Mirane Rosewood exhaled as if someone had just handed her a dead bird.
"Oh, sweet mother of Solence," the captain of the Nobles of Grace muttered, tossing away the list containing names of potential candidates to add to her party, "if I have to sit through one more glowing display of mediocrity, I swear I'll leap from this balcony and beg the Witherflow to take me."
The room didn't react.
She leaned back in her velvet-lined chair, eyes narrowing as another name was announced from the arena far below. The echoes of applause congratulating those that had passed barely reached this high.
She jabbed a polished fingernail at the man seated two chairs away. "Kevin," she called, voice dripping sugar and venom, "how many letters did you end up sending to the Holy Seat again? Five? Ten perhaps? I lost count after you started sealing them with tears and desperation."
Kevin Kutzlan, Commander of the Azure Lances, didn't bother turning his head. He kept his eyes forward, expression cool as frost.
"Nine," he said. "One for each circle of Solence. Figured someone should try invoking actual order around here."
"Oh, order, yes," she drawled. "And I suppose that included slipping the Emperor a blood diamond the size of a basilisk egg?"
"I was being generous," Kevin said dryly. "Not desperate. There's a difference. Unlike you, I don't collect my tears in silence when faced with the taste of failure."
She laughed once, sharp and loud. "Jealousy ages you, Kevin. I'd be careful. Your gray is showing."
Kevin finally turned, arching a brow. "You're still pretending that Valen was ever going to your guild?"
Mirane lifted her chin. "Pretending? He was practically mine," taking a bite out of an apple, she continues, "until the Empire stole him for their own gilded chessboard."
"Stole him?" a third voice cut in. Smooth. Cold. Somehow both ancient and young.
Eliza Dreamweaver of the Elven Ivy hadn't moved from her seat. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded neatly in her lap, platinum hair veiling half her face like moonlight behind clouds.
"You do realize," Eliza said, "that referring to an imperial decree as theft borders on heresy."
The Nobles of Grace leader rolled her eyes. "Eliza, if you breathe any more incense, your tongue might burn clean off."
Kevin smirked. "Says the one who tried rewriting her guild's ancient law to admit him early."
"I did no such thing," Eliza replied without blinking. "My council merely... discussed exceptional admission clauses."
"Sure, sure, however you wish to refer to it." Mirane spoke, her arms spread wide.
A sudden gust of exuberant noise shattered the tension.
The doors to the chamber flew open. From it strode in a man with a grin too wide for most rooms and a presence too loud for anyone to peacefully withstand.
"Good morning, Lions of the Balcony!" he boomed. "Are we sharpening tongues or just stabbing each other with passive aggression today?"
Aries Emberheart, Captain of the Radiant Choir, flung his flame-patterned cape behind him as if performing a divine ritual of drama. His hair, streaked with fire-gold and ember-red, fluttered as he plopped into his chair.
Everyone stared.
He blinked. "I—I meant that in the spirit of camaraderie."
Mirane pressed two fingers to her temple. "Don't you ever tire of performing optimism? Do you sleep with that expression glued on?"
Aries gasped. "Madam Mirane! Optimism is the breakfast of champions."
Kevin groaned. "Then I'll fast."
"I second that," Eliza muttered.
Aries pouted. "You're all so dreary. Cheer up. The Guild Ceremony's about to start. Joy is a choice, you know."
Mirane lifted her wine glass and stared into it. "Then I choose intoxication."
"You always do," Kevin muttered under his breath.
But Aries' smile faltered, just slightly, as he glanced through the open balcony glass at the arena far below. His eyes followed the slow swirl of banners bearing the imperial crest. His tone dropped a hair.
"I know losing Valen to the Accord bruises the ego," he said. "But maybe don't bury the rest of the trials just yet."
Mirane snorted. "Bruise? Please. It was larceny in daylight."
"Empire's choice," Eliza reminded. "None of us were ever going to touch him. Not truly."
"And what a waste that is," Kevin said. "Trained for years only to be handed over before the boy could even taste real combat."
"Better handed over than handed a blade too soon," Eliza replied.
Aries leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice softening. "There are others, you know. Maybe one of them hiding in the shadows could be the next to succeed to our thrones."
Mirane tilted her head, studying a certain figure.
Kevin exhaled slowly. "That boy. The one hailing from the boonies. He's... odd."
"Unrefined," Eliza added. "But potent."
"I liked his style," Aries said. "Unorthodox. Clever. A bit reckless, but I admire that. He fought like someone with something to prove."
Mirane hummed. "He reminded me of you, years ago. Before you started quoting choir songs mid-sentence."
Aries beamed. "Then he's destined for greatness."
"But do not approach him hastily. Wait for what the church has to say about him."
After Eliza's proclamation, a knock interrupted them.
On the balcony below, the flame-haired announcer girl stood in the center of the arena. Her voice, amplified by spell-glass and enchantments, boomed across the coliseum.
"Lords and ladies of Solence! The Guild Assignment Ceremony begins now!"
Cheers erupted from the stands.
Trumpets flared. The chamber vibrated faintly as curtains were pulled wide, bathing the guild leaders in gold light.
The four seated figures returned to their posts.
Mirane swirled the last of her wine. "Let's see who bleeds brightest."
Eliza lifted her chin, unreadable.
Kevin adjusted the cuffs of his coat, silently bracing.
Aries whispered to no one in particular, "Come on, you guys. Surprise me."
The banners of Solence billowed high.
Below them, the stage was set.
———————————————————————
Damien stared at the setting sun with an overcrowded mind.
A pigeon flew in from within the clouds, landing onto the high balcony, and dropped a scroll at the feet of the judges. They read it in silence, one after another. Just briefly, he felt one of their eyes drift towards him.
Below, the announcer's voice rang out.
"All trials were witnessed by the divine mechanisms. Even those who failed the third gate may be selected, should the judges find potential."
Damien was starting to feel it—a heat on the back of the neck, the tension that came when someone powerful decided you were interesting.
The first examinee was called forth.
He strode into the center, breathing hard but standing proud. "Grace Aftersun," he shouted. "Second Circle: Flamebound."
He pressed his palm to the platform. In a breath, a glyph blazed to life—a swirling ring of ember-orange that split into a roaring lion. It circled him once before evaporating into radiant smoke.
A few polite claps.
High above, the guild captains leafed through pages like weary merchants sorting grain. Only Aries Ferros seemed remotely alive—he stood up, grinning, and gave a single nod.
Garrick bowed and exited.
Then came another.
The next candidate stepped forward in crisp attire, his family crest stitched proudly across his chest. Slicked-back hair. Immaculate posture.
"Althar Viremont," he said, cool and composed. "Second Circle: Frostglass."
He raised his hand, and the heat of the previous display vanished. Rose from the earth an icy surge, extinguishing residual fire. Out of the frost crafted from Solence bloomed a flurry of butterflies, fluttering through the cold mist like living shards of art.
No hesitation this time—Kevin Katlan stood. A heartbeat later, Mirane followed.
"You performed exceptionally underneath the demon. It's rare to see someone this composed when faced with a creature from the seventh circle," Miran spoke first.
"I was a particular fan of how you dealt with the first trial. Being able to connect the concept of time with your own icy thorn was quite clever indeed," Kevin followed.
The boy tilted his head. His eyes searched both leaders. And with a courtly nod, he stepped toward the Nobles.
Damien didn't flinch, but he noticed the shift. The boy's power was good—but the performance had been better. Everything was polished. Pre-planned.
He wasn't sure he trusted that kind of perfection.
Then silence.
A girl stepped onto the platform. Elven—graceful, slender, marked by a circlet of woven silver vines. Her face held records of her tribe, painted on with white paint that glowed dimly under the evening lights.
Everyone's attention tilted toward the Elven Ivy's corner.
The girl inhaled, stretched her arms, and reached inward.
Nothing.
She tried again—this time, faint glyphs appeared, thin reflections of water magic forming the outline of a defense circle. But they flickered and collapsed like snapped threads. The crowd stirred.
From Damien's angle, he caught Eliza's lips move.
"Failure."
High above, she exhaled slowly and said nothing out loud. She didn't need to.
But then Kevin stood.
"Just now I'm sure you all noticed her failing to summon even a second circle glyph."
The girl looked down in embarrassment.
"But during the memory trial, she attempted something no one else did."
Murmurs.
"She tried to walk through the water illusion—not by resisting it, but by commanding the Solence present inside nature itself. She believed that water could be told to let her pass."
He looked at the elven girl, and then gestured.
"And she was right. That kind of instinct can't be taught. I'll take her."
The girl bowed, stunned. She joined the Azure Lances.
Damien folded his arms, quietly absorbing it all. He learned something new. Every student likely experienced different trials for their final room. Was that ordained by luck or something more situational? Determined by the chamber to test their individuality, perhaps?
The ceremony wasn't about raw strength. Not entirely. It was about eyes. Who watched you. And who remembered.
A few more names got called. Some were met with polite claps, others with rising cheers. Soon, the atmosphere began to shift. A quiet buzz rolled through the stands, crawling through the crowd like electricity before a lightning strike.
Damien could feel it too.
They were all waiting.
The announcer didn't waste words.
"Next—Valen Seraphiel."
The name alone changed the air. Instantly, the noise stopped. Not a single cough. Not a breath dared. Everyone paused to witness where lay the destiny of a child born of prophecy.
Valen stepped forward from the candidates' line still in the same half-distracted daze he always wore. He looked as if none of this mattered. As if the world moved too slow to interest him.
But something was off.
None of the guild leaders stood. Not one.
People looked around. Confused. Tense.
And then—
The curtain behind the guild dais parted.
A man stepped through.
He was someone beyond introduction. To even Damien.
The sound of his footfall alone seemed to silence the divine winds above the arena.
His hair was pitch black, parting lazily to both sides, like even gravity obeyed him differently. His robes were darker than ink—not metaphorically—they simply absorbed the light around them, as if reflecting anything would be a waste of time. Beneath that, he wore a bone-white undershirt, holding the golden emblem of the Holy Empire at its chest: the glyph of Solence carved in eternal flame.
And his eyes—
Each iris was different.
Not in color, in design. Not etched. Not painted. Crafted.
The glyph that his right eye had ordained upon it was simple—childishly so. And that was what made him terrifying.
He didn't radiate power.
He stood as the prime specimen for those who commanded it.
The Solence flowing through the entire arena—the same force that moved in lines across the divine sky, that powered the sacred glyphs on every pillar, that pulsed through the blood of every Exorcist—hesitated. With every step he took, it was like reality paused to let him through.
Even Valen stared.
And his gaze was fixed with admiration.
From the crowd, several onlookers audibly gasped. Some of the younger students stumbled forward, like their knees had buckled. The guild leaders themselves sat upright. None of them dared smile. Not even Aries.
The man approached the front of the dais.
The announcer's voice cracked—just once—as she resumed:
"By imperial decree, the placement of Valen Seraphiel has already been determined. He will join the Holy Knights of the Celestial Accord."
That was all anyone needed.
The crowd erupted. Cheers, shouts, wild clapping—chaos. Some students actually fell to their knees, screaming his name. One of them shouted, "ORION!" before their voice was swallowed by the uproar.
Because that was him.
Orion Silverspear.
Humanity's strongest soldier.
The Holy Empire's unbreakable sword.
Damien had heard rumors. Everyone had.
But seeing him… that was different. He wasn't some mythical hero carved in a cathedral wall. He was real. Unsmiling. Precise. Breathing. Dangerous.
And the Sainted child—Valen Seraphiel—walked calmly across the stage and joined Orion without a word. As if he'd known this was his path all along.
Orion looked at him once. Just once. Gave a small nod.
Valen mirrored it.
The crowd roared even louder, losing control. Some of the older judges were already standing in prayer, hands clasped.
Damien said nothing.
But in his chest, something turned.
Because now he knew the level of strength that had just stepped into the ring.
And it wasn't just Valen.
It was the one standing next to him.
Then, it was Damien's turn.
His name echoed across the arena.
All eyes turned—curious, cautious, judging.
He stepped onto the podium. The moment his foot touched the glyph-inscribed platform, radiant Solence surged to life. The entire stage lit up in gold. The air stood still. Balloons froze mid-flight. Time itself had come to a divine halt.
With a single, effortless motion, Damien raised his hand.
A Third Circle Golden Glyph flickered into view—no chant, no catalyst. Just him.
And then—he closed it. Instantly. Perfectly.
A few gasps rippled through the audience.
But none of the guild captains stood.
They looked at each other, silent. Hesitant. Avoiding his eyes. Whispers of his interrogation had clearly already reached them.
Damien's jaw tightened. The sting of rejection pressed on him harder than the silence. He needed a way in—any way in. This mission could not fail.
Then—
A chair scraped.
His presence alone silenced every thought.
He glanced at Damien once, then faced the crowd and declared:
"We want him."
The words hit like a hammer.
Gasps. Shock. Even Valen's eyes narrowed in interest.
Damien stood frozen.
Then, slowly, a crooked smile tugged at his lips—half gratitude, half irritation.
The announcer screamed in confused jubilation,
"Well, it's decided then! Damien Everwinter will join the Holy Knights of the Celestial Accord."