—Gravemount Academy—
Snow fell steadily over the capital's edge, dusting the long stone bridge that led to Gravemount Academy—the most prestigious military-spiritual school in the kingdom of Eirenthal, and possibly the world.
Carriages jammed the path, flying flags from every noble house in the realm. Some were ornate and gold-trimmed, others simple and battered, pulled by tired horses. Laughter mixed with nervous chatter. It was exam day.
Children leaned out of carriage windows, wide-eyed and restless. For some, it was their second or third attempt. For others, the beginning of everything.
Among the crowd, commoners arrived in cheaper wagons, drawing sneers from highborn families. The gap between rich and poor showed in every detail—but inside the academy, that line was supposed to disappear.
At the academy gates, two guards stood firm as a group of maids and servants tried to follow their masters in.
"What do you mean my maid can't come with me?" one girl snapped.
"This is ridiculous! I'll call my father!" another noble huffed.
One of the older soldiers stepped forward. "Once you step through those gates, titles don't matter," he said, eyes cold. "This is a military academy, not your family's estate."
He held his glare long enough to make the crowd uneasy.
"Do you even know who my father is?" the same girl shouted, her voice rising.
But her words were drowned out as murmurs swept through the students. Heads turned. Excitement rippled across the bridge.
Four carriages rolled up, each bearing a massive flag. Every student there recognized the symbols—these were the legacy houses. The elite of the elite.
When the first carriage stopped, the door opened slowly.
A girl stepped out. Red hair. Blue eyes. She held her chin high, unfazed by the attention.
Lady Lyssandra of House Valebrant—daughter of the late Duke of the East—had arrived.
Lyssandra stepped down from the carriage, her boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted stone.
"Ugh. I hate attention," she muttered, already sensing the eyes on her.
"Don't say that, Lyssandra. I'm sure they're thrilled to see you," came a teasing voice from the next carriage.
She turned to see Ryven—brown-haired, green-eyed, and smug as ever. The first son of the Southern Duke, heir to House Thalor, stepped out with a confident grin.
"Yeah, yeah," Lyssandra said, brushing off his charm. "Not in the mood for your games."
"Ow," Ryven said, clutching his chest. "You wound me."
The third carriage opened.
Gasps swept through the crowd.
"It's Lucien!"
Girls squealed and waved as a tall boy emerged—blue-eyed, black-haired, wearing the refined calm of someone used to attention. Lucien, heir to the Western Duke, the prodigy of House Eltair.
"Look over here, Lucien!"
"Smile for us!"
But the noise died quickly as the final carriage rolled to a stop.
Silence fell.
Everyone knew that crest—the golden snake of the royal house.
The carriage door opened, and a boy stepped out. Blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a gentle, effortless smile.
Prince Daranth Althoros. The only son of the king.
Students parted instinctively, creating a path. Everyone leaned in, eager to catch his attention.
"Your Highness, how was the journey?"
"I love your outfit!"
"Are you nervous about the exam?"
The prince gave a small bow. "The trip was pleasant. Thank you for your kind words."
He moved through the crowd with calm grace, a trail of admirers buzzing after him. Everyone wanted to be seen with the prince.
Everyone—except the other heirs.
"They're just swarming him like bees," Lyssandra sighed.
Then she paused, frowning. A figure had caught her eye.
A boy. Thin, quiet, walking alone.
He wore a faded cloak, his black hair unkempt, eyes as dark as midnight. A wooden sword hung at his side, too small for battle but worn from use.
A commoner.
"What is it, Lyssandra?" Ryven asked.
She turned away. "Nothing. It just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, seeing commoners here. It's… irritating."
Ryven laughed. "Ignore them. What matters is passing the exam. That's all."
"You're right," she said, but her eyes still lingered on the boy.
He didn't look back.
He stepped through the academy gates alone, eyes wide as he took in the towering walls and grand halls beyond.
His lips moved in a whisper only he could hear.
"Mother… Father… I'm finally here."
The academy loomed above him, massive and imposing. At the top of the long staircase, three towering halls formed the core of Gravemount Academy.
As he climbed the final steps, two tall poles caught his eye—one silver, the other green. He stopped at the center, where the crowd had gathered. The nobles stood in small circles, laughing and smiling like they had nothing to worry about.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
{So this is it .Everyone's smiling like nothing ever happened years ago.}
His fists clenched at his sides.
Then a voice cut through the air—a sharp, commanding tone.
"Welcome, everyone—or should I say, future cadets."
A tall man stood before them. Long silver hair, ceremonial white robes, a single blind eye. His face was unreadable.
"I am Orvahn V. Thalres, principal of Gravemount Academy. These poles behind me are known as Resonance Poles."
He gestured to the silver and green columns.
"You will each take a sword, connect your aether, strike the pole, and your power level will appear. A reading below fifty means you fail. Fifty or higher, and you pass."
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Everyone knew the drill—especially those attempting for the second or third time.
"We will call names one by one," the principal continued. "Step forward when called."
The boy at the back watched in silence. He had expected this.He wasn't here for prestige, or even for glory.He had one goal—and this academy was the only way to reach it.
The first student approached nervously, gripped the wooden sword, and struck the pole.
Crack!
A number glowed faintly on the pole—20.
The student dropped to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. Another rejection.
"Fuck my life !"
And then another student. 37. Another failure.
It continued like this—some passed, most didn't.
Then a name brought a hush over the courtyard.
"Lyssandra Valebrant."
She stepped forward with a confident smile.
"Hmph. This'll be simple," she said, lifting the wooden sword.
The teachers along the side leaned in, watching closely.
"That's Lyssandra, right? I heard she awakened young."
"Let's see if she disappoints us."
She gripped the sword with practiced ease, her eyes steady. Then she struck.
BAM!
The pole lit up.
Gasps echoed around the yard.