The Academy gates looked less like an entrance and more like a warning—two obsidian monoliths humming with faint runic lines, shifting like something alive beneath the surface. Most applicants gawked at it. I didn't. I was too busy tracking the way the runes pulsed in patterns… almost like a heartbeat.
Is the gate alive? Or is it reacting to us?
Either way, I didn't like it.
People clustered in groups—nervous chatter, forced bravado, idiotic laughter. I kept to the edges, hood up, eyes down. Attention is a problem. Attention means observation. Observation means someone eventually notices something they shouldn't.
And in this place, secrets were currency.
A disembodied voice echoed from the gate:
"Aren Vale. Entry acknowledged."
A few heads turned. Of course they did. I swallowed a curse under my breath.
I stepped forward before anyone could decide that staring was a good idea. The runes brightened as I approached, then rippled, scanning me. It felt like ice crawling under my skin—like fingers trying to pry me open.
I kept my expression neutral.
If it's trying to read my energy… it'll see the Rift's residue. I need to know if that's normal, or if I should start planning an exit route.
The gates opened with a low growl.
Inside, the Academy wasn't a building—it was a fortress built from layered black stone, each segment floating a few centimeters off the next. Gravity here worked on its own rules.
A woman waited for me at the entrance. Sharp grey hair, sharper eyes, uniform too clean to belong to any ordinary staff. She stared at me like I was a puzzle with missing pieces.
"You're Aren Vale."
I nodded. "That's what the voice said."
Her eyebrow twitched. Maybe I should dial the sarcasm back. Then again, she was the one blocking the door.
"You entered the Rift alone," she continued. "Survived. Passed the assessment without a scratch."
"That's what the report says."
"It's what the Academy finds… curious."
There it was. The reason I hated being noticed.
Her gaze lingered on me too long—not suspicious yet, but definitely categorizing. Analyzing. People like her always tried to fit you into a box. Which meant if you didn't fit, they'd force you into one.
"Follow me," she said.
I did, keeping two steps behind and slightly to the right—outside her blind spot, but close enough to respond if she tried anything. She didn't look back, but I caught the small smirk on her face, like she knew exactly what I was doing.
Annoying.
The main hall was an organized chaos of students, instructors, and floating constructs carrying stacks of glowing tablets. Names flickered above doors—training halls, laboratories, lecture chambers, places designed to strip away weakness and replace it with efficiency.
My assigned room appeared as a projection:
ARES-17
Designation: Riftborn Cadet
Status: Provisional
"Provisional?" I asked.
"Everyone is provisional until the Academy decides they're worth keeping," the woman replied. "Including you. Especially you."
Great.
She opened the door with a swipe of her hand. Inside, the room was austere—bed, desk, training screen, a window showing a view of the Academy grounds… or a projection pretending to be one.
"You begin your evaluation tomorrow," she said. "Until then, rest. And Aren—"
I stopped, waiting.
"Try not to overanalyze everything."
I stared at her.
"That's unlikely."
She sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."
She left.
The door shut.
And then, only then, did I let the mask slip for a moment.
This place isn't an academy. It's a pressure chamber. A system designed to test, measure, and break people down until only the best remain.
The Runes in the walls pulsed faintly. Watching.
Waiting.
I sat on the bed, exhaling once.
Fine. If they want to study me… they'll get nothing I don't choose to give.
Tomorrow, the real test begins.
And I intended to stay three steps ahead of everyone.