The hall held its breath.
All eyes were on the boy who stood at the center of the testing platform, the soft echo of his Light magic still fading into the air.
Then, the score appeared.
800
A beat passed.
Then, the silence cracked.
Laughter erupted from the far left side of the chamber, followed by a ripple of chuckles and murmurs spreading like wildfire.
"Eight hundred?"
"Guess the glow was just for show."
"I've seen street lanterns with more power than that!"
Voices piled on, one after another, each more dismissive than the last. Even some of the instructors looked away, disinterested. It was an average score—just barely enough to enter the academy. And from someone who claimed to wield Light magic, no less. The same element tied to ancient heroes, long-forgotten saints, and the divine bloodlines of old.
The expectations had been high.
Now, they laughed because it was easier than admitting they were disappointed.
Sigrin's arms were crossed near the hall's edge, her face unreadable. But her knuckles were white.
Then, the unexpected happened.
One of the assistant proctors stepped forward and called out, "Participant 248. Proceed to magical application."
A wave of confusion spread across the room.
"What? I thought only those below Noble tier had to show that."
"He's not a noble, obviously."
"But Light magic… shouldn't that count for something?"
Eirik said nothing. He simply nodded and stepped into the second circle.
The platform shimmered, waiting.
The proctor raised an eyebrow. "Whenever you're ready."
Eirik closed his eyes.
This time, the magic didn't bloom with grace. It didn't follow the rehearsed spells or the taught sequences from noble academies.
It came from instinct. From survival.
From the wild.
The light that burst forth wasn't gentle—it was raw. Blinding, controlled chaos wrapped in purpose. The spell didn't just glow—it carved shadows across the walls, each movement tracing the memory of beasts, storms, and nights spent fending off death.
It was a language of movement, born not from books but from hardship.
And when it ended…
The hall was silent.
Again.
Mouths hung open. Students stared as if the air had been stolen from their lungs. Even the nobles, who moments ago had sneered, now watched in stunned disbelief.
The instructors at the back exchanged uneasy glances.
"How…?" one whispered. "That wasn't any academy form…"
"He's had no formal training?"
"No refinement… and yet…"
The proctor swallowed, then finally spoke.
"Participant 248… where did you learn to cast like that?"
Eirik looked up, eyes steady. "From the wild. Where I had no choice but to survive."
No one laughed this time.
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