The testing hall of the Upper Realm Academy was vast, its ceiling arched high with glowing runes that pulsed like living veins. New admits stood in neat rows on the polished obsidian floor, their breaths heavy with anticipation. Above them, nobles and heirs filled the gallery, their eyes sharp as hawks. Every word spoken here would ripple through the realm.
At the center of the hall stood the mana orb — a relic etched with countless runes, its core shimmering faintly like a caged star. It pulsed in rhythm, waiting for hands that would feed it. The instructor, robed in deep azure, raised his staff.
"Step forward in order. Place your hand upon the orb. Your mana count and affinity shall be revealed. Houses will be assigned accordingly."
The line began to move.
The first admit, a boy with trembling hands, stepped up. His palm pressed against the orb — light flared, numbers climbing swiftly: 312… 455… 621. The orb steadied. Fire affinity, stable.
"Accepted into the House of Flame," the instructor announced. The boy's face lit with pride as murmurs of approval ran through the spectators.
The next admit, a girl from some provincial family, stepped forward. Her mana shot up higher — 789. Wind affinity. She bowed quickly as nobles murmured, "Decent."
One by one, the extras placed their hands. Some counts lingered in the four hundreds, others broke six. A single boy cracked past 1,000, earning gasps from the gallery and an approving nod from his clan. Yet none shook the hall. They were sparks, bright but fleeting.
Then, the instructor's staff tapped. "Igron."
A lazy smirk curved across Igron's lips as he strolled forward, hands in his pockets, posture loose as if he were heading to a tavern instead of rewriting records. The gallery shifted; whispers sharpened.
He placed his hand on the orb.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the orb flickered. Once. Twice. And then it screamed.
Light warped, twisting in impossible patterns — a thousand reflections folding over each other. The orb's runes flared red, then blue, then black, unable to settle on a single reading. The numbers surged wildly past 2,000… 4,000… 7,000, climbing faster, doubling back, climbing again. The gallery erupted.
"Is it broken?"
"No — it's… it's illusions stacked into the reading itself!"
"Impossible! That shouldn't even—"
The orb cracked, its glass surface bending inward and outward at once before shattering into a spray of dust and light.
Gasps rang across the hall. Even the instructor's eyes widened before he composed himself. He raised his voice, steady despite the chaos.
"…Mana reading exceeded limits. Illusion affinity confirmed. Placement: Illusion House."
The words dropped like a stone into the hall. The elves watching from the gallery stiffened — their House was their pride, their domain. To see a human admitted at such power left their expressions carved in ice.
Igron just dusted off his hands, smirking lazily at the fragments of the orb.
"Guess that's that," he muttered, strolling back without a care.
But the tension didn't fade. If Igron shattered the orb with illusion alone… what of the pale boy standing silently at the back?
Dozens of eyes turned toward Kairo. Whispers rose like fire through dry grass.
"If the first was like that… then what will the other one do?"
"…Will the orb even survive?"
"No. It will break again. I'm certain."
The instructor lifted his staff once more, voice firm though his hand trembled ever so slightly.
"Kairo. Step forward."
And the hall fell into silence, waiting for the pale immortal to move.