The next day, the Imperial Academy revealed itself in front of me and Nyx as a divine joke.
It looked like an architectural miracle built by someone who had read too many epic sagas and taken them all personally.
The moment our boots touched the pathway leading up to the entrance gates, the air changed.
It wasn't a metaphor. The wind itself shimmered with residual mana. My skin prickled like it was being scanned. The pressure wasn't just crushing, it was worse.
It felt like we were being judged. Not by people, but by the very stones beneath our feet.
Ahead of us, the academy stood on the third level of the city like a god's signature, bold and unnecessary in all the best ways.
Imagine a fortress. Now, imagine that fortress married a floating cathedral. Then imagine their child decided to experiment with forbidden magic, gravity, and aesthetics simultaneously. That was the Imperial Academy.
A massive gate loomed ahead, sculpted from living ironwood laced with veins of glowing crystal. At its center, an enormous eye of stone blinked open as we approached.
It stared at us, and I felt something slither through my mind, like fingers flipping through a book that happened to be my memories.
Nyx stiffened on my shoulder.
Above the gate, carved into stone older than most countries, were the words:
Through Knowledge comes Power. Through Power comes Ascension.
Because, of course, the school had a motto. A dramatic and threatening one.
I didn't know if I was walking into a place of learning or a cult that gave out homework.
We passed through the gate. The moment we crossed the threshold, it closed behind us with a sound like a tomb sealing shut.
Everywhere I looked, students were moving—hundreds of them. Some in regal robes embroidered with their noble houses, others in ragged clothes. Commoners who had come to fulfill their dreams.
"Are we the only sane ones here?" Nyx asked, scanning the courtyard with narrowed eyes.
"I think we're the only ones without a personal hair stylist."
At the far end of the courtyard stood a staircase wide enough to fit a battalion.
It led up to a domed structure flanked by two titanic statues—one of a horned king holding a shattered crown, the other of a woman with a quill in one hand and a burning world in the other. The contrast didn't feel like an accident.
Our group was taken to the central auditorium. Light poured in through floating glass panels, and magical glyphs danced through the air, casting shifting shadows on the polished obsidian floor.
At the far end of the room stood a woman.
Her robes were violet and black, woven with threads of starlight and bound at the cuffs with golden runes that pulsed with an inaudible rhythm.
Blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp and silver.
They swept over us with the kind of disdain only earned by outliving empires.
"Welcome," she said. "I am Asha Vermillion. Vice-Headmaster of this institution."
A beat of silence followed as she smiled.
"You stand on this holy ground," she continued. "But do not confuse proximity with belonging. You have not earned your place here yet."
The silver in her eyes shimmered faintly, almost like mercury catching firelight. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight. It echoed across the field.
"This academy exists for one purpose: to raise those worthy enough to command the arcane. Not simply to study it, or survive it, but to conquer it."
Her words silenced the whole crowd.
"And so, your entrance evaluation will consist of two trials. The first will test your mind, and the second will test your will to survive."
Now we were getting to the good part.
"The first trial," she continued, "is a written examination."
She gestured, and a shimmering projection of a blank exam page appeared above us. It was filled with runes, diagrams, and dense writing that made even Nyx flinch.
"You will be judged not by your memory, but by your understanding. A perfect score is not expected. But ignorance is not tolerated."
A murmur spread across the field. Some were confident, while others were already pale.
"Those who pass the written exam will proceed to the second trial," Asha said. "The Trial of Dominion."
The illusion shifted.
The exam paper dissolved into golden dust, and from that dust, a battlefield bloomed in the air.
It was a massive, forested arena surrounded by stone walls. Floating platforms circled overhead like vultures. Magical runes pulsed from the ground like heartbeat veins.
The golden illusion of the battlefield hung in the air, rotating slowly. You could see every jagged cliff, every shadowed thicket, every rune-pulsing monolith that probably did something horrifying.
And somehow, it still looked prettier than the apartment of my past life.
Asha raised her hand, and the battlefield stilled mid-turn. She turned her palm upward, and dozens of glowing runes began to circle above us.
"In this trial, you will be cast into the arena alongside every other examinee who passed the written exam."
"Each of you will be granted a Spirit Orb."
Asha let the silence thicken, then snapped her fingers.
The battlefield shifted again.
A projection zoomed in on one section: a massive wolf-shaped beast made of crackling stone lunging at a student. The student's spirit beast—a sleek serpent wreathed in frost—coiled around its neck and bit deep.
As the wolf crumbled into shards, a number floated above the student's head:
+50 Points
"The rules are simple," Asha said. "You earn points by defeating beasts or by defeating each other."
That got attention.
"Spirit beasts will spawn throughout the arena at regular intervals, increasing in difficulty over time. The rarer and more dangerous the beast, the more points it's worth.
A first ring beast is worth ten points. A second ring beast is worth thirty points, and third ring beasts are worth fifty points.
You may also attack other examinees. You can steal their points by breaking their orb."
She said that last part with such calm that it made several kids near me flinch.
"The match will last until only the top twenty percent remain standing."
A ripple of shocked whispers rolled across the crowd.
I didn't bother whispering.
"If your orb is shattered," Asha said, snapping us back to reality, "you are out. If you fall unconscious or retreat from the arena, you are out."
"Rise or fall. The choice is yours."
A silence followed as her words stopped.
The illusion faded into shimmering dust, leaving only the faint pulse of magic in the air.
"Rest well," Asha said, turning on her heel. "Your Trial begins tomorrow at dawn."
And just like that, she left. Not with a flourish, but with terrifying certainty. The kind of certainty only someone strong and annoying could pull off.
I stood there for a while, staring at the space where the battlefield projection had been.