The examinations resumed after the Imperial interlude, but the energy had been sucked out of the room. The remaining students from minor houses went through their motions, their demonstrations seeming small and insignificant after the casual reality-warping of a princess. The audience was restless, waiting for the final few notable names on the list.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the announcer's voice called out a name that sent a faint, cold ripple through my own consciousness.
"House Mournblade, student Damon. You are next."
It was my turn.
I moved from my place in the crowd, my steps silent and measured. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, the collective curiosity of the audience focusing on the representative of the grim, reclusive House of Death. I wore my usual black, my face a mask of calm indifference. Inside, however, my mind was a maelstrom of calculation.
This was the most critical performance of my new life. I had to be impressive, but not too impressive. I needed to secure a high rank—Rank 7, according to my memory of the novel's outcome for Damon—but I couldn't afford to overshadow Isabella or Elara. I needed to be seen as powerful, but in a way that was non-threatening, even slightly unnerving. I needed to be a useful, intriguing piece, not a king or a queen.
I stepped onto the platform, the stone cool beneath my feet. I gave the panel of instructors a slight, respectful bow. I could feel the gazes of the key players on me like physical weights. Isabella was watching with a curious, predatory intensity. Elara was observing me with the cold focus of a scientist examining a new specimen. And high above, in the Imperial box, I could feel the sharp, analytical eyes of both Prince Valerius and Princess Seraphina. They were all waiting to see what the strange, silent boy from the House of Death would do.
"Proceed, Mr. Mournblade," the lead instructor said, his tone neutral but tinged with a hint of morbid curiosity.
I didn't create a spectacle. I didn't summon spirits or shape shadows. My demonstration, like Roselle's and Elsa's, was one of quiet, profound control. It was a display of the core principle of Mournblade's Death affinity.
I simply… stopped.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, to the core of my being where the Death affinity resided. It was a place of absolute silence, a pool of cold, still darkness. I let that stillness expand, flow through my veins, and permeate every cell of my body.
My breathing ceased. My heart, that slow, heavy drum, gave one final, ponderous beat and then fell silent. The faint, natural aura of life force that surrounded me, already suppressed, was extinguished completely. The warmth of my body leached away, my skin taking on the chill of the stone I stood upon.
To the senses of everyone in the room, I had just died.
The instructors on the panel jolted, their eyes widening in alarm. Their magical senses, which had been probing me, suddenly met with… nothing. A void. A complete and total absence of life. One of them, a healer, half-rose from his seat, ready to intervene.
The students in the crowd murmured in confusion and fear. Had he fainted? Had his own affinity killed him? The Mournblades were known for their morbid arts, but this was extreme.
I held the state of non-life for ten seconds. It was a strange, peaceful sensation. A state of perfect equilibrium, of absolute zero on the scale of existence. It was the ultimate expression of the Mournblade art of stillness.
Then, just as easily as I had stopped it, I let life return. I took a slow, deliberate breath. My heart gave a single, powerful beat, and then another, resuming its slow, steady rhythm. Warmth flooded back into my limbs. My life force rekindled, a cold, grey flame in the darkness.
I opened my eyes and looked at the panel.
The Assessment Orb, which had gone completely dark during my "death," now pulsed with a soft, steady, silver-grey light. It hadn't measured power or complexity. It had measured control. Absolute, perfect control over the boundary between life and death.
The instructors were staring at me, their expressions a mixture of awe and deep, primal unease. To be able to so perfectly mimic death, to dance on that razor's edge and return unharmed, was a feat of control that was terrifying in its implications.
The lead instructor took a long, slow breath. "The… the demonstration is complete?" he asked, his voice a little shaky.
"It is," I replied, my voice calm and cold.
The panel conferred in urgent, hushed whispers. This was another difficult one to rank. There was no explosive power, no intricate creation. Just a quiet, horrifying mastery of a fundamental concept.
In the audience, the reactions were stark.
Isabella felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Her entire being was a celebration of life, of fire, of passion. What she had just seen was its polar opposite. It was an emptiness that her fire could not touch. It was profoundly, deeply unsettling.
Elara's mind was racing, her calculations thrown into disarray. *Subject has demonstrated absolute control over his own biological and metaphysical functions. The ability to cease and restart vital signs at will. This is not a standard application of Death affinity. This is something else. The anomaly is confirmed. Threat assessment requires significant upward revision.*
High above, Prince Valerius's eyes narrowed to slits. His charming smile was gone, replaced by a look of intense, focused concentration. His instincts had been right. This was not a non-entity. This was not a spare. The stillness he had seen in the portrait was not a personality quirk; it was a literal, controllable state of being. This boy was not just hiding something. He *was* something hidden.
The lead instructor finally stood. "The panel is in agreement,"; he announced, his voice heavy. "Such absolute control over one's own life force is a testament to a profound and… formidable mastery. Rank: **High Sovereign (Rank 7)**." He paused, then added, "Several members of the panel note that the combat applications of such an ability could potentially warrant a higher assessment in future trials."
Rank 7. Perfect. Exactly as the novel had foretold. I had secured my place in the top tier, but I had done it in a way that made me seem like a specialist, a strange anomaly, not a direct contender for the top spot. I was powerful, but in a way no one quite understood or knew how to counter. I was a question mark.
I gave a final, slight bow and walked off the platform, my face an unreadable mask. I had tried to hide in plain sight, to be unremarkable. But in my perfect performance of unremarkableness, I had been seen. By the fire-breathing warrior. By the calculating ice queen. And by the manipulative prince.
My attempt to be a shadow had failed. I had just painted a target on my back.