The gates opened at dawn.
Not with fanfare. Not with fire. Just the sound of old stone grinding against itself and a slow pulse of light that spread across the plaza like breath held and released. The city stirred. The slums turned toward the sound. And the divine air rolled outward like mist escaping from a sealed chamber.
Kaien arrived with the second wave.
The path to the Selection Grounds had been cleared during the night. Old stalls were dismantled, broken wagons pushed aside. Even the beggars were gone. No one had seen the city that clean in years. People said the gods' servants had come in the dark with silver-branded masks and removed everything that didn't belong.
No one argued. Not when it came to the Selection.
The plaza itself was enormous. A perfect circle of pale stone and dust, carved with concentric rings of gold, silver, and obsidian. Towering archways marked the four ends of the field, each one aligned with the cardinal directions. Each one marked with a different symbol one from every academy.
Kaien stood near the edge, among the nameless. The outer layer of candidates. The unaligned. Those without crests or titles. They were dozens deep, pressed shoulder to shoulder, quiet and waiting. The crowd buzzed with low conversation and restless energy, but no one crossed the first ring. Not yet.
The field itself remained untouched.
It pulsed with light under the stone. Slow and rhythmic. A heartbeat waiting to be answered.
Kaien sat on a low stone bench built into the edge of the plaza. From here, he could see everything.
The Inner Circle was already filling with figures. Not students, but watchers. Representatives from the Four Academies. They stood in small groups, cloaked in color-coded robes and divine emblems. Each group radiated a different kind of weight.
Astraeus stood in polished armor, gold-lined, eyes fixed forward like sentinels. Their discipline was obvious. Their movements clean and synchronized. Even from a distance, Kaien could tell they saw everyone outside the circle as lesser.
Nyros Sanctum sent fewer envoys. Their robes shimmered faintly, shifting with light and thought. One figure wore a mirrored mask. Another carried a book bound in living bark that moved on its own.
Varkaan Forge arrived with noise. Their delegates bore scorched plates, steel gauntlets, and flame-marked cloaks. One of them dragged a weapon across the ground just to hear the stone scream.
Then Hollowspire came.
They did not walk in from one of the gates. They were simply there.
Figures in dull gray stood at the edge of the field, silent, faceless. No symbols. No crest. Their robes moved like smoke, and where they stepped, the light dimmed.
Kaien stared at them longer than the others.
Something about them made the pressure in his chest return. Not fear. Not awe. Just a weight that made his thoughts slower.
A sound snapped him out of it.
Laughter. Loud, sharp, confident.
Kaien looked toward the eastern section of the field. A new group had arrived. Tall, armored, followed by a pair of envoys in silver cloaks. They moved like they owned the ground they walked on. One of them a girl with white-gold hair and a silver emblem etched into her forehead stepped into the first ring as if no one else existed.
People parted around her without speaking.
Kaien watched her as she passed, not out of curiosity, but because her presence made the air itself bend slightly. Like a stone dropped in a calm pool. Controlled. Absolute.
She was not a god. But she had been made to inherit one.
He recognized her from Rin's rumors. Celia Virelai. A direct heir of the Sunblood Line. Astraeus' golden daughter.
She glanced his way once. Brief. Not curious. Just a sweep of her gaze.
Then she moved on.
Kaien looked down at his hands. Dust on the knuckles. Dry lines across the fingers. Nothing divine.
Not yet.
The crowd stirred again. Dozens of smaller groups passed, each bearing lesser sigils, local clan marks, or hand-carved totems. They gathered in loose circles, some chanting, others meditating. Others did nothing but sit and wait with eyes closed.
A horn sounded.
Soft. Not loud. But it carried through every corner of the plaza like a voice behind the sky.
A scribe in black stepped forward from the center dais.
He raised a scroll.
"All candidates of age and submission," he called, voice echoing through unseen channels. "Step forward. The selection begins now."
Kaien stood slowly.
The first ring began to move.
He joined the flow of bodies with calm steps, eyes ahead, pressure behind his ribs pulsing faintly in time with the stones beneath his feet.
He did not know what he would face.
He only knew something inside him had already stepped forward.