Deep within Sector One, at the very heart of the academy's inner domain, a metropolis sprawled outward like veins of living stone.
Sky-piercing towers, silver bridges, and crystalline walls encircled the crown jewel of the sector a grand coliseum vast enough to hold millions.
Every seat brimmed with noise, with faces both young and old.
Second-years and third-years clustered in the galleries, voices clashing in waves of excitement.
High above them, booths encased in tilted glass gleamed under the sunlight, each marked with sigils of great families, their occupants watching with a calm air of privilege.
At the center of the coliseum, an arena of steel and stone lay empty but towering screens floated above, each one flickering with scenes from the test realm Klaus and the other first-years had been swallowed into.
This was the tradition.
Every year, the test was hidden within the academy's sealed dimension, and every year, the rest of the academy came to witness.
Not just to cheer, but to measure, to remember, and to judge.
The announcer's voice echoed through the coliseum:
"Behold! The Summit of Youths! The trial that will crown the Leader of the First Years!"
Excitement rippled.
But not all who watched were mere students.
At the highest ring of seats, marked by obsidian gates and veiled with shimmering barriers, sat the masters of the great academies of discipline:
The Aetherium Collegium, where Arcane scholars bent raw mana into higher forms.
The Sanctum of Sorcery, home to ritualists and spellbinders.
The Arcane Confluence, which united bloodlines and forbidden magic under one roof.
The Ossuary Institute, a cold domain where sound and resonance shaped death.
The Blazing Hearth Academy, radiant with warriors who turned flame into will.
Each booth brimmed with figures of power, silent and focused, their presences enough to stir the blood of even the boldest youths below.
Among them, within a booth trimmed with Ignar family sigils, Lady Sera leaned forward.
Her fingers swept across the tilted glass, shifting the screens rapidly. "Varion, I can't find them—" Her tone was anxious, her eyes scanning through images of rivers, forests, and ruined citadels within the test realm.
"Calm down, honey. It just started," Varion replied, voice calm, hands folded behind his back.
Then—
"Oh! Found them!" Sera exclaimed.
Her voice overlapped with a roar from the coliseum below as one of the great floating screens zoomed onto a particular figure—Klaus, striding across the test realm with Sofie at his side, unbothered by the chaos erupting around them.
The crowd erupted.
"That's him!" a student shouted, voice cracking with excitement.
"That's Klaus Aetherion—the one at the Ascendent Rising Tournament!"
The chant spread like wildfire.
"Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!"
His name thundered through the coliseum until the very walls seemed to vibrate with it.
Directly above the coliseum, however, beyond the cheering youths and noble families, hovered a massive circular construct, suspended in the sky.
The air warped around it, rippling with an aura so powerful it made even the academy's walls hum faintly.
Inside this construct was a hall of power.
A vast round chamber, its walls lined with luminous runes that pulsed faintly as though struggling to contain the might gathered within.
Here sat the Paragons.
Beings who radiated such unfathomable strength that the hall itself strained under their collective presence.
They did not flaunt their aura, yet the very air cracked and distorted, energy humming violently.
Every seat was set at the same elevation—signaling their equal rank, even if their domains differed.
Suddenly, light shimmered at the center of the hall.
A ripple in space and then Anastasia Vortan appeared, serene yet commanding.
The gathering stirred.
"Haha! Anastasia!" boomed a voice like molten metal. A tall man with radiant orange hair leaned back in his seat, his skin glowing faintly as though fire danced beneath it.
Embedded in his forehead, a radiant gem pulsed with heat. His laughter filled the hall.
"This year's test is going to be interesting!"
This was Luminous, the Paragon of the Blazing Hearth Academy.
Before his voice could echo a second time, another man sneered.
"Would you fucking shut up?"
The voice was quieter, colder. A man with oversized ears leaned forward, his face partly shadowed by massive black headsets that glimmered with runes.
Unlike Luminous, there was no warmth to his presence only a suffocating stillness, like standing before a grave.
This was Octavius, Paragon of the Ossuary Institute.
Murmurs followed. The Paragons rarely agreed, but when they gathered here, it was only for one thing: to judge the next generation of warriors.
All eyes turned to the floating screens above the coliseum, where millions of youths had been unleashed into the battlefield realm.
And in silence, the Paragons began to watch.
---
Just the emission of Octavius and Luminous's auras made the entire hall groan.
The golden runes etched into the chamber walls flickered wildly, the air itself tearing with faint cracks as if reality was struggling to hold them both at once.
The massive circular construct, said to be unshakable even by the combined might of monarchs, trembled.
Every Paragon turned their head. For a heartbeat, it seemed the hall itself would collapse.
Both men glared across the round table, eyes alight with sparks of flame and shadows of silence.
And just as it seemed like they were about to erupt—"You boys should calm down a bit."
The voice was soft. Gentle. Yet it wrapped around the room like silk, weaving stillness into even the most violent hearts.
Everyone turned to the source.
A woman sat with quiet elegance, her purple hair flowing like a river of dusk.
Not a wrinkle marred her face despite her century of life; every detail of her beauty seemed handcrafted by the divine.
Her presence was not loud, not crushing, but serene like gazing into a pool that reflected truths you dared not see.
Seraphina, the Paragon of The Sybil's School of Divination.
The weight of her words smoothed the cracking atmosphere like balm on fire.
"She's right," another voice growled, this one like rolling boulders.
A giant shifted in his seat, his body so broad and muscled that the very chair creaked in protest.
Beast hide clung to his massive frame, while his bare skin was nothing but living ink—tattoos sprawling across him in savage, holy patterns.
His bald head gleamed under the glow, and his sheer size was enough to dwarf even titans.
Ragnar, the Paragon of Master School of Battle.
"You old coots should stop acting like children," he rumbled. "It's starting already."
"Tch."
Both Octavius and Luminous clicked their tongues simultaneously, tearing their eyes away from each other.
The others ignored them. It was nothing new.
Those two clashed whenever they shared a roof. Luminous burned too brightly; Octavius despised noise. They were fire and silence—oil and water.
But here, they were not alone.
To Ragnar's right sat a man whose very existence bent perception.
His hair constantly shifted hues scarlet to silver, black to blue, never staying still for more than a breath.
His eyes were iridescent, refracting like shattered glass, as though even the sight of him could not be trusted.
Looking at him too long felt like staring into a lie you almost believed.
Zephyrion, Paragon of Houdini's School of Illusion.
Beside him was a figure more grounded yet no less intense.
A man with fiery red hair that cascaded untamed across his forehead, casting half his face in shadow.
His sapphire eyes gleamed with sharp brilliance, every flicker of his gaze cutting with mountain-born resolve.
His very posture was that of a man carved from rock and flame.
He was Kaelen, Paragon of the Mountain's Crown School.
Across the circle, another presence sat like a war-forged statue.
His raven-black hair framed his sun-worn face, tanned skin stretched over corded muscles that rippled like steel cables beneath.
Every breath he took was measured, heavy with the weight of discipline. His aura carried command—not loud, not forceful, but unyielding.
He was Veythar, Paragon of the Iron Quill school.
And then—
Beside an empty seat, a throne-like chair carved in obsidian sigils, sat a man none dared ignore.
His presence needed no introduction. His black cloak draped over him like a shadow of dominion, his golden eyes burning faintly under the hall's glow.
The man whose name resonated with absolute power.
Planet Earth's Emperor, Malrik Vortan.
This year's Leaders' Summit was already unlike any other. Never in the history of the academy had so many Paragons gathered under one roof.
Never had the circle been so full. Each had come not out of obligation, but curiosity.
They were eager. Eager to see what seeds the new generation bore. Eager to see which youths would carve their names in history.
And all of them knew it—this year's test was different.
The empty seat shimmered, space folding in silence. Anastasia Vortan appeared, her steps soft as she moved toward the vacant chair beside her husband.
"You're late," Malrik said, his deep voice carrying calm amusement.
"I wanted to make an entrance," Anastasia replied, her lips curving faintly as she sat.
For a brief moment, there was something warm, private, between them.
But it passed, and silence returned to the hall.
None of the Paragons spoke again. They weren't allies, weren't comrades but only equals bound by status.
Each one dangerous.
At last, their collective gaze turned toward the center of the chamber.
A vast array of floating screens flickered to life, each angled toward its respective viewer.
No two Paragons saw the same thing. Each screen responded only to the Paragon's intent, revealing the particular youths or rivals that stirred their interest.
And in that silence, the first images of the test realm came alive.