Chapter XXVIII – The Trial of Stone and Scale
The road curved past the third district of Ashford and ended in light.
The Academy rose like a fortress built by giants. Its towers touched the clouds, its bridges hung above rivers of white mist. The air thrummed with mana, sharp as steel and clean as stormlight. The walls shimmered faintly, alive with enchantment; like the skin of a sleeping beast.
Banners fluttered from every spire. Gold, crimson, indigo; each bearing the sigil of a house, a kingdom, or an empire. Caravans rolled past the gates, filled with students and guards and foreign magisters wrapped in silk. Processions of nobles walked under canopies of light, their mana glowing like halos.
The bronze gates opened with a sound like rolling thunder. The crowd surged forward into the Outer Courtyard.
Finn tilted his head back, staring up at the endless towers. "This place has more towers than my entire hometown had roofs," he whispered.
Lucian said nothing, but his posture changed; taller, steadier. Eyes were watching him.
Auron stood beside them, silent. He scanned the crowd; the sea of color, the hum of mana, the distant clang of metal. In the frozen north, power was survival. Here, it was spectacle.
A group of desert mages passed, robes glowing with orange sigils. A caravan of elves followed, silver-eyed and silent. At the far end of the courtyard, dwarves unloaded crates of crystalline engines for the Academy's workshops.
They were no longer soldiers or wanderers. They were standing in the heart of a empire built on legacies and hunger.
*****
The courtyard opened into a wide field of black stone. At its center stood the Wall of Obsidian, a monolith stretching hundreds of feet in length.
Its surface shimmered faintly blue, like ice beneath sunlight. Old marks dotted the stone scars from the thousands who had struck before. Steam rose where the morning light met mana residue.
Lines stretched on both sides. Instructors in silver armor stood on high platforms, recording names, marks, and failures.
A tall woman stepped forward, her armor catching the sun. Her hair was tied in a silver braid, her voice clear and even.
"I am Seran Vale, Senior Instructor of the First Gate," she called out. "Before you may register for the Holy Dragon Test, you must prove your worth. The task is simple."
She raised a gauntleted hand toward the wall. "Leave a mark three inches deep upon the Black Tortoise Obsidian. Fail, and you are going back to which ever hell hole you came for"
The crowd stirred. Some laughed nervously, others cracked their knuckles.
Seran's gaze swept across the sea of faces. "The Academy forges power. It does not gift it. The wall measures whether you are even worthy of standing here."
The first strikes came fast; bursts of flame, shards of ice, glowing sigils. Every impact rang through the courtyard. Some attacks left nothing but faint dust. Others bit deep, leaving smoking scars.
Crowds gasped when noble prodigies struck, their family crests flaring with magic.
"harris kyorth — three and a half inches."
"isabelle avaris — failed."
"Resla kingsburg — failed, two-point-nine inches."
The sound of mana striking obsidian became a rhythm
Finn wiped his palms on his trousers as he stepped forward. His heart hammered in his ears. Around him, students glowed like stars, their magic wrapping them in color.
He had none of that, no sigils, no heritage. Just the bruises Rodrik called training and single dantain he had made back in house arvel where he trained as a squire.
The instructor raised an eyebrow. "Next. Name."
"Finn," he said. "Just Finn."
"Proceed."
He took a long breath, tightened his gloves, and stepped up to the wall. For a moment he saw his reflection; small, tired, unremarkable.
Then he remembered the frostbitten roads, the sleepless nights, Rodrik's voice saying again until his bones ached.
He drew back his fist. Every muscle screamed as he threw his whole body forward.
The sound cracked like thunder.
The shock threw him backward. Pain exploded in his knuckles. He stumbled, blood dripping from his hand.
The wall didn't move. Not at first.
Then, a faint crack spread from where his fist had landed. Dust trickled out, dark and fine.
The instructor leaned down, inspecting it. "Three inches," she said flatly.
"barely passing."
Finn grinned through the pain. "Guess the wall forgot to flinch."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.
He stepped aside, clutching his hand, pride hidden under the wince.
Lucian was next.
When he walked forward, the noise dimmed. Whispers rose like wind.
"That's House arvel's crest." "Didn't know they sent anyone this year."
Lucian ignored them. His face was calm,
He stopped before the wall and lifted his hand. Threads of silver mana spun between his fingers, weaving into a sigil. It shimmered like molten glass.
He thrust his palm forward. The air rippled; no explosion, no sound. Just a quiet flash.
When it faded, a perfect groove glowed in the stone. Smooth. Precise. Exactly four inches.
Seran Vale studied it. "mana-infused precision. House arvel sent someone worth watching"
Lucian bowed slightly, but his hands trembled as he stepped back. The crowd whispered again, this time with respect.
Then it was Auron's turn.
He walked forward in silence. His armor was plain. No crest, no light. Just steel.
A few students snickered. one said. "Maybe he'll dent it with his head."
The instructor scanned his record. "Auron. No house."
Auron said nothing. He drew Vowkeeper. The blade hummed softly in the air.
He let the noise fade. Let the world slow.
He remembered godfrey's voice. Control is not silence. It's direction.
He exhaled once.
Then he moved.
The strike was a blur; not brute force, not speed, but focus. The sound that followed wasn't thunder. It was resonance, deep and pure, like metal singing.
Dust flew. The ground vibrated.
When the haze cleared, the mark gleamed.
six inches deep.
A single heartbeat of silence. Then murmurs.
"Impossible." "Who the fuck is he?" "did some noble house sent their bastard?"
Seran Vale leaned forward, measuring the cut. Her expression didn't change, but her tone did. "Noted. Exceptional strenght. Recorded under Category Silver."
Auron sheathed his sword and walked back without looking at the crowd. His eyes were calm.
Lucian met his gaze briefly. A small nod passed between them; acknowledgment, nothing more.
When the trials ended, the successful candidates were herded toward a massive amphitheater that overlooked a deep valley within the Academy grounds.
********
Tiered platforms rose in rings. Mana-light floated above the stage.
Seran Vale stood before them once again, her silver armor shining under the sun.
"The Holy Dragon Test begins in two days," she said. "Twenty thousand cadets from every kingdom and empire will enter. Only nine hundred will leave with the title of cadet."
A low murmur spread through the crowd.
"The test takes place in the Ironwood Expanse; a sealed forest beneath this Academy. You will survive, hunt, and gather Dragon Scales. Each scale is a fragment of condensed mana left by ancient beasts. One scale is one mark."
Her gaze swept across them, sharp as a blade. "The top ten cadets will earn something greater. A fragment of the Dragon Bones relics carved from the last Holy Dragon. They are not trophies. They are symbols of power"
Whispers broke out everywhere. Some in fear, most in hunger.
Auron felt it too, the pull of that word, power.
Lucian's thoughts turned cold and clear. Nine hundred rise. Nineteen thousand fall.
Finn just swallowed hard and muttered, "So, no pressure then."
As the crowd began to scatter, a voice cut through the noise.
"An unknown commoner, cutting deeper than nobles. Curious."
A young man stepped forward from a group of students dressed in pristine white. He was tall, lean, with pale hair that caught the sun. His eyes gleamed silver, calm but cutting.
His uniform bore the insignia of House Sol, the burning sun over crossed blades.
"I am Kael Sol," he said, voice smooth as glass. "My house serves as the Inquisitorial order of Temple of Veyrion . Tell me, peasant boy, how long do you think luck will carry you?"
Auron met his gaze. For a moment neither spoke.
Then Auron said quietly, "Long enough."
Kael smiled faintly. "We'll see."
A golden aura flickered around him, divine. The other nobles around him murmured, half in admiration, half in envy.
Lucian watched the exchange silently. He knew Kael's name, heir to one of the five Great Houses, greater then Arvel itself.
*****
By evening, the candidates were divided into sectors and assigned dormitories in the outer section of the academy.
The dorms themselves were cities; rows of marble halls built into the mountain's curve. Mana lanterns floated along the ceilings. From the balconies, the Ironwood dome glimmered below, a sea of green sealed in glass.
Finn dropped his pack on the bed with a groan of relief. "We actually made it," he said, grinning.
Lucian was at the desk, already studying the Academy's orientation scroll. "There are seven divisions. Each governed by a Great Instructor. If we understand the structure, we can predict where influence lies."
Finn stared. "You're planning already?"
Lucian looked up. "it is better to be prepared."
Auron sat by the window, Vowkeeper resting across his knees. Outside, the towers of Ashford glowed under the moonlight. Mana lines pulsed between them like veins of light.
He spoke quietly, almost to himself. "this is going to be fun"
The others said nothing. The city outside roared with energy. Inside, the silence was steady, almost sacred.
He closed his eyes. The Academy was not a dream. It was a battlefield wrapped in gold.
And they had just stepped onto it.
authors note- guys if you are reading this please add this novel to your collection, i really need this novel to perform also if you have any criticism please let me know, i will do my best to improve