The arcane evaluation room was always colder than the rest of the academy halls. Lyle didn't know if it was by design, or just some strange consequence of centuries-old mana residues baked into the walls.
Either way, he felt it in his bones.
The long chamber held forty cadets, all spaced out in quiet columns. Wards lined the walls like watchful eyes, and runic panels flickered on the floor beneath their boots.
No applause. No encouragement.
Just pressure.
And above them, on the observation deck, a half-circle of instructors watched in silence.
Saval was one of them.
Of course she was.
A senior lecturer stepped to the center floor and clapped once.
"You've had three weeks of fieldwork. Now, we test retention. Cadets will each demonstrate one non-destructive spell of their affinity type. Standard formation rules apply. No theatrics."
Lyle stood in the final row, third from the right. One of the last.
Too close to the spotlight for comfort. Too far from any excuse to blend in.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of his wand holster.
Across the room, murmurs spread as others whispered last-minute incantation phrases under their breath. Familiar spells. Safe ones.
Juno stood near the middle, arms folded, unimpressed by the pageantry.
Lyle felt his fingers twitch.
Not from fear.
From heat.
> The Core's stirring again…
He hadn't used it since the trial.
Hadn't meant to, anyway.
But it didn't sleep. It watched everything. Sometimes he felt it spinning patterns beneath his ribs—script that wasn't there before, casting paths that hadn't been written.
"Cadet Elven, begin."
One by one, cadets stepped forward. Air mages conjured gentle gusts. Flame types lit sparks no larger than candles. Even a rare summoner conjured a mouse-sized stone familiar that promptly sneezed dust.
Polite claps.
Nods.
Nothing special.
Then: "Cadet Greenbottle."
Lyle's heart ticked louder. Not faster—just heavier.
He stepped forward to the rune circle in the center of the room. All eyes fell on him.
His wand felt warm in his hand.
He knew what to cast. He'd practiced it hundreds of times.
> Basic Illusory Thread. Single image. Non-moving. Safe.
> Do not let it change.
He took a breath and began drawing the sigil in the air.
The first two lines were stable.
The third flared—too bright.
His fingers recoiled instinctively.
> Stop. Control it. Suppress it—
But the Core wasn't stopping.
It was responding.
He had to change. Fast.
He twisted the fourth line downward, curving it into a support rune instead of a display node.
Modified the anchor. Redirected the flow.
Turned it from an image spell to a ghost trace—a barely visible silhouette instead of a full illusion.
The result shimmered weakly—just a faint outline of a feather caught in mist.
Subtle. Half-broken.
But it held.
He lowered his wand.
The silence dragged two seconds longer than normal.
Then came a few scattered claps.
Enough to count.
Instructor Saval said nothing.
Neither did the man seated beside her, though his eyes hadn't moved from Lyle's hand since the spell began.
"Acceptable," the lecturer called out. "Cadet Arkvale, you're next."
Lyle stepped back into his row, careful not to walk too fast.
Juno passed him as she walked forward. She didn't stop.
But she whispered, just under her breath, "You shifted that mid-cast."
He said nothing.
Just kept walking.
Sat down.
And only then did he unclench his hand—his wand trembling slightly from the Core's recoil.
The Codex flickered.
> [Casting Stability: 63%]
[Warning: Passive Echo Response increasing with each cast. Adaptation Required.]
> So it's evolving me. Even when I try to hold it back.
He watched as Juno conjured her signature move—an arcane pulse that rattled the floor tiles.
Everyone clapped louder.
But no one looked at her for long.
They were still watching him.
Some with curiosity.
Some with quiet confusion.
And one… with interest far too sharp to be casual.