The candidates filed into the academy's outer field, boots crunching on gravel. At the center stood a figure brushing dark hair from his face with impatient fingers.
He looked only a few years older than them, twenty at most, but carried himself with an ease that separated him from the nervous energy of the crowd. Greenish eyes scanned the group with casual assessment. His clothing bore no house emblem, no family crest, just simple dark fabric that somehow held more dignity than all the silk and silver thread around him.
"Alright, gather round," he called, voice carrying easily. "Name's Nico. I'm standing in for one of the professors today. She's a bit busy at the moment." He grinned.
A few nervous laughs.
He gestured toward a rack of war hammers laid out beside him, square-headed and brutal. "Pick one. Whichever suits your fancy."
Leon's voice cut through the murmurs. "And what exactly are we supposed to do with it?"
"Hit me with it," Nico said sarcastically.
The candidates blinked. Then laughter rippled through the crowd, uncertain but genuine.
Nico waited for it to die down, still smiling. "No, seriously. I'll put up a barrier, don't worry. "
Nico gestured with one hand. Light bloomed in the air before him, crystallizing into an orb-like structure. Hexagonal panels interlocked across its surface, shimmering like honeycomb made of glass. "The harder the fracture, the higher the score. You need seventy to pass. Break it completely, and you earn full marks."
He flipped open a book with one hand. "Oh, and don't worry too much. This is as hard as it seems. Is what i would say if i was lying"
"Now then," Nico said lightly. "Who wants to go first?"
Leon stepped forward without hesitation. Ice shimmered along his arms as he lifted his hammer. "This should be simple enough."
Nico just waited, book open in one hand.
Leon swung. The hammer struck with a sharp crack, frost spreading across the barrier's surface. The hexagons fractured in a starburst pattern.
"Seventy-four," Nico called out. The number appeared on the board in glowing script behind him.
Leon stared at the number. His jaw worked. "I'd like to try again."
"Not allowed," Nico said bluntly, not looking up from his book.
The words hung in the air. A few candidates glanced away, embarrassed for him. Leon's face flushed, but he stepped back, silent.
One by one, candidates approached. A girl with wind Veil scored sixty-eight and left in tears. A stocky boy with earth armor managed seventy-one and exhaled in relief.
Then came a lanky noble with rings on every finger. He swung hard, Veil flaring gold around the hammer. The impact barely left a mark.
"Forty-two," Nico said, his tone unchanged.
The boy stumbled back, face pale. "No. No, that's not possible. I'm the heir of House Elloran, you can't do this to me!"
"Your house isn't even all that, why are you calling it out like royalty?" Nico replied, already gesturing to the next candidate. "Next."
The Elloran heir stood frozen, then turned and walked away, shoulders shaking.
More candidates followed. The failures mounted. The threshold was brutal.
Then Darius stepped up.
He didn't announce himself. Didn't need to. Flames coiled around his shoulders as he hefted the largest hammer on the rack. His Veil surged, heat distorting the air.
He swung with everything he had.
The hammer glowed red-hot on impact, flames erupting outward. The barrier splintered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across a third of its surface. Heat washed over the crowd.
"Eighty-two," Nico called, genuinely impressed. "Now that's more like it."
Darius grinned, letting the flames die down. He glanced back at the crowd, eyes finding Corren for just a moment, then walked off.
Lyra went next.
She picked a medium hammer, testing its weight once before stepping forward. Her Veil coiled tight around her wrists, liquid metal gleaming in the sunlight.
She swung.
The first impact cracked the barrier cleanly. But then her Veil lashed forward a split second later, metal whips striking the same point with brutal precision. The afterforce hit like a second hammer blow. The top of the hammer warped slightly, metal reshaped by her Veil.
Nico's eyebrows shot up. He looked down at the barrier, then at Lyra.
She smirked.
"Eighty-seven," he said, shaking his head with a faint grin. "Clever. Very clever."
Lyra stepped back without a word, coiling her Veil tight again.
More candidates went. Most failed. A few scraped by. The air grew tense with each attempt.
Then someone stepped forward and stood beside Corren in line.
He glanced over. A girl, maybe his age. White hair pulled back, plain clothes, no family crest. Her face was blank, less expressive than even Lyra. She didn't look at him. Didn't look at anyone.
Something about her felt wrong. Off.
Corren forgot the whispers still circling him. Forgot he was being mocked. He just watched as she moved forward when her name was called.
"Cinder," Nico read from his list.
She picked up a hammer without hesitation. No testing the weight. No preparation.
Then she jumped.
For a split second, mid-air, her ears thinned. Just slightly. Just at the tips.
Corren blinked. Had he imagined it?
She brought the hammer down with force that didn't match her frame. The barrier didn't just crack. It nearly shattered, hexagons collapsing inward like crushed glass. The sound echoed across the field like a thunderclap.
Nico stared.
"Ninety-eight," he said quietly.
She landed, set the hammer down, and walked away without looking at anyone. No smile. No acknowledgment.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
"Who is she?"
"Did you see that jump?"
"I've never heard that name before."
Corren's gaze followed her, but she'd already disappeared into the crowd. His mind replayed that moment in the air. The ears. Had they really changed? Or her veil playing tricks on him?
Then Leon's voice cut through the noise, loud and mocking.
"Well, this should be entertaining. Let's see if a Fragile Veil can even touch a real barrier. I'd bet my family name it shatters before the hammer does."
Laughter erupted. Nobles snickered. Even some commoners chuckled nervously, grateful the mockery wasn't aimed at them.
Darius didn't laugh this time. He just watched, arms crossed.
"Corren Ashveil," Nico called, glancing at his list.
The laughter grew louder.
Corren walked forward. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. Whispers followed him like shadows.
"Fragile."
"Why's he even here?"
"This is just sad."
He reached the rack and picked the smallest hammer. The kind no one else had touched. It felt right in his hands. Years of swinging hammers in the factory had carved quiet strength into his arms, density into every motion.
Nico glanced up briefly, then back down at his book. Clearly expecting another failure.
Corren exhaled once.
And swung.
The sound wasn't a crack. It was a detonation.
The barrier convulsed, light spiderwebbing violently across every hexagon at once. The orb structure buckled inward, collapsing on itself. Nico's knees buckled. He dropped to one knee, slamming his hand to the ground. His book fell from his grip, pages scattering.
For a second, no one breathed.
Then the barrier exploded into dust.
Silence.
Then chaos.
"What..."
"How did..."
"That's impossible!"
"It's the Fragile one!"
Nico stayed on one knee, staring at Corren with wide, uncomprehending eyes. His mouth opened. Closed. No words came.
Behind him, the glowing board flickered uncertainly.
Then displayed a single number: 100.
Corren stood frozen, hammer still raised. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to look.
Lyra's hand found his elbow. "Come on," she said quietly, pulling him back into the crowd.
He followed numbly, legs moving on instinct.
Nico finally stood, picking up his scattered book with shaking hands. He looked at the space where the barrier had been, then at Corren disappearing into the crowd.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, voice still unsteady. "That happened."
The candidates were ushered toward the main building after the trials concluded. Voices buzzed with shock and speculation. They were told they had three days to train, to master their Veils before the final trial: surviving a Rift.
Corren stayed at the back of the group, trying to make himself small again. Trying to disappear.
Then someone bumped into him.
"Oh, sorry about that," Nico said, steadying himself. He'd been walking the opposite direction, arms full of equipment.
"No, I'm sorry," Corren blurted. "For, uh, creating such an embarrassing situation back there. I didn't mean to make you..."
"Embarrassing?" Nico interrupted, then laughed. Actually laughed. "Kid, that was the most impressive thing I've seen all month. I'm just trying to figure out how you did that without your Veil."
Corren froze. "You could tell?"
"Your Veil's barely there. I couldn't sense it at all during the strike." Nico shifted his equipment, genuinely curious. "So how'd you get that strong? Physically, I mean. That wasn't beginner's luck."
Corren hesitated, looking down. "I, uh... I used to work in the industrial complex. Extracting cores, mostly. I'm just... good at using a hammer."
Nico studied him for a long moment. Skepticism flickered across his face, like he didn't quite believe it was that simple. But then he smiled, something warmer than before.
"Nothing to be embarrassed about," he said. "I grew up in the slums of Duskharrow. Spent half my childhood scavenging Veil cores from garbage heaps just to eat." He shrugged. "I just happened to get picked up by one of the professors for being a bit talented. Luck and timing."
Corren looked up, surprised.
"Point is," Nico continued, "you're here because you earned it. However you got here." He shifted his load again. "Don't let the nobles convince you otherwise. Most of them inherited their Veils and their confidence. You had to build yours."
He nodded once, then kept walking, disappearing down the corridor.
Corren stood alone, hand still aching from the strike.