Marcus, Elesch, and Adam staggered into the guild's infirmary, where shadows clung to the corners and the air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood, undercut by the acrid bite of enchanted salves glowing faintly on weathered shelves. Marcus steadied Adam, whose battered frame sagged, his limbs heavy as if dragged through mire, and guided him to a cot of coarse linen.
Three healers descended, their robes whispering against the stone floor, hands tracing intricate patterns that pulsed with restorative magic, threads of light weaving through the air like gossamer. Adam's wounds, jagged scars crisscrossing his flesh, raw and glistening with fresh blood, began to mend, the torn edges knitting into smooth, unblemished skin. His shallow breaths deepened, each inhale a labored pull, until consciousness flickered back into his eyes, sharp and bright as a rekindled flame.
As Adam stirred, his gaze honing to a razor's edge, the trio departed the infirmary. The sterile chill of its stone walls, damp with the faint musk of mold, yielded to the guild's labyrinthine corridors, their flagstones worn smooth by centuries of footfalls. Elesch, her voice taut with suspicion, shattered the silence.
"Who the hell are you, anyway?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing to slits, glinting with distrust.
Marcus glanced back, a wry smile curling his lips, though his eyes remained shadowed. "Oh, we haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Marcus, Vice President of the guild."
Elesch's brow arched, skepticism etched into her features, but she fell into step behind him, her boots scuffing the flagstones with a gritty rasp.
The trio pressed forward, navigating the winding passages until they reached Marcus's office. They pushed through the glass door, its surface etched with faint runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light, bypassing his assistant, Candice, who sat perched at her desk outside. Her posture was rigid, her fingers poised over a ledger, braced for whatever inane task Marcus might hurl her way next.
Inside, Nova lounged, his impatience a living thing, his boots tapping a restless rhythm against the floor. His eyes, dark and stormy, spiraled with barely contained chaos, the air around him thick with an anger that seemed to choke the room, dimming the flickering oil lamps on the walls.
---
Thirty minutes prior.
Nova strode into the guild, his mind fixed on a brief meeting with Marcus before returning home. He had timed his arrival to coincide with Elesch's, ensuring she wouldn't be locked out of their apartment, her key perpetually forgotten. The elevator hummed as it carried him to the thirteenth floor, where Marcus kept his true office, a sanctum he rarely used, reserved for matters of weight.
Exiting the elevator, Nova nodded curtly to Candice, her desk cluttered with scrolls and glowing crystals. He entered the office to find Marcus hunched over his laptop, his face etched with an uncharacteristic worry that unsettled Nova; Marcus was typically a bastion of nonchalance. The Vice President's hands were interlocked, his knuckles pale, his chin resting on them as his eyes, dark and troubled, fixed on the screen.
Marcus gestured Nova closer, revealing the source of his disquiet. A live stream played on the laptop: a brutal clash between a monstrous beast and Adam, who was being mercilessly overpowered. Elesch lay crumpled on the ground, her sobs cutting through the grainy feed, her frame trembling with despair.
Marcus abruptly closed the laptop, his temple glistening with sweat as he met Nova's gaze, now ablaze with a fury so potent it seemed to thicken the air, a suffocating aura that pressed against Marcus's chest.
"Let me handle it," Marcus said, rising swiftly. "I'll bring Elesch and Adam back here, safe and sound. Don't worry."
"Are you seriously telling me not to worry when my sister might die?" Nova's voice cracked with theatrical venom, though his thoughts spiraled inward. She'd just reanimate in High Heaven, but these feelings… they're overwhelming, as if her death would shatter my world. I hate emotions.
Marcus placed a steadying hand on Nova's shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "I'll bring her back, Nova. I won't let that beast harm her further. Trust me as your Vice President."
"Fine," Nova growled, his eyes locking onto Marcus's with a ferocity that radiated raw, unyielding power, a force that seemed to hum in the air between them.
---
Nova wheeled around, his gaze locking onto Elesch, her frame unmarred, her wounds sealed by the healers' arcane touch, her eyes alight with the fire of a warrior reborn. Relief surged through him, raw and unguarded, propelling him forward. He enveloped her in a fierce embrace, his arms tightening as if to anchor her to the world, a silent vow against the specter of her death. The room, with its flickering lamps and the faint scent of polished oak, seemed to hold its breath.
"Aww, did you miss your little sister that much?" Elesch teased, her voice laced with playful mockery, a smirk dancing on her lips.
"Shut the hell up," Nova muttered, pulling back abruptly, his tone a mix of defiance and embarrassment, pitched high like a child caught in a vulnerable moment. A faint flush crept across his cheeks as her words lingered, stinging with affectionate precision. I didn't miss her that much… did I?
"Listen up," Marcus interjected, his voice cutting through the air as he steadied Adam, guiding him to a chair upholstered in worn leather, its arms scuffed from years of use. Adam sank into it, his frame still heavy with the ghost of his injuries. Elesch and Nova turned, their bickering fading, as all eyes fixed on Marcus. He stood by the window, his silhouette framed against the sprawling expanse of Chicago beyond, its skyline a jagged mosaic of steel and glass, reborn from ruin into one of the safest, most vibrant cities in the United States. The city's lights glittered like scattered jewels, casting fleeting reflections across his face. "I know you've all endured more than most, some more than others, Nova and Adam. I ask you to hear me out and consider my offer."
Silence hung heavy, the weight of his words settling over the room like dust after a storm. Marcus continued, his tone grave, each syllable measured. "Now that you're all around eighteen years of age, you're eligible to attend a magic academy. This isn't some fanciful tale spun from storybooks; it's a brutal reality. The academy teems with real people, some who'll kill to climb higher, to grow stronger. These institutions are the pinnacle of excellence. Every individual bearing a cross-line on their Circle of Pillars, like myself and the guild's President, has passed through its gates."
He turned from the window, his eyes sweeping over them, sharp and unyielding. "This academy will reshape how you confront monsters, how you wield the Circle of Pillars. If fortune favors you, it might even unlock new abilities. Every step you take there will test you: every breath, every action scrutinized. By the end, if you seize every opportunity and survive its trials, you could emerge as B-rank at the least, perhaps even evolve into something greater."
The room seemed to contract, the air thick with the promise of peril and potential, as Marcus's words echoed against the walls, each one a stone cast into the still waters of their futures.
Nova leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a hunger that bordered on feral, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair, the wood worn smooth by restless hands. "Tell us more. What academy are we attending, and what's the deal?" His voice thrummed with curiosity, a fire kindling in his gut, stoked by the prospect of power. I can't wait to kill… I mean, defeat these pitiful humans, growing stronger as a mortal. What more could one ask for? A cheeky smile split his face, sharp and unapologetic.
Marcus snorted, folding his arms, his gaze piercing through Nova's bravado. "What else would I expect from you, you brat? If you think you're already admitted, you'll never make it. Only those with exceptional skill, regardless of their ability, earn a place. Your odds are better if you're E- or D-rank, but don't get cocky."
"Sounds like a burden," Nova sighed, slumping back, though his pulse quickened, a rush of dopamine and serotonin surging through him like a meth head chasing a high. I can't wait to kill… I mean, defeat… He paused, his thoughts stumbling. Wait, I already said that. Why am I repeating myself? Dumb fucking author.
Marcus paced to the center of the room, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the sound sharp in the tense air. "Obsidian Academy is where you'll take the entrance exam. Pass it, and congratulations: you're enrolled in one of the most prestigious magic academies in the world. But be warned, only a fraction of applicants are admitted each year, roughly about point five percent. It's a grueling six-year course. If all of you get in, the guild covers every expense: tuition, lodging, even the enchanted gear you'll need. Fail to make the cut, and you're left scrambling for a lesser academy, footing the bill yourself if you want to learn."
Adam's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his voice a faint stammer. "W-wow." His mind churned, a torrent of strategies flooding his thoughts, each one a desperate grasp at the power he craved, the strength he needed to rise above his scars. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the faint creak of the leather chair beneath him grounding him in the moment.
Elesch and Nova held their silence, their expressions unreadable, as Marcus's voice cut through the stillness once more, steady and unyielding. He stepped away from the window, the Chicago skyline fading into a blur of steel and light behind him, and fixed his gaze on the trio. "There are roughly ten billion people on this earth. Of those, about thirty percent are awakened: three billion, give or take. From that pool, approximately one hundred million apply to Obsidian Academy each year, including those reapplying from past failures. But here's the kicker: you get only two chances to reapply. Fail the entrance exam, and you can try again, twice, if you've got the grit to grow stronger. After that, you're done; they won't even glance at your name."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, the room's air growing heavy with the scent of old wood and the faint tang of ink from Candice's desk outside. "Of those hundred million applicants, only five hundred thousand are accepted. But don't celebrate yet. Every year, the academy tests you to prove you're worthy of staying. Half your cohort will vanish after the first year, eligible to reapply just once. Of those who remain, eighty percent will fail the following year and be barred from returning. From that surviving twenty percent, only five percent advance further. The numbers keep dwindling until only the elite endure. In my batch, only ten of us graduated. The year before, our seniors, a hundred made it through. For reasons they never shared, the academy culled us more ruthlessly than them."
The silence that followed was a living thing, coiling around them, the stakes of Obsidian Academy's trials etched into the very walls, where shadows danced like specters of those who had failed before.