The drive to the Meridian Academy was a blur of high-speed asphalt and oppressive silence. Grant sat with his hands relaxed on the steering wheel of the white car, but his eyes were constantly scanning the rearview mirror. Zylas, meanwhile, leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window. His right arm felt tight—not painful, but dense, as if the muscle fibers had been wound like clock springs. The black glow from the morning was gone, but he could still feel the phantom heat of those lines where they had mapped his nerves during the night.
"You're quiet," Grant said, breaking the silence as the massive obsidian gates of the Academy loomed ahead. "Nerves are normal, Zylas. Even Paragons vomit before their first ceremony."
"I'm not going to vomit," Zylas replied, his voice flat. It was easier than explaining that he was mentally rehearsing how to punch without accidentally triggering a sonic boom. He was terrified that a stray thought would set the Authority off in the middle of a crowded car.
"Just remember," Grant said, pulling into a reserved lot near the Grand Auditorium. "You're there because you survived. The other students might have fancy bloodlines and flashy auras, but you have something they don't: the perspective of someone who has actually touched the void. Don't let the noise get to you."
Zylas nodded, though "grit" felt like a paper-thin shield against the scale of the Academy.
They stepped out of the car and were immediately met by a pair of Academy staff members in formal silver robes. They didn't even look at Grant; their eyes were fixed on Zylas, scanning him with a clinical intensity that made the hair on his neck stand up.
"Freshman Representative Zylas? Follow us. The ceremony begins in twenty minutes. The other Representatives are already waiting in the green room. You are late."
Zylas looked back at Grant, who gave him a sharp nod of encouragement. "Go on. I'll be in the faculty stands. Try not to look like you're plotting a murder."
Zylas followed the staff through a side entrance, bypassing the thousands of students already filing into the main hall. The interior of the Academy was a labyrinth of white marble and gold leaf, a palace dedicated to the pursuit of power. The air inside the auditorium was thick—charged with the scent of ozone and expensive incense. As they reached a heavy, velvet-draped door, one of the staff members pulled it open with a grunt.
"Wait here until you are called," he said, then gestured for Zylas to enter.
Zylas stepped inside, and the door clicked shut, cutting off the muffled roar of the crowd. The room was large, filled with high-backed chairs and a long table laden with refreshments that no one had touched. The atmosphere was so thick with tension you could have cut it with a knife.
In the far corner, Kai was leaning against the wall. He looked bored, his eyes half-closed, but the air around him was visibly shimmering with heat. Every few seconds, a faint spark would jump from his fingertips to the floor. He didn't even look up when Zylas entered.
In the center of the room, Sylvia was standing by a full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of her Academy uniform. She looked perfect—cold, regal, and untouchable. The dirt and blood of the ruined dimension were a distant memory, replaced by the immaculate silver and blue of her rank. When she saw Zylas in the reflection, her hands paused for a fraction of a second, but she didn't turn around.
The silence was suffocating. Zylas walked to a chair as far away from the others as possible and sat down. He kept his right hand tucked in his lap, the Ring of Eternity hidden from view. He could feel Sylvia's gaze on him through the mirror, sharp and questioning. She knew about the ring, and she knew it had her blood in it. That secret felt like a live wire stretched between them, humming with enough voltage to kill.
"You look like you haven't slept," Kai said suddenly. His voice was raspy, cutting through the silence like a saw.
Zylas looked over. Kai was finally staring at him, his golden eyes narrowed with a predatory curiosity. "Rough night," Zylas replied shortly.
"Hmph. If you collapse on stage, it makes the rest of us look bad," Kai muttered, turning his head away. "The Representative spot isn't a charity prize. Try to keep it together for at least ten minutes."
"I'll manage," Zylas said, his voice matching Kai's coldness.
Sylvia finally turned around. She walked toward the table, her movements fluid and graceful, like a predator in silk. She picked up a glass of water, her eyes never leaving Zylas. "The Dean's speech is long," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undertone only Zylas would catch. "Make sure your... equipment... is stable. We can't afford any 'accidents' today, especially with the families watching."
Zylas felt the ring pulse in response to her voice. It was reacting to her proximity—the blood recognized its source. *Authority: Impact Stasis — Standby.* The words hissed into his brain, cold and demanding.
"It's under control," Zylas said firmly, gripping his knee to hide the slight tremor in his hand.
"Is it?" Sylvia stepped closer, her presence pressing against his senses. She exuded a natural aura so pure it felt like standing near a glacier. "Because I can feel it from here. It's... hungry. It feels like a void sitting in the middle of the room."
Kai's eyes snapped open at that. He straightened up, his gaze darting between Sylvia and Zylas. "What are you two talking about? Feel what? There's no aura coming off him at all. That's the problem."
Before Sylvia could answer, the heavy curtains at the front of the room parted. A man with a headset poked his head in, looking frazzled. "Representatives? You're on. Follow me in single file. Sylvia first, then Kai, then Zylas. Keep your pace steady."
The roar of the crowd hit them like a physical wave as the doors to the stage opened. It wasn't just noise; it was the combined spiritual pressure of ten thousand people. Thousands of students, faculty, and high-ranking officials from across the continent were packed into the tiers of the auditorium. At the center of the stage stood Dean Qydal, looking ancient and powerful behind a stone lectern carved from a single piece of obsidian.
Zylas felt his heart hammer against his ribs. The lights were blinding, turning the world into a sea of white glare and deep shadow. He could feel the weight of every eye in the room on him. Most of them were filled with confusion. They were looking for an aura—a flare of power, a sign of divinity—and they were finding nothing. To them, he was a mistake. A glitch in the system.
"Representing the Freshman Class," the Dean's voice boomed, magnified by magic until it shook the very floorboards. "Zylas."
Zylas walked out onto the stage. Each step felt like he was walking through mud. The ring was vibrating so hard now it felt like his finger was going to snap. It was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of magical energy in the room, like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm.
As he reached his designated spot next to Sylvia, the distance between them narrowed to less than a foot. The ring went berserk.
*ERROR. Authority overflow. Kinetic load detected in environment. Initializing Stasis to prevent host collapse.*
Zylas stiffened. His right arm went numb. He realized with a jolt of horror that the ring was trying to "Stasis" the spiritual pressure of the crowd to protect him. He forced his jaw shut, his teeth grinding together so hard he thought they might shatter.
"Keep your head up," Sylvia whispered, her lips barely moving as she stared straight ahead at the crowd. "They're waiting for you to flinch. They want to see the 'Unbent' break before the first bell even rings. Don't give them the satisfaction."
Zylas tightened his fist. He wasn't going to flinch. He looked out into the crowd, and for a split second, he found Grant's face in the faculty stands. The man wasn't smiling; he was watching with a look of intense, clinical focus.
The Dean continued his speech, talking about the "Goddess's Grace" and the "Duty of the Apostles," but Zylas didn't hear a word of it. He was too busy fighting his own arm. He could feel the Impact Stasis building up—a coiled spring of raw force that had nowhere to go. If he didn't release it soon, the "unpacking" would happen right there on the stage.
Suddenly, the Dean turned his head toward the Representatives. "And as is tradition, we shall conclude the ceremony with the 'Pledge of Power'. Representative Zylas, if you would step forward to the Altar of Truth."
The crowd went silent. Sylvia's eyes widened slightly, her composure slipping for a fraction of a second. The Altar of Truth was a relic that measured a student's aura. If Zylas touched it and nothing happened, he wouldn't just be embarrassed—he'd be branded a fraud in front of the entire world.
Zylas looked at the stone altar, then at his silvering knuckles. He didn't have an aura. But he had something else.
He took a step forward, his boots clicking on the stone stage. He could feel Kai's smug grin behind him and Sylvia's tense silence. He reached the altar and hesitated.
*I'm not a hero,* he thought, his hand hovering over the stone. *But I'm not a lie, either.*
He pressed his right hand onto the cold surface of the Altar.
The ring didn't just activate; it screamed.