The Griffin's descent toward Astral Island was controlled chaos.
We dropped through cloud layers, the massive creature adjusting its wings with precision that seemed impossible for something so large. Through the carriage windows, I watched the island grow from a distant landmark into an overwhelming reality.
Astral Island was massive—easily the size of a major city, floating serenely among the clouds with waterfalls cascading from its edges into endless sky. Buildings covered every visible surface, from elegant residential towers near the edges to the imposing white stone structures at the center.
The Academy itself dominated the island's heart. Multiple spires rose toward the heavens, each one topped with observation platforms or magical installations that pulsed with visible energy. The main administrative tower stood taller than everything else, its peak disappearing into a perpetual halo of atmospheric distortion.
"That's incredible," Stark breathed, pressing his face against the window. "How is it even possible?"
"Ancient magic," Thomas said from his corner, where he'd finally stopped looking green. "The island appeared during three hundred years ago."
"Anyway," Mira added, her red hair catching the light as she leaned closer to the window, "it's been the Academy's home for centuries. They say the floating itself creates unique mana conditions that enhance training."
I said nothing, too absorbed in observing everything. My Combat Instinct was pinging constantly—not danger exactly, but awareness of power. The island itself radiated concentrated magical energy that made my skin prickle.
The Griffin angled toward a massive landing platform on the island's eastern edge. As we descended, I could see dozens of other arrivals—some in elegant carriages like ours drawn by Griffins, but many more arriving via different methods.
The most common transport appeared to be flying horses—winged horses
pulling open carriages that could hold twenty or more passengers. These were clearly public transport, arriving in regular intervals from various territories.
"Look at all of them," Marc said, nodding toward the platform. "Must be hundreds of candidates."
He wasn't wrong. The landing platform was massive, designed to accommodate multiple simultaneous arrivals. I counted at least fifteen other Griffin-drawn carriages—indicating other high-ranking noble families, the academy would send carriages based on applications, griffins to domains with high ranked nobles and winged horse to others—and probably forty or fifty of the flying horse transports.
Candidates poured out in waves. Most wore their family colors or regional styles, making it easy to identify nobility versus commoners. The nobles moved with practiced confidence, accompanied by servants carrying luggage. The commoners traveled lighter, clustering in nervous groups.
Our Griffin touched down with barely a jolt—testament to the creature's skill and the platform's design. The door opened immediately, and we filed out into organized chaos.
"Candidates from the southern territories, proceed to Zone A!" Someone was shouting directions through a voice-amplification enchantment. "Eastern territories to Zone B! Northern to Zone C! Western to Zone D!"
Staff members in Academy uniforms—dark blue with silver trim—moved through the crowd, directing traffic with practiced efficiency. Some carried clipboards and checked names against lists. Others guided confused arrivals toward their designated zones.
I spotted the source of the amplified voice—a middle-aged woman standing on an elevated platform, her voice carrying across the entire area through magic I could feel but not quite identify.
"All candidates will proceed to orientation within the hour!" she continued. "Luggage will be transported to temporary housing. You need only carry personal essentials. Follow the marked paths to your designated zones!"
"That's us," Stark said, pointing to signs indicating Zone B for eastern territory candidates. "Come on."
We joined the flow of bodies moving toward Zone B. The crowd was thick—easily a hundred candidates just from the eastern territories, with similar numbers heading toward the other zones.
I noticed the way people moved around me. Not obviously—not like they were consciously avoiding me—but there was a subtle buffer that formed naturally. The Malevolent Aura, even with Blackheart sheathed, creating an instinctive space that people maintained without realizing why.
Stark noticed too. "They're giving you room."
"They can feel something's off. They just don't know what."
"Does it bother you?"
I considered the question. A month ago, maybe it would have. But I'd accepted the cost when I claimed Blackheart. Isolation was part of the price.
"No," I said simply.
We reached Zone B, which had been set up with temporary seating areas and information stations. More Academy staff waited, checking names and distributing identification badges.
"Name?" A young man with a clipboard looked up as I approached his station.
"Leon De Stellis."
His eyes widened fractionally—recognition of the family name. "House Stellis. Yes, you're on the list." He marked something off, then handed me a badge with my name and a number engraved on metal. "Two-seventeen. This is your candidate identifier. Don't lose it—you'll need it for all three stages of the entrance exam."
I clipped the badge to my collar. Stark received his own—number two-eighteen—and we moved toward the seating area.
The next thirty minutes were organized waiting. More candidates arrived in waves, each one processed and directed to their zone. The noise level was incredible—hundreds of conversations happening simultaneously, nervous energy and competitive tension mixing into something almost tangible.
I observed quietly, cataloging what I could see.
Most candidates appeared to be sixteen to eighteen years old—the typical age for Academy admission. The nobles stood out through their clothing and bearing, but some of the commoners carried themselves with confidence that suggested real capability.
Combat Instinct pinged occasionally, identifying individuals who moved with martial training or carried themselves like experienced fighters. Not many—maybe twenty or thirty out of the hundreds I could see—but enough to be noteworthy.
"Look at that guy," Stark muttered, nodding toward a tall candidate with shocking white hair. "He's the Castor family heir, rumored to have lightning affinity."
I followed his gaze and saw who it was.
"Aegon De Castor," someone nearby said. "Count family. They produce one Lightning user per generation."
The name meant nothing to me, but the affinity was worth noting. Lightning users were either exceptional or completely useless—there was no middle ground with that element.
"Attention all candidates!" The amplified voice cut through the crowd noise. "Orientation will begin in ten minutes. Proceed to the main courtyard. Follow the illuminated paths. Do not deviate from marked routes."
The crowd began moving immediately, following glowing lines that had appeared on the ground—magical guidance leading toward the island's interior.
We joined the flow, hundreds of candidates moving together through wide pathways designed to accommodate exactly this kind of mass movement. The architecture was impressive—everything built with both function and beauty in mind, enchantments visible as subtle shimmer along walls and ceilings.
The main courtyard was enormous—easily large enough to hold a thousand people comfortably. Raised platforms at one end provided clear sight lines, and acoustic enchantments meant everyone could hear perfectly regardless of position.
Academy staff directed candidates into organized sections, and I found myself standing near the middle of the eastern territory group with Stark beside me.
The courtyard filled rapidly. Candidates from all four zones merged into a sea of faces, colors, and nervous energy. I estimated three hundred people minimum, possibly more.
Then the Academy Council appeared.
Five figures walked onto the main platform, and the crowd's noise died instantly.
The center figure commanded immediate attention—a young woman who couldn't have been much older than me, with pure white hair braided elegantly and ice-blue eyes that seemed to evaluate everyone simultaneously. She wore formal robes of white trimmed with silver frost patterns that suggested her affinity without being ostentatious.
Director Silveresta. Even without introduction, her presence made the identity obvious. The youngest Sage in recorded history, Ice affinity and I could feel that she was really strong.
The other four Council members flanked her—two men and two women, all significantly older, all carrying themselves with the confidence of people who'd achieved mastery in their respective fields.
Director Silveresta stepped forward, and when she spoke, her voice carried across the entire courtyard with perfect clarity.
"Welcome to Astral Academy."
Simple words, but the weight behind them was undeniable. This was someone who'd achieved Sagehood at seventeen, a title that marked someone as a very talented personality in the hunan domain. Someone who now held authority over the most prestigious Academy in the human domain.
"Three hundred and twenty-one candidates have been accepted for entrance examination," she continued. "You represent nobility and common birth, various territories, diverse affinities and capabilities. You are here because your applications suggested potential worth testing."
She paused, ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd.
"The entrance exam consists of three stages. Stage One begins tomorrow morning—individual assessment where you will demonstrate your affinity and capabilities before Council evaluation. Stage Two follows immediately after—group survival exercise in designated wilderness zones. Stage Three is reserved for top performers—tournament-style combat to determine final rankings."
Her expression remained neutral, but something in her voice sharpened. "Most of you will fail. This is not pessimism—it is statistical reality. The Academy maintains standards that exclude mediocrity. Adequate performance is not sufficient. You must prove exceptional capability to earn admission."
Complete silence held the courtyard. Three hundred and twenty-one candidates absorbing the same message: most of us wouldn't make it.
"Tonight you will be housed in temporary dormitories," Director Silveresta continued. "Tomorrow morning, Stage One assessments begin at dawn. You will be divided into four testing centers—Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Each center will process approximately eighty candidates. Your identification badges indicate your assigned center."
I glanced at my badge. The number two-seventeen was followed by a symbol—a triangle with a line through it. Center Delta, probably.
"Each center is overseen by Council members and senior instructors," she said. "Your assessment will be thorough, fair, and final. Excellence will be rewarded. Mediocrity will be dismissed. Deception or cheating will result in immediate expulsion and potential legal action depending on severity."
One of the other Council members—a severe-looking woman in her forties—stepped forward. "I am Instructor Valeria. Stage One assessments are designed to evaluate three primary factors: affinity manifestation, combat capability, and mana control. You will demonstrate each in controlled conditions. Performance will be scored. Passing threshold is non-negotiable."
Another Council member spoke—a younger man, maybe mid-thirties, with a warrior's build. "I am Instructor Gavin. Stage Two survival exercises test teamwork, resource management, and adaptation under pressure. You will be assigned to teams of three. These assignments are random and final. Your team's performance affects your individual score."
The third member added her voice—an older man with scholarly bearing. "I am Instructor Theron. Stage Three tournament is conditional—only top performers advance. Combat is monitored and regulated. Killing is prohibited. Permanent maiming is prohibited. Everything else is fair engagement."
The fourth member didn't speak, just nodded acknowledgment. Apparently not everyone on the Council was big on public addresses.
Director Silveresta reclaimed attention. "You will now proceed to temporary housing. Dinner will be provided. Rest tonight—you will need your full capabilities tomorrow. Testing centers open at dawn. Late arrival results in automatic failure."
She gestured, and the glowing path markers appeared again, leading away from the courtyard in four different directions.
"Alpha Center candidates, follow blue markers. Beta Center, follow green. Gamma Center, follow red. Delta Center, follow white. Move efficiently. Do not deviate from marked paths."
The crowd began moving immediately, candidates checking their badges and following the appropriate markers. I saw the triangle-and-line symbol on my badge matched the white glow of one pathway.
"Delta Center," Stark confirmed, checking his own badge. "We're together at least."
We followed the white markers through Academy grounds that became increasingly familiar as we walked. Multiple buildings, each one labeled with clear purpose—Library, Combat Training Hall, Elemental Practice Grounds, Medical Center, Administrative Offices.
The temporary housing for Delta Center candidates was a three-story building near the island's southern edge. Not as impressive as the permanent dormitories I'd seen from the Griffin, but well-maintained and functional.
More Academy staff waited at the entrance, checking badges and assigning rooms. I received a key for Room 47, second floor. Stark was in Room 49, just down the hall.
The room was simple—bed, desk, small storage chest, window with a view of the island's southern waterfalls. My luggage had already been delivered, sitting neatly at the foot of the bed.
I unpacked essentials. Changed into more comfortable clothes. Checked Blackheart—the blade rested in its scabbard, pulsing with that familiar wrongness that was becoming my constant companion.
A bell chimed throughout the building—dinner call, apparently. I made my way downstairs to find a common dining area where candidates were gathering.
The food was good—significantly better than I'd expected for temporary housing. Various meats, vegetables, breads, all prepared competently. I ate mechanically while observing the other candidates.
Conversations happened in clusters. Nobles gravitating toward nobles, commoners toward commoners. Some individuals sat alone, either by choice or because others avoided them.
I fell into the latter category. The Malevolent Aura created subtle space around me even here, making other candidates unconsciously maintain distance.
After dinner, most candidates retreated to their rooms. I did the same, wanting time to prepare mentally for tomorrow.
---
Sleep came eventually, though my mind kept circling the same thoughts.
Tomorrow, Stage One would begin. Individual assessment before the Council. Demonstrating affinity, combat capability, mana control.
I had sixty percent Mortal rank. Intermediate Sword Affinity. Master-tier Mana Circulation. Two Stellis techniques at Intermediate level. Dark abilities I'd developed through Blackheart. Combat Instinct that read threats before they materialized.
I was strong. Significantly stronger than most candidates would be.
But Arielle De Luna was also here somewhere. The protagonist with Light affinity, potentially at Mortal Peak rank, wielding Silverbright—Blackheart's blessed counterpart.
Tomorrow we'd begin the process that would eventually put us in the same arena.
I touched Blackheart's hilt, feeling it pulse in response to my attention.
Corruption at fifteen percent. Still manageable, still far from the fifty percent threshold where I'd lose myself.
But accelerating.
Every use of the blade's power pushed me closer to that line. I needed to be strategic about when I drew it, when I channeled its corruption, when I relied on its amplification versus my own capabilities.
Tomorrow would reveal where I truly stood.
---
Dawn arrived with bells chiming throughout the temporary housing.
I dressed in formal House Stellis attire—black and silver, practical but impressive. Strapped Blackheart to my hip where it rested like a second heartbeat.
Checked my badge: Two-seventeen, Delta Center, triangle-and-line symbol.
The common area was chaos as candidates rushed through breakfast. I ate quickly, then followed the white markers that appeared to guide Delta Center candidates toward our testing location.
The walk took fifteen minutes through Academy grounds that were just beginning to wake up. Permanent students watched from dormitory windows—probably curious about this year's candidates, or maybe just entertained by the obvious nervous energy.
Delta Center testing facility was a large rectangular building near the combat training grounds. The entrance hall could hold a hundred people easily, with four doorways leading deeper into the structure—presumably the actual testing areas.
Academy staff checked badges at the entrance, confirming assignments. I was directed through the third doorway into a waiting area where other candidates sat in nervous silence.
About twenty people occupied the space—some I recognized from dinner last night, others I hadn't met. All of us scheduled for the same testing chamber, apparently.
"Candidates will be called individually," an instructor announced. "When your number is called, proceed through the door. Assessment takes approximately twenty minutes. Wait quietly until called."
Twenty minutes per candidate. Twenty people ahead of me. I was looking at a significant wait.
I found a corner position and settled in, ignoring the subtle space people maintained around me.
The waiting area had a viewing window—spelled glass that showed the testing chamber beyond. I watched as the first candidate was called.
The chamber was large, maybe fifty feet to a side, with high ceilings and reinforced walls. The floor was marked with various symbols and measurement circles. Three Council members sat at an elevated observation platform—I recognized Director Silveresta's white hair immediately.
The candidate—a nervous boy who looked barely sixteen—stepped onto a central circle and began his demonstration.
Fire affinity. Basic level. He created flames in his palms, controlled them reasonably well, threw a few firebolts at designated targets.
Competent. Nothing exceptional.
After ten minutes of affinity demonstration, he was given a practice sword and directed to attack training dummies. His form was adequate, his strikes landed, but there was nothing impressive about the performance.
Mana control test followed—manipulating energy through designated patterns. Again, adequate but unremarkable.
The assessment concluded, and the Council members made notes. The candidate was dismissed through a different door—presumably leading to a results waiting area.
The process repeated. Candidate after candidate, each one demonstrating their affinity and capabilities.
Some were clearly nervous, fumbling demonstrations that might have been impressive with proper confidence. Others were overconfident, attempting techniques beyond their capability and failing embarrassingly.
A few stood out. A girl with Wind affinity who moved with grace that suggested real training. A boy with Earth affinity who demonstrated precise control creating complex stone structures. A common-born candidate with a Weapon affinity who fought with practical efficiency that spoke of real combat experience.
But most were average. Adequate, but not exceptional.
My number was finally called—two-seventeen.
I stood, felt every eye in the waiting area track my movement. The Malevolent Aura was probably more noticeable in the confined space.
I walked through the door into the testing chamber.
Three Council members sat at the observation platform. Director Silveresta in the center, Instructor Gavin to her left, and the scholarly Instructor Theron to her right.
All three were studying me with expressions ranging from curious to wary.
"Candidate two-seventeen," Director Silveresta's voice carried clearly. "State your name and listed affinity."
I stepped onto the central circle, meeting her ice-blue eyes directly.
"Leon De Stellis," I said. "Sword affinity."
I saw recognition in all three faces. House Stellis was known, and clearly not in ways that inspired trust.
"You may begin your demonstration," Director Silveresta said. "Show us what you can do."
I drew my military-grade sword—leaving Blackheart sheathed for now—and began.
Time to prove I was more than just another candidate.
Time to show them exactly what House Stellis had prepared.
And time to begin the journey toward Stage Three, where Arielle De Luna and I would eventually meet.
The entrance exam had truly begun.