit at a taller boy with bark-like skin—one of the dryad tribes from the north.
Races from every region were gathered here—beings from human noble houses, elven cities, demi-human villages, ancient bloodlines thought to be long lost.
And all of them had one thing in common:
They were here to become part of the next generation of power.
After waiting nearly an hour in a long line full of noble heirs, regional prodigies, and arrogant young elites, Kaine finally signed his name onto the enchanted registry stone—his finger glowing faintly as his mana was marked for the test tournament.
Amelia followed right after, her name appearing in beautiful arcane script that shimmered for a moment before fading into the surface of the stone.
With that done, they stepped back into the crowd, which had grown louder and more chaotic. Everyone was moving in the same direction.
The Stadium of Valor.
It towered in the distance, a massive circular structure with banners from every major kingdom waving from its stone spires. The outer walls were etched with glowing runes, shifting gently in color depending on the magic woven into the arena that day.
The central dome had no roof—it was open to the sky, and even from this far, Kaine could see the shimmer of protective barriers flickering in the air.
The stadium was big. Huge. Easily able to hold thousands—students, instructors, spectators, observers, and even the occasional important guest. It had been expanded several times over the past century to handle the ever-growing crowd of applicants.
Students streamed in from all directions. Voices overlapped. Flags of noble houses fluttered. Beastkin in their tribal colors walked beside proud dwarven youth in enchanted armor. A group of elves in flowing robes passed by, their steps silent, while a few orc-blooded combatants sparred loudly on the sidelines, ignoring the officials' warnings.
Amelia walked beside Kaine, arms behind her back, her expression as unreadable as ever—until she glanced sideways, a slight smirk on her lips.
"This year's entrance is something else," she said. "Did you know the youngest princess of the Evarion Empire is here? There's also heirs from the Drasil Republic, the Sandveil Dynasty, even a candidate from the Duskwater Enclave—those weird spirit-tamers from the deep marshes. And don't forget the mountain-kin from the Stonereach Clans… I even saw a guy from the Frostwing Peaks with wings."
She glanced over at Kaine.
He gave no reaction.
"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if some of the old bloodlines from the western monster races sent someone too. It's like the whole damn continent dropped their children here this year."
Still nothing.
She sighed dramatically, side-eyeing him again.
"And you're still walking around all broody, like some wandering sword ghost. When are you gonna stop acting like an edgy boy trying to one-up your sister, huh?"
Kaine's jaw tightened for a second. His eyes narrowed—not at her, but at something distant. His steps didn't falter, but there was a flicker in his gaze. His voice came out cool, calm, but slightly sharp.
"…That's none of your business."
Amelia raised her brows.
"Oooh. Touched a nerve, did I?"
He didn't answer. Just kept walking, his expression unreadable again.
Amelia shrugged. "Whatever. You'll have to talk eventually. You're not the only monster on the field this year, Kaine."
They both stepped through the archway of the stadium entrance, where the real tests were about to begin.
Inside the towering stadium of Astrea Academy, the roar of the crowd could be heard even from the sealed upper floors. Students filled the stands, nobles packed the exclusive balconies, and even some foreign officials sat among the viewing tiers, waiting to watch the blood and brilliance of this year's entrance tournament.
It was more than just a test—it was a performance, a spectacle, a declaration of future kings and queens of magic.
But high above it all, in a private viewing room carved of dark marble and glass enchantments, a different kind of silence filled the air.
The chamber was massive—luxurious in every detail. Velvet-lined couches, carved glass tables floating mid-air with trays of enchanted fruit and chilled wines. Magic sigils danced through the ceiling, projecting a panoramic view of the battlefield below.
Seven high-backed chairs sat at the room's center—each one tailored, engraved, and blessed, reserved only for those with the highest status in the academy's elite tier.
Women sat in those seats.
Not girls—women.
The kind of students others didn't dare meet eyes with. Each one of them was a storm in human skin.
In the far center, reclining with one leg crossed casually over the other, sat a woman with light blue hair that shimmered like a clear sky over an ocean. Her eyes were the color of sunlight through glass, brilliant and piercing, and the aura she gave off was both beautiful and unbearable. Like standing before a queen too bright to challenge.
Oriana Esraelle.
Her gaze lazily scanned the field below. Her long lashes flicked once, and she smirked.
"This year's entrance tournament might actually be fun," she said, voice like silk and bite. "Any of you betting on someone? I could use a little entertainment."
The atmosphere in the room shifted as soon as she spoke. Everyone's attention pulled toward her—whether they wanted to or not.
That was just how she was. The star of every room.
Across from her, seated more upright, was a girl with flowing black hair and matching abyssal eyes. She sat with her fingers interlocked beneath her chin, the kind of presence that made you think of still water right before it swallowed you whole.
Her tone was flat, but not disinterested.
"There are a few good seedlings," she said quietly. "Some will surprise us."
Her voice earned Oriana's brief glance—but only brief. Her smirk returned as her eyes flicked to one of the other seats.
Iris Ferndale.
Dressed in her crimson-trimmed uniform, her silver pin of rank glinting on her collar, Iris sat with a bored expression and crossed arms—until Oriana opened her mouth again.
"Oh, right… your little brother's attending this year, isn't he?" Oriana said with feigned curiosity. "I heard he's the same year as my dear cousin Kevin. Though, last I remember, wasn't he still in bed? Shame. I guess some kids just don't grow up."
She smiled.
"I suppose the miracle baby didn't make it, huh?"
That was the last straw.
Iris stood up. No words. No hesitation. Her chair scraped the floor as her body moved—straight across the room—her hand snapping up and aiming straight for Oriana's throat.
A few other girls stood up, startled, but not quickly enough.
Oriana didn't flinch.
Her fingers lifted lazily, and a circle of shimmering blue light burst from her palm, flaring like a halo, mana laced with chilling control.
She wasn't smiling anymore.
"I dare you," she said softly.
Mana crackled between them. The room vibrated.
The tension was unbearable. Some of the girls behind the elite chairs backed away entirely.
These two had hated each other since their first year—ever since Iris bested Oriana in a practice duel by half a point. Ever since Oriana mocked her father's disappearance during the war.
And now here they were again—older, more powerful, and still ready to tear each other apart at the smallest spark.
But before the magic could ignite, a voice cut clean through the tension.
"Enough."
The tone wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The air around it stilled instantly.
From the farthest, most elevated chair, a figure shifted—long silver hair flowing like starlight, eyes cold and distant, lips barely parted. She sat beneath a plaque that bore seven runes of authority, and above it, a carved title:
Student Council President — Seraphina Lysavelle Aethra di Solenne.
She didn't rise. She didn't raise her hand.
But her voice alone pressed down like a command from a higher plane.
"If the two of you are desperate to prove yourselves, do it on the field. Not in my viewing room."
Her eyes swept over them. Cold. Detached.
"Sit. Now."
Iris clenched her fists, her jaw tight.
Oriana lowered her hand, the light flickering out with a hiss.
No one moved for a moment.
Then slowly, Iris backed away and returned to her seat, her stare never leaving Oriana's. Oriana didn't look back—just exhaled softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a mocking grin.