The "Gilded Root" turned out to be a private club within the academy grounds, reserved for students from major families or those with exceptional influence. It was housed in a beautiful, ancient tree whose branches were woven with glowing mana-crystals, making it look like it was draped in gold and stars.
Arlan went alone, two nights after the dungeon exam. He wasn't joining. He was scouting.
The entrance was guarded by a polite but firm 3rd Order student with an earth affinity. Arlan showed the metal chip. The guard nodded and let him pass.
Inside, the club was all soft light, plush chairs, and the quiet hum of conversation and clinking glasses. It smelled of expensive incense and spirit herbs. Students lounged, talked strategy, or practiced subtle magic. The average cultivation here was high—most were 2nd Order, Rank 5 or above. Arlan saw Lyra Solara holding court in a corner, surrounded by admirers. Her stellar aura was a calm sun in the room.
Dorian saw him enter and waved him over to a table where a few others sat. "Thorne! You came. Good." He introduced the others. "Mira of the Swift River family, water and ice. Kaelen Stonefist, you saw him in the trials—lightning. And this is Fen, no family name, but a prodigy with psychic abilities."
Mira was elegant and cool-eyed. Kaelen was the brute-force lightning adept who had placed second in the trials. Fen was a skinny, nervous-looking boy who seemed to be listening to sounds no one else could hear.
"Thorne here has a fascinatingly messy spatial gift and the tactical sense of a starving wolf," Dorian said, raising a glass of something sparkling. "We're discussing the upcoming Inter-Cohort Tournament. Teams of five. Huge rewards for the winners. Personal training from 5th Order Masters. Access to the Grade-3 spirit spring. We want you as our fifth."
Arlan sat. "Why? You have plenty of strong people."
Kaelen Stonefist spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Because you're a wild card. The Ascendant Blade teams will be stacked with powerhouses. Brute force against brute force is a slugfest. You… you have the spatial ability, and you have a good sight to watch our rear or for any weak point in our enemy's defense. You make openings. You solve problems sideways. We need that."
Mira nodded. "Dorian controls the field. Kaelen is our hammer. Fen disrupts their minds and senses. I handle defense and control. We need a scalpel. Someone who can cut the exact thread to make their whole plan unravel. That's you."
It was a logical assessment. They wanted him as a tool. That was a relationship he understood.
"The tournament is in three weeks," Dorian said. "We'd train together. Pool resources. If we win, the spirit spring access could push all of us to the peak of 2nd Order or even into 3rd."
The rewards were undeniable. But working closely with these people meant exposure. Fen, the psychic, might sense his shadow core. Their resources came with scrutiny.
"I'll think about it," Arlan said.
"Don't think too long," Kaelen grunted. "We need to register the team in four days."
Arlan was about to leave when a commotion came from the entrance. A group of students walked in, led by a boy with a sneer and a flashy, fiery aura. It was Krag, the bully from his mana control class, looking furious. With him were four older students. Their auras were strong—3rd Order, Captains. They wore the insignia of the "Emberheart" family, a major clan known for fire affinities and a nasty temper.
Krag pointed straight at Arlan. "Him! That's the cheat who tripped me with some dirty trick!"
The lead older student, a tall boy with hair like molten copper and a 3rd Order, Rank 4 aura, looked Arlan over with disdain. "You. Arlan Thorne. You've been causing little ripples. Pissing off my little cousin here is one thing. But I hear you've been sniffing around places you don't belong." His eyes flicked to Dorian's table. "And now you're sitting with the legacy kids? Ambitious for a nobody with broken magic."
Dorian stood smoothly. "Borin Emberheart. This is a private club. Take your family drama outside."
"This isn't about you, Ashcroft," Borin said, not taking his eyes off Arlan. "This is about respect. My cousin says you used a hidden trick to make him look a fool. I think you need to apologize. Publicly. And maybe have your unstable core checked by a real mage before you hurt someone."
The room went quiet. This was a direct challenge. Arlan knew the type. Borin wanted to put him in his place, to please his cousin and assert his family's dominance.
Arlan stood. He said nothing. He just looked at Borin, his face cold.
"Cat got your tongue, freak?" Krag taunted from behind his cousin.
"What's the matter, Thorne?" Borin took a step closer, his fire aura heating the air. "Spatial magic not good for talking? Show us what you've got. Or crawl out of here."
Arlan knew a fight here would get him expelled. Borin was provoking him, hoping for a reaction.
So, he gave a reaction. But not the one Borin wanted.
He focused. Not on Borin. On Borin's drink, which was sitting on a nearby table. A tall glass of something red and frothy.
Arlan focused on the space inside the glass, just above the liquid. He created a tiny, temporary spatial portal. The exit point? The space six inches directly above Borin's perfectly styled, molten hair.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a glug-glug sound, the entire contents of the glass emptied from the bottom, teleported, and splashed down on Borin's head.
The red, frothy liquid dripped down his face and expensive shirt.
The entire Gilded Root erupted into laughter. It was sudden, ridiculous, and utterly humiliating. Even some of Borin's own friends snorted before covering their mouths.
Borin stood frozen, dripping, his face turning a color darker than the drink. He sputtered, wiping his eyes. "You—! How dare—!"
"I didn't touch you," Arlan said, his voice flat and calm. "You said to show you what I've got. I showed you I can move a drink. If you have a problem with where your drink went, take it up with the glass."
The laughter grew louder. Dorian was chuckling behind his hand. Mira hid a smile. Kaelen let out a booming laugh.
Borin Emberheart, 3rd Order Captain, scion of a great family, was standing soaked in fruit punch because of a 2nd Order nobody's teleportation trick. He was too humiliated to attack now—it would look like a tantrum. He pointed a shaking, wet finger at Arlan.
"This isn't over, Thorne. You've made an enemy of the Emberhearts. Watch your back."
He turned and stormed out, his cousin and crew scrambling after him, followed by another wave of laughter from the club.
As the noise died down, Dorian clapped Arlan on the shoulder, still grinning. "Okay. You're definitely on the team. That was the funniest thing I've seen all year. You turned a dominance challenge into a slapstick comedy. Brilliant."
Arlan didn't smile. He had made a powerful enemy. But he had also shown everyone in the room that he couldn't be bullied through bluster. He fought with his mind, not just his power. And he'd done it without revealing a shred of his shadow abilities.
It was a good trade.
He left the Gilded Root soon after. As he walked back to his dorm in the cool night, he felt a presence. He wasn't alone. His Umbral Sight flared, and he saw a familiar, swirling silver-and-crimson aura following him at a distance.
Selene.
He stopped in a shadowed archway. "You can come out."
She stepped from behind a pillar, her amber eyes gleaming. "I heard about the drink. Classic. Borin will be a problem, though."
"I know."
"He's not just hot air. The Emberhearts have a seat on the Academy's oversight council. They can make life difficult." She fell into step beside him. "I have a… side project. It might interest you. And it would get you out of Borin's sight for a while."
"What project?"
"There's a place. Off the books. A real dungeon, not a simulation. A fissure opened a month ago in the lowlands beyond the academy walls. It's stabilized into a permanent minor rift. The creatures that come out are weak, 1st and 2nd Order beasts. The Academy hasn't sealed it because it's perfect for real combat training. But they only send supervised groups. I know a way in. Untracked. The beast cores there are worth good points on the black market. And the environment… is saturated in death and shadow mana. It would be a feast for my magic. And good training for your… darker side."
A real dungeon. Real monsters. Real danger. And real rewards, off the grid. Exactly what he needed to grow stronger away from prying eyes.
"When?" he asked.
"Tomorrow night. Meet me at the same service door. Bring combat gear." She smiled, her sharp canines glinting. "Try not to tell your new fancy friends."
She melted into the darkness.
Arlan continued to his dorm. His path was splitting. The glittering, political world of the Gilded Root and the tournament. And the dark, hidden world of real power that Selene offered.
He needed both. He would walk both paths.
For now, sleep. Tomorrow, he would step into the real shadows.