Ashveil.
A crumbling district suffocated in smoke and sin. For most born here, life ended in the alleys. Quiet. Forgotten.
But not Riven.
Wrapped in a worn-out cloak and wearing a half-mask, he shuffled through the crowd of beggars, thieves, and orphans with a slouched posture and dull gaze. Just another nobody.
Just how he liked it.
Until a gloved hand yanked him back by the collar.
"Trash like you doesn't get to walk this road."
Riven turned slowly. Three boys stood in his path, two with rusted blades, one with a polished academy crest on his shoulder.
> Ah. They've arrived early this time.
"Name's Rovan," the taller one grinned, flashing his Hero Academy badge. "And I don't like garbage stinking up my route to glory."
Riven said nothing.
"You deaf, mask boy? This road leads to the academy. You think someone like you—born from the mud—gets to go there?"
> "No," Riven said quietly. "I think someone like me owns it."
Rovan blinked.
And then screamed, lunging forward with a raised blade.
Riven didn't move. He didn't need to.
The moment the blade neared his face, a burst of wind slammed down between them — hard enough to crack the street.
"Enough."
The voice was calm. Female. Cool as snow.
A silver-haired elf stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with power. She wore a flowing academy uniform, her hands glowing with spirit energy.
> "You swing your sword at a student of the Imperial Fate Academy?" she asked coldly.
"Student?" Rovan scoffed. "That's a mistake! He's not even registered!"
The elf tossed a scroll at his feet.
> "Letter of Fate Admission – One anomaly class invite."
Rovan's mouth went dry. The moment the scroll unraveled, golden letters shimmered in the air. Letters only the highest-ranking admissions magic could generate.
> "Riven Morgrave — Admitted by Decree of the Fate Sigil Council. Class: Undefined. Room 00X."
"You… you're joking," Rovan stammered.
> "I don't joke," the elf replied. "But you? You're expelled from the entrance trial."
Guards appeared instantly and dragged him away.
The street went silent.
Riven looked up at the elf. Her features were calm, but her eyes… there was depth. Recognition.
> "Ylira Faegwyn," she said. "Third-ranked Spirit Mage in the academy."
He blinked behind the mask.
> "I know who you are, Riven Morgrave."
He narrowed his eyes. "That makes one of us."
---
Inside the gates of the Imperial Fate Academy, Riven walked among the chosen — nobles, heroes, prodigies. All of them staring at him like dirt.
But none of them knew.
They had just welcomed the strongest pretender into their ranks.
And the academy?
Was about to burn.