The lecture hall for Foundations of Ascension was older than most of the academy.
Unlike the polished white stone of the combat wings, this hall was built from dark slate, its walls carved with diagrams so worn they looked less engraved and more remembered. The air felt heavier here—not with mana pressure, but with history. Every seat had been carved by generations of students who had once believed they understood power… until they didn't.
Aurelian sat quietly near the center.
Seraphina sat two rows down to his left, posture straight, eyes alert. Kaelen sprawled more casually to his right, though Aurelian had already learned that Kaelen's relaxed posture hid constant awareness.
The bell rang.
Not once.
Twice.
Then silence.
An elderly man entered from the side door, walking with the aid of a thin staff. His robes were simple, unadorned by rank or crest. His hair was iron-grey, his face lined not with age but with use—the kind that came from long thought rather than long life.
He did not project authority.
He radiated inevitability.
"I am Archivist Malrec," the man said calmly. "And if you are here to be impressed, you may leave."
No one moved.
"Good," Malrec continued. "Then we may begin."
He tapped his staff against the floor.
A massive projection bloomed above the central platform—an ascending scale of letters and symbols.
F- → F → F+ → E- → E → E+ → D- → D → D+ → C- → C → C+ → B- → B → B+ → A- → A → A+ → S- → S → S+ → SS → SS+ → SSS → SSS+
The room stirred.
Malrec raised a hand.
"This," he said, "is not a ladder."
The motion stopped.
"It is a language," he continued. "And most of you only know how to shout in it."
Aurelian leaned forward slightly.
"Ranks," Malrec said, "are not moral judgments. They are not measures of worth. They are shorthand—used by governments, guilds, and armies to estimate threat, capacity, and resource allocation."
He turned his gaze slowly across the room.
"They are also misunderstood."
Malrec pointed at the lower end of the scale.
"F-rank does not mean weak," he said. "It means unrefined. An F- individual may possess immense raw mana, but no structure. No control. No usable expression."
He tapped higher.
"An E-rank has begun shaping mana consciously. A D-rank has achieved repeatability. C-rank introduces efficiency. B-rank introduces specialization. A-rank introduces authority over one's chosen path."
Aurelian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And S-rank?" a student asked.
Malrec smiled thinly.
"S-rank," he said, "is where the world begins responding to you rather than the other way around."
The room went quiet.
"Beyond S," Malrec continued, "are categories most of you should not concern yourselves with."
He paused deliberately at SSS+.
"There are exceptions," he added calmly.
A few students glanced—unconsciously—toward Aurelian, Seraphina, and Kaelen.
Malrec did not.
"Now," he said, tapping the projection again, "a crucial misconception."
The scale shifted, overlaying silhouettes of different combat archetypes.
"Mages," Malrec said, "do not use mana the same way as swordsmen. Nor archers. Nor healers. Nor those of mixed disciplines."
He gestured toward the mage silhouette.
"Mages externalize mana. They shape it outside the body—through constructs, elements, runes, or incantations. Their danger lies in output and range."
He shifted to a swordsman.
"Martial practitioners internalize mana. Reinforcement. Acceleration. Precision. Their danger lies in proximity and inevitability."
Then to an archer.
"Ranged martial users—bow wielders, throwers, gunmages—occupy a liminal space. They project intent through physical vectors. Accuracy matters more than volume."
Aurelian felt the Soul Bow stir faintly.
"And hybrids," Malrec said, "die most often."
A ripple of uneasy laughter spread.
"Because they chase breadth before foundation," Malrec continued. "Do not mistake versatility for mastery."
He turned, pacing slowly.
"Mana itself is neutral," he said. "It does not care how you use it. But your body does."
He tapped his chest.
"Mages risk burnout. Martial users risk collapse. Healers risk depletion. Alchemists—" his eyes flicked briefly toward Aurelian "—risk poisoning themselves."
Aurelian nodded internally.
Malrec stopped pacing.
"Now," he said, "a topic many of you are eager to reach."
The projection shifted again.
Unique Skills & Affinities — Age 16 (Second Year)
A murmur spread instantly.
"Yes," Malrec said dryly. "Not now."
Groans erupted.
"Unique skills," he continued, unbothered, "are not rewards for talent. They are expressions of identity interacting with mana."
He pointed at the text.
"They manifest naturally once a mana core stabilizes. For most humans, that occurs around sixteen years of age."
Aurelian stiffened—just slightly.
"Affinities," Malrec said, "determine how mana responds to your will. Fire, shadow, reinforcement, causality, perception—these are not chosen. They are revealed."
He looked directly at the class.
"And if you force them early, you will cripple yourself."
Silence followed.
"That," Malrec added, "is not a warning. It is a statistic."
He let that sink in.
"Now," Malrec said, tapping his staff again, "a subject often omitted from introductory lectures."
The projection changed once more.
This time, it showed silhouettes that were not human.
Elves.
Beastkin.
Dwarves.
Draconic-blooded.
And others—stranger, less defined.
"The academy is not human-exclusive," Malrec said. "Nor is the world."
Aurelian's attention sharpened.
"Different races," Malrec continued, "interact with mana differently at a biological level."
He gestured to the elven silhouette.
"Elves possess naturally wide mana channels and heightened affinity sensitivity. They awaken later, but more cleanly."
To beastkin.
"Beastkin possess instinctive reinforcement and heightened physical adaptation. Their affinities often align with sensory or predatory aspects."
To dwarves.
"Dwarves exhibit mana density and stability far above human norms. Slower output. Extreme endurance."
He paused at the draconic silhouette.
"And some bloodlines," he said carefully, "do not awaken so much as remember."
Aurelian felt something cold and precise settle in his chest.
Malrec's eyes did not move—but his words landed exactly where they needed to.
"These differences," Malrec concluded, "do not make one race superior. They make conflict complicated."
He turned back to the class.
"You are here to learn how to exist in a world where power wears many shapes."
He lifted his staff once more.
"Your assignment," he said, "is simple."
Groans again.
"Write," Malrec said, "where you believe you currently sit on the ranking scale."
The groans died.
"Not where you wish to be," he clarified. "Where you are."
He smiled faintly.
"Honesty," he said, "is the first form of control."
The bell rang.
Students rose slowly, conversations already igniting.
Aurelian remained seated for a moment, eyes on the projection as it faded.
F- to SSS+.
Language, not destiny.
Seraphina leaned back toward him. "So," she murmured, "where do you think you are?"
Aurelian stood.
"Learning," he replied.
Kaelen laughed quietly. "Smart answer."
As they filed out, Aurelian felt something settle deeper within him—not power, not urgency.
Context.
For the first time, the world's hierarchy had been explained without lies.
And that meant one thing:
He could now choose exactly where—and when—to climb.