As the Academy Headmaster raised his hand, the murmurs in the crowd died.
Not gradually. The sound simply ceased to exist, as if the gesture had cut it from the air.
Axel watched from the student hall, struck by the sheer magnitude of silence that a single arm could command. Thousands of people — families clutching each other's hands, students rigid in their seats, Adepts standing like statues along the coliseum walls — and not one of them dared breathe too loudly.
The Headmaster stood at the center of the arena like a figure carved from contradiction. His hair was white and slicked back, nearly rhyming with his alabaster skin. A mustache framed his upper lip, and a simple goatee extended down his jaw.
He wore a suit that could be considered archaic — materials only Masters and Champions were privileged to wear. Yet despite the finery, despite the authority radiating from every line of his body, his pale gaze was hollow. Emptied out by the terrible fate of having to command a massacre over and over again.
His voice boomed across the coliseum.
"Friends and families." The words rolled over the crowd like distant thunder. "Today... we have gathered once again, both a joyous and dreadful occasion. A new generation must answer to the Axiom and determine their fate."
He exhaled, audible even in the silence.
"Fate... is a very unfair phenomenon. It takes the candy from the most deserving and gives it to the most undeserving..."
He exhaled again.
"And we can't complain about it. We can do nothing about it! Absolutely nothing!!" His voice gained strength, each word slamming against the coliseum walls as if trying to break through stone.
But he reeled himself in. The fire died as quickly as it had risen, leaving only that pale, even gaze — void of any kind of emotion.
"So I beseech you today... to understand. I beseech you to respect and to empathize. These values are the least we can give each other. We have lost our world, and are barely able to pick up the pieces." His voice dropped. "No matter what, we mustn't lose ourselves."
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
Then his voice roared again.
"No matter who becomes defined today and who becomes undefined — no one! Absolutely no one!! Deserves such a fate. And they must be treated with respect!"
The silence seemed to deepen, as if the coliseum itself was holding its breath, letting the Headmaster's words be carried across its vast structure.
"Today, by the authority bestowed upon me by the Great Clans and the masses yourselves, I command the commencement of the Second Generation's Day of Definition!"
Drums thundered and voices climbed toward the sky in ritual response, raising a wall of sound that shook Axel's chest.
Someone stepped up and gave a brief recap of the first Generation's Day of Definition. Out of the three thousand who had participated in this region, only six hundred had awakened a Class. Of that six hundred, sixty were Master rank. Eighteen were Champion rank. Three Legend rank Classes had appeared.
No Myth rank. No Sovereign.
But today, the authorities seemed hopeful that a Sovereign rank Class would emerge. Because speculation held that the kind of Class you received had everything to do with lineage so it was proposed that a certain person might awaken a Sovereign rank Class.
Axel felt the weight of those glances before he saw them. Heads turning in his direction, one after another, eyes sliding toward him like iron filings drawn to a magnet. He kept his expression neutral.
'Just get through today.'
Soon the calling of names began.
"Rasmus Bellingham."
A black-haired boy with large, unassuming grey eyes stood up and walked the stairs. The other students watched him emerge from the northern gateway onto the center stage of the arena — a raised platform of dark stone, surrounded by armored guards standing at precise intervals.
The way to trigger Definition was simple. It was called Exposure — exposing the human to Essence, which existed in moderate concentration within a Sanctuary. This Essence was available in every atmosphere, but the ratios varied greatly. In Sanctuaries, it could be controlled by the Authority of the Sanctuary, allowing for measured exposure.
If it was not done this way, humans encountered Essence every day, and there was no telling when it would culminate — when they would awaken their Classes or become Undefined. Humanity had learned this reality many times over, through experience and great losses.
Rasmus stood on the raised platform and waited.
After three seconds passed, a large screen materialized at the center of the arena — holographic material projecting what Rasmus heard and saw in his own mind for the world to witness.
What everyone saw was:
[Rasmus Bellingham has gained Definition]
[Rasmus Bellingham]
[Class: Wayfinder]
[Rank: Novice]
[Stage: Awakened]
Rasmus let out a huge exhale and threw his hands in the air. Novice rank — the second lowest — but who cared? With a Novice rank Class, he was set for life. He would live as a decent noble in a Sanctuary. He wasn't going to suffer anymore.
The crowd erupted. One more win for humanity.
The next student came on stage as Rasmus left. The crowd fell silent again, and Axel could feel the collective tension — that suspended breath, that desperate hope. Many who had come to watch this great moment could never get used to the suspense it carried.
[Erik Bonsai has gained Definition]
[Erik Bonsai]
[Class: The Silent Fang]
[Rank: Novice]
[Stage: Awakened]
The crowds rose and cheered. Erik Bonsai descended the stairs, relief loosening every line of his body. The next person climbed onto the stage.
The crowd was already wishing things could just continue this way.
But they knew…
This reality was very cruel.
[Gandhi Buthalava has failed Definition]
The lithe boy standing at the center of the stage went white. His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching — and then everything happened at once.
Men in armor materialized around him with terrible speed, surrounding him in a circular formation, spears and shields raised. Their weapons pointed inward.
Gandhi's body glitched. His hand extended, hardening, the flesh turning grey-brown as if he were transforming into wood. The corruption spread up his forearm—
The spears buried into him from all sides.
He didn't scream. Black blood poured from his nose and mouth as the soldiers withdrew their weapons with flawless precision, and Gandhi crumbled. His corpse — or what should have been his corpse — extended like an outgrowth, solidifying eerily, twisting into something that no longer resembled a boy.
What remained on the platform looked like the carcass of a black-boned abomination.
The crowd sat frozen. No one moved or spoke.
This was the stark reality of Definition.
This was the fate that awaited many who failed to awaken a Class.