The vaulted ceiling of the Academy's Grand Hall glittered with chandeliers of suspended starlight, humming faintly with runes older than empires. A thousand students sat shoulder to shoulder, twelve years old and trembling with anticipation. Today, childhood ended. Today, paths began.
The Principal stepped forward. Silence fell like a blade.
"Students," his voice thundered, "you stand at the threshold of greatness. This is Origin Academy, the crucible where history is forged. Some of you will rise as legends. Others will vanish as footnotes."
Alaric Duskbane, The man who ruled the Academy. His aura pressed on every chest like the weight of a storm A+ Tier. One word from him could break wills, inspire armies, or silence kings.
Beside him Selene Arkwright, Vice principal A Tier, Her presence was precise, a cold flame contained in glass. The perfect counterpoint to his storm.
Behind them stood the teaching corps—giants in their own right Some A- Tier and some B+ Tier. Names whispered like prayers: Kaelen Veylor, Mireille Thorne, Dorian Halvek. To these children, they were gods. To me, scaffolding.
Duskbane's eyes swept the crowd. "To stand among heroes, you must first prove you are worthy. Today's trial will determine your Class placement. From F-Class to S-Class, where only the finest will stand."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
"Each of you will face a test crafted to measure your essence—strength, will, and potential. Fail, and you will be placed where you belong. Excel, and doors will open."
I leaned back, a faint smile touching my lips. Tests. Scales. Hierarchies. The System loved its little boxes. Too bad I had already disassembled its gears.
The trials began.
One by one, students were summoned to the stage, their auras drawn out by glowing symbols etched into the stone floor. They flared, pulsed, and then settled, displaying each child's tier and fitting them neatly into a class.
"F-Class"
"E-Class"
"D-Class."
The hall buzzed as the hierarchy formed. Excitement and despair both took root in young hearts.
Then it was Malrik Veynor's turn.
The boy strode forward with iron in his step, fists clenched, eyes blazing. The symbols flared around him, feeding on his raw determination, his unyielding will.
The hall erupted in murmurs.
"C+ Tier!"
"Exceptional!"
The symbols surged higher, testing the limits—then cracked apart, releasing him.
"Placed in S Class"
The crowd exploded with disbelief.
Then came Isolde Thorne.
She moved like a blade drawn in silence. Calm, sharp, poised. The symbols drank in her steady aura, the quiet hunger hidden in her veins.
"C Tier," the symbols declared first—yet they did not dim. Instead, they shimmered, acknowledging something subtler: clarity, precision, intent.
The murmurs turned into gasps when the voice announced:
"Placed in S Class"
Whispers filled the chamber. Two prodigies in succession? Impossible.
Finally, my turn.
I stepped into the circle. The symbols stirred, eager to measure. I allowed them to glimpse what they could—just enough. Not the true abyss. Not the truth of my dismantled System and stolen power.
Still, they flared violently, brighter than any before. The chamber shook. A few chandeliers trembled overhead.
"Unprecedented reading detected…"
For a moment, the symbols faltered, as if what they touched did not fit their design. Then they bent. Warped. Broke.
Silence swallowed the hall.
The voice finally spoke.
"Placed in S Class"
Three names, three placements. The students stared, awe and fear blending in their faces.
Malrik, the blazing forge.
Isolde, the silent blade.
And me, The storm beneath silence.
The Principal's eyes narrowed on me for a fraction of a second—sharp, knowing. Then his expression smoothed into neutrality.
"Three of you have been chosen to stand among the highest," Duskbane said. "You will be tested, broken, and reforged until you surpass the limits of youth. From this day, you are S Class students Prove you are worthy."
The hall roared.
I stood there, calm, my name already whispered like a shadow.