The examination hall thrummed with energy, a blend of hope and dread heavy in the air. Eirik stood at the edge, watching as one participant after another took the stage.
The marble platform at the center of the hall shimmered faintly with residual magic, and above it, the glowing score of each participant appeared—hovering like judgment cast from the heavens.
One girl stepped down, tears brimming in her eyes. Her score hovered behind her: 490. Just shy of average. Disqualified.
Another followed, a tall noble boy with golden hair and flame magic. His performance drew cheers, and his score flashed in bold numerals: 4,700. His entourage erupted in applause.
Eirik clenched his fists. That was the world's reality—your birth decided your value. Nobles and elites soaked in praise, while commoners hoped to scrape past the bare minimum.
Then she entered.
The air changed the moment her foot crossed the threshold.
A girl dressed in robes of shadow and starlight, her steps so measured it was as though time slowed for her. Heads turned. Voices fell into whispers, then silence. Not because they were told to be quiet—because they felt they should be.
Without a word, she took the stage.
Her mana flared—calm, precise, terrifying. With a single movement of her hand, she summoned forth her element. The spell was flawless. Not showy, not overwhelming. Just... perfect.
When the light above the platform pulsed, her score appeared:
8,000
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That's nearly Royal level…" someone murmured.
"No one outside the royal family has scored that high since…"
"The former queen…"
She descended the platform with no hint of pride. Her gaze passed over the others without care. This moment was nothing to her. But to the others? It was unforgettable.
One by one, more took the test. Some passed, some failed. But none reached even half of what she had displayed.
Then came the next call.
"Participant 248."
Eirik exhaled slowly.
His feet moved before thought could catch up. He walked through the crowd, their attention barely shifting from the girl who'd just left. Whispers still lingered in the air like fading embers.
No one expected anything from him.
He stepped onto the platform, heart steady. This was it.
The proctor looked at him briefly, then spoke.
"State your name and element."
"Eirik," he said. "Element: Light."
A hush fell again.
Light magic. Rare. Sacred. Often tied to old legends—and usually to noble bloodlines.
"Begin," the proctor said.
Eirik closed his eyes.
The light came—not in fire, not in flash, but in warmth. A calm radiance, like sunlight through leaves, like memory and hope made real. He didn't summon it with force. He invited it.
The circle beneath his feet responded. Ancient runes ignited. The platform thrummed like a heartbeat. A pillar of light shot upward, not scorching, but pure.
Then it faded.
The hall was silent.
All eyes turned to the glowing score above him.
—