When Aren extended his hand, Tiana pricked his index finger with clinical precision. A single bead of crimson pooled at the tip. She drew the sample into a device resembling a refined glucose monitor, transferring the blood into a small internal capsule where a violet reagent swirled in anticipation.
"For the record," she said in a calm, professional tone, "Nyx are divided into three tiers: Standard, Superior, and Special. Each tier has its own hierarchy."
She adjusted the dial on the instrument, her eyes briefly meeting his. "Please keep in mind that the rank you receive today is a starting point, not a ceiling. Many Nyx mistake these results for the final boundary of their potential. We repeat this to everyone, but it bears saying again: this rank only marks where your growth begins."
She offered him an encouraging smile, one that felt practiced but sincere. "This is not your limit. Remember that."
They waited. For five minutes, the liquid inside the capsule underwent a series of chromatic shifts, churning through the spectrum before finally settling into a steady glow. A luminous letter materialized in the air around the device.
C
"It appears you fall within the Standard Tier—Rank C," Tiana announced. "Please synchronize your system window for the full breakdown."
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NAME: Aren Rayne (Donovan)
AGE: 16
TITLE: None
NYX RANK: C
PERSONAL SKILLS: [Strategy & Tactics
ELEMENTAL AFFINITY: [Unlimited Void < Lv.2>]
STIGMA: ■■■
GENERAL STATS: [Agility LV.16], [Perception LV.15], [Aether LV.15], [Strength LV.10], [Endurance LV.7], [Mana LV.0]
-----------------------------------------------
Aren scanned the data, his eyes lingering on the corrupted text at the bottom.
"When do stigmas usually manifest?"
Tiana paused, the unexpected weight of the question catching her off guard. Her encouraging smile faltered, replaced by a look of clinical contemplation.
"Normally, a stigma manifests during the Awakening, even if it remains sealed," Tiana explained, her gaze lingering on Aren's eyes as if searching for a hidden spark. "But since you're asking... It's clear, yours is still dormant."
She offered a small, reassuring tilt of her head. "There's no cause for alarm. In rare cases, a Stigma refuses to reveal itself until the user's rank hits a specific threshold. It's simply waiting for your vessel to strengthen."
"I see. Thank you," Aren replied. His tone was polite, but his mind had already pivoted. A C-rank wasn't a setback; it was a cloak. It was the perfect level of "average" to move unnoticed.
After concluding his business at the Center, Aren followed the bank clerk's lead. He tracked down a high-end internet café on the city's edge called NX-Net.
Inside the cramped cabin, the low hum of cooling fans mixed with the sharp, biting scent of overheated copper and ionized air.
The atmosphere felt restless, vibrating with the constant, invisible pulse of data flowing through the high-grade server racks.
He tapped his aureus bracelet against the terminal. A holographic interface flickered to life, bathing the cramped cabin in a cool, azure glow.
But before navigating to the Soren Academy portal, curiosity got the better of him. He swiped toward the trending news feeds.
He didn't have to look far.
A grainy courtroom sketch of his own face was plastered across every major forum. The headlines were a battlefield, a chaotic storm of public outrage and disbelief:
* DIVINE ANOMALY: Was the Holy Sword Malfunctioning?
* THE DONOVAN ACQUITTAL: Is the Sacred Tribunal Losing Its Authority?
* THE SMILING DEFENDANT: Witnesses Claim Aren Donovan Smoked During the Verdict.
Aren leaned back in the haptic chair, watching the comments scroll past in a blur of vitriol. He wasn't just a free man; he was the kingdom's most hated enigma.
Aren scrolled through the comment sections, his expression a cold, unreadable mask.
Public opinion was fractured—one half of the kingdom painted him as a victim of a decaying judicial system; the other, fueled by anonymous leaks, claimed he had used Forbidden Aether to deceive the Sacred Sword.
Some even whispered of a darker conspiracy: that Beryl Donovan had bribed the High Priestess herself.
Let them speculate, Aren thought, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes. The more they obsessed over his guilt, the more the court and the witnesses became the targets of their fury.
Closing the news tabs, he turned his focus toward the Soren Academy application. The process was notoriously ruthless, designed to weed out the weak before they ever set foot on campus.
He entered his new alias—Aren Rayne—along with his C-Class rank, but the interface stalled at the next field.
ORIGIN AUTHORIZATION.
The screen flickered with a warning amber glow.
[NOTICE]: Applicants must provide verified lineage or a recommendation from a high-ranking patron. Failure to provide either will trigger an immediate Level-3 security background check.
Staring at the prompt, Aren kept his fingers poised over the keys. Without a patron or a bloodline, the Academy's hounds would dismantle his history, leading them straight to the Donovan scandal.
He reached into his coat and withdrew the letter Beryl had sent. Ignoring the venomous words within, he focused instead on the embossed Donovan crest at the bottom—the very symbol she had used to sever their ties.
You gave me this to keep me away, mother, Aren mused, his crimson eyes shimmering. But you forgot one thing: even a letter of exile carries the authority of the hand that signed it.
The document contained a digital verification code—a standard procedure for disinheriting high nobles to grant them limited "farewell funds." Having no interest in the gold, Aren fed the code into the Academy's Patron Verification slot instead.
The terminal hummed as it processed the high-level encryption of the Donovan dynasty.
[PATRON DETECTED: BERYL DONOVAN]
[STATUS: OFFICIAL AUTHORIZATION RECOGNIZED]
A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. The woman who had cast him out had just become his unwitting sponsor.