The Governor's voice rolled across the plaza like distant thunder.
"But first… as there are thousands of you gathered here, using a single Goblet would take more than a day. So—students from private schools, return to your respective compounds. Your ceremonies will be held there. Only those from public schools will remain here."
His tone was calm, authoritative, and final.
At once, movement rippled through the crowd. Students of private schools hurried toward their schools, each eager to be among the first to stand before the Goblet. Voices swelled, footsteps rang on the flagstones, and the air was thick with excitement.
In less than a minute, the vast plaza had emptied, leaving behind only a few hundred students. Most were from orphanages. The rest bore the quiet, worn look of those from struggling households. In Asher City, nearly every family could afford to send their children to private institutions. Only misfortune—crippling debt, a gambler's ruin, or the sudden death of a family's breadwinner—forced a child into the public system.
Life for the commoners of Dravonne was, by most measures, peaceful. The continent's technological advances meant that almost every able hand found work in factories or offices. So long as one had no criminal record, earning a living wasn't difficult. But the public schools… those were another matter entirely.
When the last of the private school students had gone, Governor Charles Asher stepped forward and began calling names. His voice was steady, each syllable clipped with precision, leaving no room for hesitation.
The first name rang out: "Roman Salario."
A tall, broad-shouldered boy with pale blond hair strode toward the podium. His steps were firm at first, but as he approached the Goblet, a faint tremor betrayed his excitement. Thirty seconds passed in silence. The Governor's expression didn't shift.
"…Time is up. Move to the back of the podium. Agents present there will see to you."
Roman's shoulders sagged. The Governor immediately called the next name. The kindly façade he had worn earlier, when the plaza brimmed with the children of nobles, was gone. In its place was the detached efficiency of a man performing a routine task.
Damien, watching from the crowd, noticed the subtle shift in Charles Asher's gaze. It wasn't contempt—not the sneering disdain nobles often reserved for commoners. Nor was it the entitled arrogance of the young aristocrats who had stood here earlier. No… this was something colder. Indifference, honed to a blade's edge. A flicker of calculation danced in his eyes, as though each child before him was no more than a tally mark in an unseen ledger.
***
One after another, students stepped forward. One after another, the Goblet rejected them. More than 100 students went through their awakening without a single one among them having the talent for cultivation. Now all the students who had yet to undergo the process were starting to get scared and anxious looking at the sad faces and fate of the ones moving towards the Agents.
"Penny White," Charles called.
The girl was small, her uniform slightly too big for her frame. Four seconds after she placed her hands on the Goblet, a soft blue radiance bloomed around her. Gasps broke the tense silence.
"Finally, someone was chosen!"
"Phew… I was starting to think none of us would make it."
"Look at that glow—it must be from a regional academy."
They were right. A moment later, a pristine white letter emerged from the Goblet and floated into Penny's trembling hands. She stared at it, stunned.
"See? Regional academy, just like I said!"
"Doesn't matter which one—it's still an achievement."
"True. Unless it's the Great Academy, the difference is small. Teacher always says: the path depends on the student, not the school."
Charles waited for the murmurs to fade, then addressed her directly.
"Congratulations. Move to the right of the stage and read your letter carefully. When you're ready, tear it in half. The Will that chose you will take you to your academy."
Hearing him say this, the girl finally snapped out of her thoughts and moved towards where Charles pointed. Looking at the girl reading the letter with face full of wonder and excitement, all the students below the podium felt envious.
***
The process continued. Eventually, the group from Heavenstead Orphanage stepped forward. Damien watched as his peers approached the Goblet one by one. Out of their number, only two were chosen—a boy and a girl—while the rest slunk toward the Agents with expressions of defeat.
By the time Damien's turn came, the plaza had thinned considerably. Most who had gathered that morning were gone, leaving behind only a small cluster of students on the podium, all holding white letters. Around forty had been chosen so far. Most bore the mark of the Path of Energy; only four held the rarer seal of the Path of Strength.
It was becoming clear to Damien that the Wills showed little interest in selecting students for Strength. It wasn't that so few possessed the talent. Rather, those with dual affinities—Strength and something else—were claimed under the second category, as though Strength alone were no longer worth the investment. The decline was plain for all to see.
"Next student… Damien."
Charles's voice paused, almost imperceptibly, before speaking his name. There was no surname. Even among orphans, it was customary to choose a family name by the age of ten. Names held power—they were threads binding the soul to the world, and it was said that Saints could sense anyone who spoke their name aloud.
To keep a single name was to announce, openly, that one had no roots, no lineage. In Eldoria, that meant you were either a criminal erased from the records… or a nobody so insignificant that no one cared to remember you.
Damien felt dozens of eyes on him as he stepped forward. Curiosity. Pity. In some, a trace of disdain. And from the Governor—something sharper.
He stood in front of the Goblet. Seconds passed and nothing happened. Somewhere in the crowd, someone exhaled in quiet disappointment. The invisible weight of expectation began to settle over him.
Thirty seconds, the Governor had said. And the count was nearly over.
Then it began.
A reddish-black glow, unlike the light red of 4 before him, seeped out from his body, curling around his fingers like living smoke. Heat and cold pulsed in waves through his body, and a strange comfort spread from his fingertips to his chest, easing a fatigue he hadn't even realized he carried. For the first time in years, he felt… whole.
The world stilled. The air grew heavy, and sound seemed to vanish.
Inside his mind, a voice spoke—mechanical, devoid of any human tone:
[Initiating connection with host soul… Integration complete. Path System calibrated for host Damien… Awakening successful.]
For an instant, fear clawed at him. The whispers from his nightmares often came without warning, and he'd half-expected them now. But this voice was different—cold, precise, untouched by emotion.
Damien forced his breathing steady and waited. The Goblet shuddered, and a black letter—its surface shimmering faintly—floated into his grasp.
Gasps rippled through the plaza.
The Governor's gaze sharpened while the other students on the podium whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on the lone figure holding the only invitation from the Great Academy of Dravonne.
Damien stepped off the podium as the murmurs followed him. Just before he reached the cluster of chosen students, he tore the letter cleanly in half.
Light swallowed him whole.
And then—he was gone.
The plaza fell silent again, heavier than before.
No one had torn their letter without reading it. They were mortals, unused to the supernatural; fear of the unknown was natural. And everyone knew that the Governor would seek to build connections with them—ties of loyalty and obligation before teleporting away to their respective academies.
Damien had just refused, without a word.
Charles Asher's eyes narrowed slightly. But when he spoke again to the remaining students, his tone was as smooth as before, as though nothing had happened. Students selected among the private schools also joined them soon and they started forming connections with each other. There were some Nobles among them holding the Black letter, faces filled with pride but they were not foolish enough to antagonize anyone present here as each one of them had the potential to be a high level figure in the future.