Jake, still reeling from the surreal turn of events, found himself walking in stunned silence beside Valeria, the reigning titan of Nightfall Academy. Her very presence seemed to part the sea of students, creating an almost tangible ripple in the bustling corridors. Their awestruck whispers, a mixture of reverence and fear, were a stark contrast to the disdain and snickers he usually attracted. The air around her shimmered, a tangible expression of her overwhelming power. Jake, with his newly awakened Dark Knight senses, could feel it in every fiber of his being – a power so immense and refined it dwarfed even the Headmaster's, pulsating with the raw, untamed force of a XXX++ grade. It was a level of ability few even dared to speak of, bordering on the mythical, a concept whispered in hushed, fearful tones.
"So, Jake Aris," Valeria began, her voice a low, melodic hum that resonated subtly through the grand hall, a sound that compelled attention without being overtly loud. "What's an F-grade like you doing causing such a stir on your first day? And don't bother with the innocent act. Kael's a pest, but he doesn't target random freshmen. There's something about you. I can feel it, a resonance beneath the surface." Her emerald eyes, sharp and intelligent, seemed to bore right through his carefully constructed F-grade shield, as if peeling back layers of his very being.
Jake's internal alarm bells screamed a frantic warning. Her perception was terrifyingly accurate. He forced himself to maintain his bland F-grade facade, a mask of naive confusion. "I… I don't know, Valeria. I just got here. Maybe he just enjoys picking on people. I'm just… an F-grade." The lie tasted like ash.
Valeria studied him for a long moment, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow, her gaze unwavering. "Perhaps," she conceded, a hint of skepticism in her tone, a slight tilt of her head. "But then again, most F-grades don't get special escorts from the Headmaster's personal staff, nor do they land rooms in the upper-class dorms. And they certainly don't get admitted to Nightfall at all." She glanced at him again, a knowing glint in her eyes, a silent challenge. "There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there, Jake Aris? A hidden power, perhaps? Something unusual, something that hums with a different resonance than the rest of us?"
Jake's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum against the cage of his chest. The Dark Knight within him flared in response to her probing, a surge of raw, dangerous energy, like a cold current, that he desperately suppressed, pushing it back into the abyssal depths. He shook his head slowly, attempting to project utter innocence. "I'm just an F-grade, Valeria. I honestly don't know why I'm here. Maybe it's just some... experiment, like they said, to see how the lowest rank integrates."
Valeria held his gaze for another beat, then a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped her lips, a dismissive sound. "An experiment, hmm? That's what they're calling it these days." She paused, then changed the subject abruptly, her tone shifting to a more casual, yet still authoritative, note. "Class starts in less than ten minutes. We should hurry. Don't want to be late for your first lesson, especially if it's with Professor Thorne. He doesn't tolerate tardiness, or… weakness." The word hung in the air, a subtle warning.
The conversation flowed as they navigated the increasingly crowded corridors, a stark departure from the quiet professionalism of his earlier escort. Valeria spoke of the academy with a casual familiarity that only years of immersion at its highest echelons could bring, painting a vivid picture of its intricate workings and power plays. She touched upon the nuances of the Enclave rivalries – how the aggressive, direct force of the Northern Enclave (Kael and Aryan's domain, focused on elemental manipulation, raw strength, and overt displays of power) often clashed with the cerebral, subtle powers of the Southern Enclave (like her own, which Jake now recognized as a terrifyingly refined form of energy absorption and redirection, capable of draining an opponent or weaponizing their own strength against them).
She mentioned other prominent students by name, sketching the contours of the school's true hierarchy beyond mere grades: Lysandra (SSS-grade), a cold, almost ethereal prodigy of pure light manipulation from the Southern Enclave, rumored to be able to blind foes with her will and create constructs of solidified light; Roric (S-grade), a stoic Northern powerhouse whose earth manipulation could crumble mountains and whose body seemed forged from solid granite; and Seraphina (S-grade), a Southern illusionist whose constructs could deceive even the most astute minds, capable of weaving entire false realities. She spoke of them not as friends, but as powerful peers in a constant, unspoken competition for dominance within the academy's elite circles, vying for the Headmaster's favor and future positions of power. Jake absorbed it all, filing away names and grades, the complex chess pieces on a board he was just beginning to understand, a board where he was clearly a pawn, albeit one with a hidden, explosive potential.
Finally, they reached the sprawling Administration Hub, a buzzing hive of activity where holographic timetables shimmered above chaotic queues of students. The air crackled with excited chatter, nervous energy, and the faint hum of countless low-level abilities. Valeria, with effortless grace, deftly navigated the throng, her commanding presence creating an almost invisible path through the packed crowd. Within moments, she had pushed a few buttons on a glowing console, and a data-slate slid out, displaying Jake's schedule. He quickly scanned it, his eyes widening slightly at the first entry.
"Thanks, Valeria," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the glowing text that seemed to burn a hole through his vision.
"No problem, F-grade," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, already turning to leave, her attention already on her next task. "Just remember this favor. Now, hurry. First class is in the Main Combat Arena. And Thorne's a stickler for punctuality, and absolutely no tolerance for… weakness." Her words, once a simple warning, now held a deeper, almost prophetic weight.
Jake made his way to the Main Combat Arena, a vast, circular chamber that hummed with a contained energy field, its polished floor marked with glowing, intricate grids that pulsed with a faint blue light. The air here was even thicker with power than in the halls, a palpable tension that vibrated through the floor itself, a silent roar of concentrated abilities. He stepped inside, his eyes widening in a mixture of dread and grim recognition.
There were only ten students present.
And they were all, without exception, the strongest he had observed or heard about so far within Nightfall's hallowed grounds. This wasn't merely a class; it was a gathering of prodigies, a league of nascent gods, each radiating an aura that spoke of immense, untapped potential.
Kael, the S-grade fire-user and his recent tormentor, stood near the center, his earlier bravado somewhat restored, an arrogant smirk back on his face as he conversed with Roric, his eyes still holding a spark of angry resentment from their earlier encounter. Lysandra (SSS-grade), the chillingly powerful light manipulator from the Southern Enclave, radiated an almost ethereal calm, her features serene but her aura immense, rippling with controlled celestial light that seemed to draw all attention. Roric (S-grade), a stoic Northern powerhouse whose earth manipulation could crumble mountains and whose body seemed forged from solid granite, stood like a silent pillar of stone, his presence unyielding. Seraphina (S-grade), a Southern illusionist whose constructs could deceive even the most astute minds and whose aura flickered subtly at the edges of Jake's vision, creating unsettling, almost hallucinatory visual distortions.
There was also Zylos (S-grade), a lightning-wielder from the North whose short, spiky hair and exposed skin faintly crackled with static electricity, hinting at the raw power coursing through him; Anya (A-grade, but almost S), a graceful air elementalist from the Southern Enclave who moved with the fluidity of wind, her light steps barely disturbing the floor; Darian (S-grade), a telekinetic master whose slightest gesture could bend steel or lift immense weights, his focus almost unnerving; Elara (A-grade), a high-grade healer whose touch could accelerate cellular regeneration to impossible speeds, her gentle aura a stark contrast to the others; and Torvin (S-grade), a grim-faced student whose very presence seemed to drain the ambient energy from the room, leaving a subtle chill in his wake, a void where power should be. And then, of course, Valeria (XXX++-grade), who had already taken a seat on the gleaming, elevated benches that ringed the arena floor, a casual queen among her powerful subjects, her eyes observing everything.
Jake felt a cold, crushing dread settle deep in his stomach, quickly followed by a stark, terrifying realization. This wasn't accidental. This wasn't a mistake in administration. The Headmaster's words echoed in his mind, clear as a bell, now laced with an almost cruel irony: "Your true nature... is exceptionally dangerous... a secret you will protect... You are a ghost, moving unseen, learning, observing." This class, filled with the most powerful and perceptive students in Nightfall, every single one of them a potential threat or a discerning eye, was not a place to be a ghost. This was a deliberate placement, a crucible, a pressure cooker designed to force his hand, to expose the "variance signature." It was a test. A terrifying, brutal test disguised as a lesson.
A tall, gaunt man with an unnervingly sharp gaze and a perfectly tailored, dark uniform entered the arena, his footsteps echoing with an almost supernatural precision in the sudden silence. Professor Thorne. His aura was a tightly controlled, almost invisible force, deceptively calm, like a coiled viper ready to strike. But Jake's Dark Knight senses screamed danger – Thorne was a master of precision energy manipulation, known for his ruthless evaluations and brutal efficiency in breaking down a student's weaknesses.
"Silence, students," Thorne's voice, devoid of any warmth, cut through the low murmurs, sharp as a blade. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the elite class, a flicker of grudging approval in them, until they landed on Jake, standing awkwardly near the entrance, looking utterly out of place. His brow furrowed instantly, a clear look of disdain twisting his thin lips into a grimace. "And who, pray tell, might you be? This is the Advanced Combat and Power Control seminar. Entry is by strict invitation only, based on grade and demonstrated aptitude. There must be some mistake." His gaze, sharp and dismissive, lingered pointedly on the small 'F' embroidered on Jake's uniform, a blatant challenge, an accusation. "Perhaps you are in the wrong chamber, boy? This is not a remedial course."
Jake felt the familiar, burning wave of injustice wash over him, igniting a flicker of that suppressed rage. "I'm Jake Aris, sir," he stated, his voice as steady as he could make it, despite the tremor of suppressed power within him. He held up his data-slate, displaying the timetable with trembling fingers, the holographic text glowing clearly. "This is my schedule. Class number ARC-701, Main Arena. Assigned to me personally by the Headmaster."
Professor Thorne took the data-slate, his fingers brushing Jake's with an almost imperceptible, disgusted recoiled flinch. He scanned the screen, his expression shifting from disdain to a mixture of profound bewilderment, faint anger, and a flicker of something almost like grudging, confused acknowledgment. He handed it back with a brusque, almost violent motion, as if the device itself were contaminated. "Very well, Aris. A... unique placement indeed. Most irregular. Find a seat." His tone clearly indicated his deep disapproval, as if Jake's mere presence was an affront, a blight on his pristine, elite class, and a challenge to his authority.
The only empty seat was, inevitably, beside Valeria, who simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Jake's arrival, a hint of knowing amusement in her emerald eyes. As Jake slid into the seat, he felt the combined gazes of the other nine prodigies on him, a palpable wave of skepticism, thinly veiled contempt, and cold, analytical curiosity. He was the anomaly, the F-grade among gods, a transparent charade to all but the Headmaster and, perhaps, Valeria.
"Welcome, then, to ARC-701," Professor Thorne announced, his voice regaining its usual detached authority, though a subtle, dangerous edge remained, a promise of the challenges to come. "Today, we begin with a foundational exercise: one-on-one combat simulation. You will pair off, and you will engage your partner using only your innate abilities, focusing on control, precision, and efficiency. Remember, the goal is not destruction, but absolute domination of your opponent's power. Non-lethal force is permitted, but I expect you to push yourselves to the brink, to draw out every ounce of your inherent strength."
Thorne's eyes swept over the class again, a predatory glint in them, pausing on Jake for a fraction of a second, a silent challenge in his gaze, before returning to the holographic projector. "Pairs will be assigned randomly by the system. Let's see who is truly ready for the challenges of Nightfall, and who is merely occupying space."
A low hum filled the arena as a massive holographic projector materialized in the center of the chamber, its light intensifying with anticipation slowly growing.