Elias stepped through the wide archway into the Ceremony Hall—and despite everything, despite having seen it before, his breath caught.
It was just as he remembered. Enormous, cathedral-like in scale. The ceiling stretched so high it vanished into shadow. Stone pillars, carved with spiralling runes, lined the chamber like silent sentinels. Rows upon rows of seats filled the vast interior, hundreds of students streaming in and filling them in waves.
And at the far end, raised atop a half-moon dais, stood the Awakening Altar.
It was made of dark wood, smoothed and polished until it gleamed like onyx. A single small table sat at its center. Upon it, an orb of absolute darkness—a sphere that seemed to drink in the light around it—and a ceremonial dagger placed beside it, gleaming coldly under the high glowlamps.
A chill ran down Elias' spine. Just looking at that orb, he felt the faint tug of memory, of a power buried so deep it almost slipped away. He blinked and forced himself to look away.
A faculty member stepped forward near the entrance, robes marked with the golden crest of the academy.
"Please find the nearest empty seat as you enter the hall!" she called out firmly. "The Ceremony will begin shortly!"
Elias snapped from his thoughts. He hadn't realised he was standing still. He glanced around quickly and, without really thinking, moved toward the exact same seat he had taken five years ago. Third row from the back. Near the center. Slightly left of the aisle.
He sat.
The fabric of the seat felt stiff, just like before. The smell of polished stone and incense clung to the air, exactly as it had then. It was eerie how identical it all was, as if he'd never left.
The chamber continued to fill. Hundreds of students, some whispering excitedly, others trembling in quiet anxiety. Faculty took their positions along the outer rim, observing with impassive expressions.
Then, as the last few trickled in, an older man stepped onto the podium next to the altar.
Elias recognised him instantly—Master Halvorn, one of the oldest faculty members at Arcanum Academy. White beard, long blue robes, and a voice that could fill an entire plaza without a single spell.
He began to speak.
Elias tuned him out almost immediately.
He remembered the speech word for word—how the ceremony represented the turning point of their lives, how they would awaken their destined Class and Rank, how the Orb of Origin would judge them fairly and impartially. It had all sounded so grand back then. Now it felt like stage dressing.
Instead, he let his eyes wander the hall.
Faces swam into view. Some familiar. Some forgotten. Some who'd died too soon. Others who had lived long enough to turn traitor. He didn't linger on any of them.
His thoughts drifted.
He still didn't understand how he was here. Not fully. He remembered dying—remembered the chaos, the blood, the void that came after. And then waking up in his childhood bed.
It didn't make sense.
It didn't have to. If he could change the future, it didn't matter who or what gave him another chance.
"Torren Niles."
The name called out across the chamber pulled Elias from his thoughts.
A boy a few rows ahead stood on shaky legs. He looked pale. Probably hadn't slept. Whispers rippled around him as he stepped slowly toward the altar.
He followed the faculty's instructions—picked up the ceremonial dagger with both hands and made a small cut across his palm. He let a few drops of blood fall onto the black orb.
The effect was immediate.
The orb hissed. The blood was absorbed instantly, vanishing into its surface like ink sinking into water. Torren staggered. He gripped his chest, his back arching unnaturally, face twisted in a silent scream.
Then—suddenly—he jumped to his feet.
"B-Rank!" he shouted. "I got a B-Rank!"
Gasps filled the hall. Whispers spread like wildfire.
B-Rank was very rare. Most people awakened at D or E.
C-Rank was considered a great luck. But B? That meant potential.
Faculty nodded with impressed expressions. Torren stumbled back to his seat, grinning and clutching his bleeding hand.
Elias leaned back in his seat, watching quietly.
He remembered that part too. The way the orb didn't just judge your body—it judged your soul. That's why it hurt. That's why it always left people breathless.
More names were called out.
One by one, students walked to the altar. Some collapsed. Some screamed. Some awakened to D or C-Ranks. One girl wept with joy after getting a C. Another looked crushed when she received an E-Rank.
Elias remained silent—watching the students with a perplexed expression.
He had almost forgotten how naive and clueless the students and perhaps even the faculty used to be.
Classes had differences beyond just their Ranks.
The upcoming war had shown that all too well.
Then, the next name hit him like a hammer.
"Auren Velmar."
His head snapped toward the aisle instinctively.
There he was.
Tall. Blond hair tied neatly back. Confident stride. His academy uniform was freshly pressed, his family crest, a sword over a burning star, pinned neatly to his chest.
Auren.
The golden boy. The prodigy. The one who would lead the charge in the coming war… and the one who betrayed the human race.
Elias' breath caught. His hands clenched the edge of his seat.
It was him—just as he remembered.
But this time, Elias wasn't just a wide-eyed student watching a legend awaken.
This time… he knew the truth.