The sun had only just begun to rise, its early light casting long shadows between the silver spires of Aetherion Academy. Dew clung to the floating walkways and glimmered like shards of crystal. In the lower courtyard, still cloaked in the hush of morning, Artha sat alone on a stone bench, a folded slip of paper in his hand.
"Trial Group 7 – South Arena – 6:00 AM."
His eyes lingered on the words, heart tight with uncertainty. Around him, the grandeur of Aetherion was all too real now—levitating towers, floating glyph-scripts, the ever-present hum of mantra-cores beneath the ground. He'd passed the entrance phase, but only barely. Or rather, by something he didn't yet understand.
His fists clenched slightly. He still couldn't summon magic like the others. No glowing sigils. No floating runes or elemental bursts.
But something—Kala-Vritti, that strange inner presence—moved when he was pushed. Like instinct sharpened by something older than memory.
"I have to control it. Not just react. Today, I prove I belong here."
He stood and began walking toward the trial halls.
The dorm corridor was quiet, echoing with soft footsteps and the distant hum of magical resonance. He turned a corner—and collided with a wall of muscle.
Or at least, it felt like one.
The figure towered over him, shirtless and wild-haired, with old scars crisscrossing his arms. A massive satchel of gear was slung over one shoulder, and an easy grin broke across his broad face.
"Yo! You're the quiet runt from yesterday, right?" he boomed. "That wild test thing. Time-glitch boy?"
Artha blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
The older student laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Heh. Lucky us. I'm in Group 7 too. Name's Koroan. I punch things. A lot. You mess up today, I'll drag you back in one piece. Deal?"
Before Artha could respond, Koroan smacked his back so hard he staggered a step forward, coughing.
"Good talk," Koroan grinned.
The South Arena loomed ahead—less a building, more a hovering platform wrapped in golden enchantments. Group 7 had begun to assemble: a mix of first-years and transfer students. Some chatted. Others stood apart, tense and silent.
She arrived like a drawn blade.
Tall, composed, her hair tied in a single long braid, and at her side floated a strange sheath—no belt or hand touched it, yet the weapon hovered, pulsing faintly with energy.
Liraya.
Her gaze swept the group once, analytical and cool.
"We're not here to play," she said flatly. "If you're weak, stay out of the way."
Koroan let out a low whistle. "Ooooh, I like you already, sword lady."
She ignored him.
Artha, meanwhile, noticed someone else—a quiet presence leaning against the arena wall. A hooded figure, arms crossed, head down. In his hands, a slim sketchbook. He was drawing the arena floor with delicate precision.
Sayen.
He hadn't spoken a word. But something about the way he moved—the way he watched—was unsettling. Or maybe comforting. Artha couldn't tell.
A burst of light snapped their attention forward as an instructor appeared on a raised platform. Cloaked in grey-blue robes, his face was hard to read, but his voice carried power.
"Welcome to your First Bonded Trial," he announced. "You will be tested not as individuals, but as a team. The Mirage Grounds lie ahead—a realm of illusion, misdirection, and sentient traps. You succeed only by moving as one."
A golden rune ignited in the air, forming a shimmering doorway of swirling light.
"Enter. And prove your bond."
Group 7 exchanged wary glances before stepping through.
The Mirage Grounds
Mist swallowed them immediately. The air grew dense, heavy. Artha felt it wrap around his limbs like invisible water. Their footsteps echoed differently—slower, drawn out, like time itself stuttered here.
Then the illusions began.
Phantom enemies emerged from the fog—shifting shapes mimicking beasts, warriors, and shadowy threats. They struck without warning.
Koroan barreled through the illusions with wild laughter, his fists glowing with golden mantra-light. His Vajra Hide shimmered with every hit, turning his body into stone-hard defense and offense.
"Come on, fog freaks! I wrestle demon boars tougher than you!"
Liraya was grace and death incarnate. Her Chakra Threadblade floated around her in elegant arcs, reacting to her thoughts. She moved through the mirages like wind through reeds, slicing with ruthless efficiency.
Sayen never spoke, but beams of refracted light burst from his palms in precise pulses—silent takedowns that dissolved the phantom threats instantly. His sketchbook remained clutched in one hand even as he fought.
Artha?
He stumbled.
Dodged just in time.
Hesitated again.
He moved not with skill, but by something else—moments where time seemed to hesitate around him, giving him just enough room to act. He wasn't fighting. He was surviving.
Liraya watched him from the corner of her eye.
"That wasn't luck," she thought. "He didn't flinch. He bent."
Then—the illusion shifted.
Not part of the test.
A jagged crack opened in the arena wall. Two figures stepped through, grinning like jackals.
Karnis, flame conjurer.Devorr, gravity manipulator.
They weren't supposed to be here.
"Oh no," Karnis drawled. "Did we walk into the wrong trial group? Oops."
Devorr smirked. "Guess we should help thin out the weak links."
Their gazes landed squarely on Artha.
Karnis sneered. "Magicless freak. Let's see how long you last without glitching."
They hurled unstable spells—blazing fire and warped gravitational bursts—directly at Artha's half of the field.
Liraya moved to intercept. Sayen shifted, his eyes narrowing.
But Artha didn't move.
He stood still, trembling.
And then...
The world bent.
Time folded.
The fireball slowed to a crawl mid-air, its heat suspended. The echo of Devorr's power fractured. Even Liraya's blade hesitated.
"Stop…" Artha whispered, his eyes glowing faint gold.
A ripple pulsed from him—silent, but absolute.
The fireball collapsed mid-flight, diverted by an unseen force. Devorr's second spell cracked harmlessly into the ground.
The moment passed. Time snapped back.
Koroan whistled low. "You just warped time, kid."
Liraya's gaze sharpened. "He's not just lucky. He's… something ancient."
Sayen sketched faster now—his page showing Artha mid-motion, surrounded by warped light. He said nothing, but smiled faintly.
The test ended moments later.
The instructor reappeared, robes swirling, clearly furious at the interruption—but intrigued nonetheless.
His gaze lingered on Artha as he thought, "Even he… has a spark. And the others already drift toward him. This thread is unraveling faster than expected."
Outside the Trial Room
Group 7 sat along the outer steps, catching their breath in the cool morning air.
Koroan stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles.
"You ever think about punching that fire guy in the face?" he asked Artha casually. "No? Cool. I'll do it for you next time."
Liraya stood a few feet away, cleaning her blade without touching it.
"You lack control," she said evenly. "But… you moved like a ghost."
Sayen handed Artha a small piece of parchment. A sketch of the four of them, together in motion.
Artha stared at it for a long time.
In the drawing, they all looked strong. Together.
But he was the only one not smiling.
Koroan grinned. "Guess we're stuck with you now, runt."
For the first time since arriving at Aetherion, Artha smiled.
"I'm not walking alone anymore."