Zavier moved like a shadow through the marbled corridors of Grand Clinnore, his steps silent, his presence felt more than seen.
Students passed him, slowed, whispered — some with awe, others with unease.
He didn't meet their stares. Didn't offer a nod.He walked like he'd been here before.Like he wasn't the anomaly.Like he belonged — even if he still wasn't sure of it himself.
His black uniform — a sleek weave of essence-thread and adaptive wyrmfiber — clung to him like armor. The academy crest pulsed faintly on his collarbone: a spiral of stars with a single vertical eye. His silver hair fell slightly into his eyes, but he didn't bother to push it aside. Let them think he was brooding.
Room 313 – Initiation of Foundations
When he arrived, the classroom was already buzzing.Dozens of students filled the amphitheater, seated in concentric circles that spiraled downward toward a floating dais. A prism of light hovered above the center, shifting colors and casting strange shadows. The ceiling opened into an illusion of open void — a sky filled with orbiting relics and drifting celestial texts.
Zavier didn't sit.
He stood along the outer rim, arms crossed, gaze steady.
He felt the stares.Newcomers. Old-bloods. Born Evolvers. Even the instructors perched along the walls gave him that sideways glance. That barely-concealed tension.
The "wildcard."The "undefined."The dragon boy without a ranking.
A voice sliced through the air like a whip.
"You're late."
Zavier didn't flinch. The speaker was descending from above — an instructor clad in a robe that rippled like burning oil, their face hidden behind a mirrored mask. They floated to the center, landing with a force that cracked the dais beneath them.
"Welcome to the first test of relevance. I am Instructor Maerov. And I do not believe in patience."
A few students straightened in alarm.
"I will not waste time with theory. You were selected because someone saw something in you. Potential. Power. Bloodline. Or worse — exception. But I do not care what you were before this moment."
Maerov raised a hand. Runes flared in the air.
"You will each demonstrate your current limit."
Zavier's gaze narrowed.
Demonstrate?
"Starting… now."
The floor shifted. Platforms rose from beneath the amphitheater — small dueling arenas encased in translucent wards. One by one, names flared in the air, and students were called forward.
Explosions of power followed.
One boy transformed into a crystalline golem and shattered a meteor construct.A girl with star-moth wings bent light and gravity into a song that collapsed the arena around her.A silent shade tore a rift in the air with a blink, unleashing voidlings that screeched against the containment walls.
Maerov watched with disinterest.
Zavier stood still. Arms crossed.His name hadn't been called yet.
Until…
"Zavier Vel Drakaryn."
Silence.
All movement stopped.
Some leaned forward.Others flinched.Even Instructor Maerov tilted his head slightly, voice edged with something between skepticism and expectation.
"You're last for a reason. Prove it was not a mistake."
Zavier stepped forward.
The warded arena lit up as he entered. The barrier sealed behind him with a hum of containment energy.
A moment later, the construct appeared.
A combat form — shaped from hardened stardust and anchored will. It stood like a minotaur forged from black nebulae, wielding a battle axe of plasma.
"Begin," said Maerov.
The construct charged.
Zavier didn't move.
He exhaled once.
Then the atmosphere bent.
A wave of pressure rippled out from him, flattening the construct mid-charge. The containment field trembled. Students gasped. The ones nearest clutched their seats as a guttural pulse filled the air — not from Zavier's mouth, but his existence.
A sliver of his draconic heritage leaked through — not full transformation, not yet — just enough to crack the illusion of control.
His eyes burned molten silver.His aura twisted — part storm, part silence, part hunger.
The construct rose, stumbling.Zavier raised his hand.
Not a spell. Not a technique. Just a gesture.
And with it…
The construct shattered.
Not from impact. Not from energy.
It disintegrated, atom by atom, its will overridden by something far older, deeper — the raw dominance of an undefined bloodline asserting superiority.
The room was silent.
Even the prism above had stopped shifting colors.
Zavier turned without speaking and stepped out of the arena.
Maerov spoke after a long pause.
"Well."
He sounded almost amused.
"I suppose some anomalies do bite back."
He turned to the rest of the class.
"Class dismissed. Except you, Vel Drakaryn. Stay."
The students filtered out, some glancing at Zavier with caution… others with curiosity. Whispers followed him like a second shadow.
He ignored them all.
Maerov descended, mask gleaming.
"You're unstable. Raw. Dangerous."
Zavier didn't respond.
"But you command fear. That is something most students spend decades trying to earn."
He leaned in slightly.
"Don't waste it. Or I'll break you down and reforge you into something useful."
Zavier finally met his gaze — his voice low.
"You won't have to."
Later that evening
The halls were quieter. But not empty.
As Zavier returned to his dorm, a message pulsed from his medallion.
One request pending.
He opened it.
A simple note:
"Impressive. Still watching. — C"
He scoffed and dismissed it.
Then paused — his gaze shifting to the mirror on his wall.
He saw himself.
And for the first time…
He saw not the boy who barely survived Earth.Not the fledgling clinging to borrowed power.But Zavier Vel Drakaryn