The pressure in the air was a physical thing.
Thousands of aspirants, a sea of tense shoulders and nervous glances, filled the grand plaza of the Valerius Academy. Their collective ambition felt like a dome of desperate energy pressing down on them all. Spires of white stone and gleaming crystal clawed at the sky, indifferent to the swarm of ants at their base.
Alvian was a stone in the raging river, an illusion. His Prismatic Heart, a raging sun of balanced Aether and Null, was throttled down to a pitiful flicker. To the world, he was an unassuming Rank II Enhancer. Another face in the crowd with a sliver of talent and a mountain of hope. A necessary lie. A fragile shield.
A hush fell over the plaza. So sudden, so absolute, it felt like the world had lost its breath. Eight figures appeared on the high balcony of the central spire, their silhouettes stark against the morning sun. The Archons. Their presence was a tidal wave of pure power that washed over the crowd, forcing more than a few to their knees.
One stepped forward. Archon Titus. A man carved from granite and severity, his face a mask of stern authority. His gaze swept across the thousands, and in that single look, every candidate felt seen, judged, and found wanting.
"Welcome, aspirants," his voice boomed, amplified by Aether. It held no warmth, only the cold ring of command. "You stand before the gates of Valerius not because you are special, but because you are arrogant enough to believe you might be. Today, we will disabuse you of that notion."
He gestured dismissively. "The Academy does not coddle the weak. It does not nurture delusions. It forges weapons. Those who cannot withstand the heat of the forge will be discarded as slag. Your first test begins now."
Without warning, he slammed an open palm onto the marble balustrade.
BOOM!
It wasn't a sound. It was a force. A colossal, invisible wave of pure Aether pressure erupted from the spire, a metaphysical tsunami crashing over the plaza. A test of will, of the very foundation of one's soul.
For hundreds, it was the end. They crumpled instantly, some fainting, others crying out as their weak Aether pathways fractured under the strain. The weak were shattered.
Alvian braced himself, jaw tight. The pressure slammed into him, a physical blow seeking to crush his bones and extinguish his spirit. He could withstand it easily, but a new problem erupted from within. His Prismatic Heart bristled at the intrusion. It was like forcing a sovereign king to kneel. It rejected the uniform, monotonous Aether.
A faint, prismatic shimmer, invisible to all but him, flickered around his soul.
'Careful, little one, Do not fight it. Be the reed in the wind.' Nyx's sleek voice echoed in his mind, a cool whisper in the storm.
Heeding her, Alvian consciously relaxed his will, forcing his rebellious core into submission. He bent his knee slightly, mimicking the strain shown by those around him. A perfect performance of a struggling Rank II. He passed, unnoticed.
When the pressure receded, nearly a third of the candidates were gone, escorted away by grim-faced instructors.
"Pathetic," Archon Titus sneered. "For those of you still standing, your true assessment begins. We do not trust simple steles. Our judgment is more… discerning."
He raised a hand. A cry echoed from the highest spire, a sound of piercing majesty and ancient power. A shadow fell over the plaza as a creature of breathtaking beauty descended on silent wings.
It was a gryphon, larger than any horse, its front half a proud eagle with feathers of spun silver, its hindquarters the powerful, leonine form of a great cat. Its eyes were not beastial; they were intelligent, glowing orbs of molten gold that saw past flesh and bone, directly into the soul.
"The Soul-Sight Gryphon," a candidate whispered in awe and terror. "Its gaze exposes all truths."
Alvian's blood ran cold. He felt Nyx stir in his shadow, a ripple of alarm. The Gryphon's gaze was a death sentence.
A sharp, crimson alert blared in his mind.
[WARNING!]
[Target: Soul-Sight Gryphon]
[Innate Ability Detected: Aura Purity!]
[Ability differentiates foundational energy signatures!]
[Anomaly Detection Probability: CRITICAL!]
[Null Essence signature will be exposed!]
[Quest: [The Path of Shadows] Failure Risk: IMMINENT!]
'Annihilation.' The final word of the quest's failure condition flashed behind his eyes.
'This is bad,' he thought, mind racing.
'Its sight is conceptual,' Nyx replied instantly, her voice sharp with urgency. 'It will see the Void in you as a blight. I can project a shadow veil over your core, a shroud of pure entropy. It will be a fleeting illusion. I need a distraction. The timing must be perfect.'
A distraction. Alvian's eyes scanned the crowd, the Gryphon, the Archons. An idea, reckless and desperate, formed.
One by one, candidates stepped forward. They stood before the Gryphon, which gazed at them for a moment before letting out a cry, its light indicating their potential. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind. Most were simple talents.
Then it was his turn.
"Alvian of Siji Village," an instructor called, his voice laced with boredom.
Alvian took a steadying breath and began to walk. The hundred-yard walk felt like a mile. Every eye was on him. The Gryphon's golden gaze locked onto him, a profound, intrusive pressure on his soul, as if a divine hand were peeling back the layers of his being.
'Now, Alvian! Create a surge!' Nyx commanded.
Just as the Gryphon's sight was about to pierce his core, Alvian stumbled. He let his suppressed Rank II Aether flare erratically, a clumsy, uncontrolled burst, as if his nerves had finally failed him.
The perfect distraction. A flicker of annoyance crossed the Gryphon's majestic face, its focus momentarily diverted by the amateurish display.
In that infinitesimal moment, Nyx struck. A sliver of absolute shadow, imperceptible to all, bled from Alvian's own shadow and wrapped itself around his soul. A veil woven from nothingness. A blindfold for a god.
The Gryphon's gaze returned. It squinted. Its head tilted in profound confusion. What it saw was a paradox. Behind the shoddy, flickering aura of a weakling, it sensed a chaotic, roaring inferno. But the cold, alien signature of the Null was gone. It couldn't classify him. The soul was a mess of conflicting signals.
After a tense silence, the Gryphon let out a frustrated, warbling cry, and a plume of smoky, chaotic fire erupted from its beak. A passing grade, given with extreme reluctance.
He had passed.
But the Gryphon's strange shriek had not gone unnoticed. On the balcony, Archon Titus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing on the boy in simple clothes. He made a small gesture. An aide beside him scribbled a name onto a crystalline slate: Alvian.
Alvian felt the Archon's gaze like a physical weight on his shoulders as he walked back to the line, his heart hammering. He had survived, but he was now a person of interest.
A sneering voice cut through the murmurs. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
A tall, handsome young man with immaculate silver-blue robes and an arrogant smirk swaggered towards him, flanked by two sycophants. His Aether signature was a proud, powerful flare—a high-level Rank III. Alexios Vane, scion of a powerful noble house.
Alexios looked Alvian up and down, his gaze dripping with disdain. "A backwater commoner from some forgotten pigsty. I'm surprised you managed to awaken. Did you frighten the poor beast with your farmer's stench? The only explanation for that pathetic display."
His cronies laughed.
Alvian met his gaze, his face a mask of neutrality. No reply. No reaction. He simply stared back, his eyes calm and deep. To Alexios, it was the dull stupor of a peasant.
He had passed the first gate. But in doing so, he had stepped onto a stage with far more dangerous players.