The morning of the first trial began with a tense silence dominating the vast stadium. Eight thousand five hundred seventy-two aspirants, clad in identical black tactical suits—fitted to avoid hindering movement and reinforced at key joints—lined up like a forest of shadows. Near the entrance, a table guarded by assistants distributed the magnetic plates they were to wear on their chests. There, Isolde—who during registration had shown a haughty bearing—blushed upon encountering Kael. She extended the plate marked 3235 with trembling fingers.
"How have you been?" she murmured, lowering her gaze.
"Very well. And you?" Kael responded, surprised by her change in tone.
"Very well, th-thank you," she answered, brushing aside a strand of hair.
An instant before, Makia had received 3232 and stopped beside Isolde.
"I wanted to apologize for the kick that day," she said in a low voice.
Isolde nodded, kind and with a warm smile.
"And I'm sorry for my attitude. I was arrogant."
They shook hands; a shy smile appeared on both faces and the conflict was left behind. Ian fixed 3233 on his chest, Aelius 3234, and the four friends advanced toward the center of the arena, where the tension was as dense as fog.
The stadium, colossal, raised bare stone walls that seemed to watch them. The light filtering from above bathed the enclosure with a cold clarity, highlighting every nervous gesture and every accelerated breath. Above the arena, eight judges levitated in a perfect circle, suspended by an invisible energy that undulated like a mirage. Among them stood out Rhygar, wrapped in a crimson mantle whose tassels sparked at the friction of air; his gaze, sharp and serene, evaluated ambition and fear with identical precision.
One by one, the aspirants advanced to the circle of runes that glowed faintly on the ground. There was no place for timidity or fear: each contender had to display their purest power, without embellishments or tricks, before the inscrutable gaze of the floating judges. Some exhibited tremendous strength, lifting stone blocks with a gesture; others unleashed storms of fire, wind, or electricity. There was no shortage of those who distorted reality or molded energy with their minds. Each ability, however impressive, was measured not only by its power, but by the precision with which it was executed.
That trial was not a simple exhibition: it was an evaluation of control, temperament, and preparation. Brute force lacked merit if not accompanied by absolute mastery. Those who showed composure, capable of employing their gifts with exactitude and without surrendering to emotion, shone under the impassive light of the eight judges—and, especially, under the merciless eyes of Rhygar.
The line advanced slowly, with each participant demonstrating their best. Number 1481, Aurora—dark brown hair, very pale skin, and light brown eyes—captured the stadium's attention by summoning cosmic energies that braided light and shadow with perfect harmony. Makia, Kael, and Aelius commented on how impressive and beautiful her gift was. Ian, on the other hand, barely noticed the flashes. Standing, with crossed arms, he moved his foot in a restless sway. His attention wandered toward the circle of runes, imagining his own turn. He wanted to feel the ground crack under his strength, wanted to hear the crowd hold its breath at his speed; each second of waiting weighed on him like lead.
The day continued until reaching turn 2472. Before the circle of runes appeared a young woman with white hair to her shoulders, somewhat childlike features, and shoulder pads adorned with pearlescent feathers. Her voice was barely a murmur when she pronounced her invocation; however, the ground vibrated with an ancestral force. An emerald whirlwind rose in a spiral and, from it, emerged the colossal silhouette of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent of mythology, its iridescent scales gleaming like fragments of aurora borealis.
A muffled murmur ran through the stands. Summoning spirits was unusual; summoning a prime spirit even more unusual—but summoning a god—bordered on the impossible. The judges stood up, breaking the marble stillness they had maintained all morning. Quetzalcoatl's presence filled the air with a scent of humid jungle and distant storm; resplendent feathers exhaled sparks of divine electricity.
The young woman—Tezca—raised a hand and the serpent god bowed before her, acknowledging her call. With a beat of impossible wings, the deity released a bellow that shook the walls. A few seconds sufficed: the demonstration concluded without destruction, but with the certainty that the power of that summoner was from another era.
A reverent silence settled over the stadium. Kael swallowed; Makia and Aelius didn't hide their astonishment at the majesty of the feathered god.
Ian, for the first time all morning, fixed his gaze on the arena. His fists clenched, not from envy, but from a fierce yearning: he wanted to measure himself against Tezca. The vision of the feathered serpent excited his combat instinct; adrenaline roared in his veins, his jaw tensed and a thread of saliva escaped between his teeth, living proof that he could barely contain himself. Every fiber of his body demanded a turn, demanded battle, demanded to prove himself against that power that had just set the stadium ablaze.
The judges exchanged a look charged with respect and alarm. In the School's recent history, no one remembered an aspirant capable of invoking Quetzalcoatl. The bar, already high, had just ascended to the heavens.
A murmur still ran through the stands when they called 3102. A young man of athletic bearing, orange mane falling in rebellious locks and blue eyes like steel blackened by frost, advanced to the circle of runes. His attitude was calm, almost absent, as if Tezca's feat had ignited in him a silent determination.
He knelt, placing his right palm on the runes. A thread of frozen vapor rose from the ground and, with it, a creaking that made the stone vibrate. The stadium lights flickered; the air turned icy. Then, as if the world's ribcage were cracking, a luminous fissure opened, from which emerged a colossal shadow: Fenrir, the primordial wolf.
His fur was a night mottled with frost; each breath clouded the environment with arctic vapor. Fangs glinted under the lights and a guttural growl traversed the arena, so deep that the stadium's windows vibrated. Fenrir turned his head, fixing on the judges eyes that seemed to contain the frozen twilight.
The eight arbiters stood up. Even Rhygar, impassive until then, adjusted the position of his crimson mantle as if he needed to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
The young man—Eldar, the crowd whispered, remembering the name inscribed next to the number—extended his hand; the giant wolf lowered its muzzle, accepting the mute order of its summoner. At a gesture, Fenrir struck the stone with a paw, opening grooves like frozen rivers and making the foundations tremble. Then, with another slight motion, the beast withdrew and the light crack that had brought it closed silently, dissipating the cold in a sigh.
A second reverent silence took over the stadium, even more intense than the previous one. Someone exhaled as if they had been holding their breath for centuries. Two gods—Quetzalcoatl and Fenrir—had answered in less than an hour. Never, in the School's recent memory, had such a parade of primordial power been seen.
Ian gritted his teeth until he felt the pressure reverberate in his skull. His already aching fists trembled with pure warrior anxiety. Makia placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm that fire; Aelius, without taking his eyes off the arena, whispered barely audibly:
"The exam just changed forever."
And above, Rhygar narrowed his eyes, between astonished and fearful of the magnitude of the new heroes who had just presented themselves.
Finally came the turn of aspirant 3232: Makia. The public's murmur faded as she entered the circle of runes. In the stands, Aelius and Kael held their breath; Ian, tensing his knuckles, stared intently at his sister, conscious that her demonstration must rival feats worthy of gods.
Makia closed her eyes for an instant. Upon opening them, she launched forward and, at the first step, the air exploded: a sonic boom reverberated in the vault, unmistakable sign that she had broken the sound barrier. Her figure became a black trace, and with each stride she left behind blue filaments: small fissures in the fabric of space-time, sparks of energy that vibrated before closing as if the universe needed a heartbeat to recompose itself.
In less than a blink she reached the stadium's containment wall—a cyclopean block of reinforced rock destined for maximum security—and delivered a single punch. The impact unleashed a shockwave capable of splitting mountains; the wall fractured into a thousand fragments that suspended for a second in the air, like granite petals frozen in time. Makia disappeared and reappeared among the rubble, striking each fragment with surgical precision, reducing them to slivers so fine they seemed like illuminated dust.
When the expansive wave dissipated, an overwhelming silence filled the enclosure. The containment ring, designed to withstand elemental cataclysms, lay shattered. The ground, previously pristine, presented an inverted cone-shaped indentation, testimony to the fist that had unleashed that force.
Makia stopped in the center of the dust vortex, breathing serenely, without a single scratch. Around her, the stone fragments settled gently, as if drawn by a silent order, effortlessly forming a perfect circle. The judges levitated a degree higher, astonished; even Rhygar bowed his head, his lips forming an almost imperceptible gesture of respect.
In the stands, Aelius released the air he didn't know he'd been holding. Kael laughed under his breath, a mix of relief and pure amazement. Ian braced himself on his knees—he couldn't take it anymore.
Makia bowed her head slightly to the judges and left the circle with a calm step. There were no gods at her side—only the certainty that flesh and will, taken to the limit, could break the world and reassemble it at will.
Only then, after the exhibition, Isolde—who was still distributing plates at the table—took a deep breath and felt a shiver remembering the kick she had received from Makia during registration. That blow, she understood now, had been barely a benign touch: behind that cordial smile hid a power capable of pulverizing walls. A shudder ran through her at the idea of what that force would have meant if Makia had not shown restraint that day.
Makia bowed her head slightly to the judges and began her return march. In that instant the central aisle seemed to contract: Ian, designated 3233, advanced to take his place in the circle. As they crossed, the siblings bumped fists in a brief gesture; a lightning bolt of complicity surged between them, fire transmitted from one hand to the other.
Ian raised his gaze—madness and warrior jubilation flashing in his eyes—and fixed his sight on the judges floating above the arena. The order had not yet been given when his silhouette dissolved; the sonic boom resonated like a cannon shot. The public barely managed to blink: Ian disappeared from the circle and, in the same fraction of a second, materialized his fist right in front of Rhygar.
The legendary judge—one of the world's most powerful warriors—raised an arm in reflex, but the collision was brutal. A blast reverberated throughout the structure and the impact's energy propagated in visible waves; the stands' magnetic shield crackled… and still it wasn't enough. Rhygar was thrown backward like a crimson meteor, piercing through the floating railing and breaking two containment walls before disappearing among rubble and dust.
An impossible silence fell over the stadium. Makia, Kael, and Aelius were left with petrified expressions—eyes open like moons—; the crowd, unable even to scream, choked on their breath. The other seven judges, still levitating, took an instant to react: never, in the exam's history, had an aspirant struck a judge… and much less Rhygar.
Ian remained in the air, suspended a heartbeat after the blow, as if gravity hesitated to claim him. A savage smile curved his lips; adrenaline made his arms tremble. Finally his feet touched the ground, raising a slight swirl of dust. He raised his gaze to the remaining judges—not with defiance, but with a pure hunger for trial—and exhaled an almost happy sigh:
"Next."
In the stands, astonishment became feverish murmuring: first Aurora, resurrecting the forgotten faculty of braiding cosmic energies with light and darkness; then the appearance of Quetzalcoatl in Tezca's hands and, immediately after, Fenrir subdued by Eldar; then Makia, pulverizing a reinforced wall… and now an aspirant who with a single blow sent one of the planet's most powerful men out of the room. The judges exchanged looks charged with stupor and, for the first time in the day, a silent question formed among them:
What kind of generation rises today before the School of the Archangels?
The answer, trembling in the air, was yet to be written.
Rhygar, still with adrenaline roaring in his chest, released a brief exhalation between incredulous and euphoric. The corner of his lips trembled, a mix of contained laughter and impression at what had just happened. He shook his hands—as if pretending to dissipate the electricity still tickling his fingers—and then returned to his floating position with a regulatory calm that was more disturbing. The remaining seven judges looked at each other, stunned by the serenity with which their companion resumed judgment, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
The ceremonial voice resounded again:
"Aspirant 3234, Aelius Bekkart… forward."
A young man with dark skin, dark hair, and emerald green eyes walked to the circle of runes with measured steps. Above, over the stadium, outlined the silhouette of a small floating island: an auxiliary post of the Celestial Gardens, anchored over the main one. Aelius raised his gaze; his pupils flashed with cold calculation.
First he extended his hands and erected around himself a spherical field of purple energy: the air vibrated, revealing gravitational lines that pulsed to the rhythm of his breathing. The public observed that transparent dome pulsate like a crystalline heart.
Then he lowered his arms, closing his fingers like invisible claws… and gravity obeyed. A dull rumble resonated overhead when the floating island creaked; the towers tilted, the anchors groaned. The artificial star began to descend, dragged by a colossal pressure that crushed its ethereal base. The sky above the stadium darkened for an instant under that growing shadow.
The entire arena vibrated; fine dust fell from the cornices. The attendees screamed; the judges, open-mouthed, rose higher to dodge the seismic wave. The island, once a symbol of the levitating glory of the Celestial Gardens, crashed against the main surface with a din of collapsing mountains, raising a volcanic cloud of debris.
Aelius—still with a serene face—directed the descent with surgical precision: no inhabited structure was damaged, no passerby was trapped. It was a demonstration not only of gravitational power, but of absolute control over a force capable of pulverizing cities.
Finally, the island fitted into the greater plateau like a sunken crown. A hot wind swept the stadium, dragging shining dust. Aelius opened his eyes, dissipated the purple field, and bowed with a courteous reverence.
The judges, unable to articulate a word, floated like unhinged statues. The exam that should filter the worthy was becoming, minute by minute, a parade of feats bordering on the impossible. And in the chest of each spectator—friend or rival—grew the certainty that this generation was destined to rewrite the history of the Archangels.
After the cataclysm produced by the island's fall, the arena was enveloped in dust and debris for several minutes. The assistants rebuilt the rune rings in haste while the judges, still stupefied, resumed protocol. When, finally, aspirant 3235 was announced, an expectant murmur ran through the stands: it was the turn of Kael DarkZone, the surname given to people from the Dark Zone.
Kael advanced with a light step, brown eyes illuminated by the excitement of showing what made him unique. Everyone knew the four great elements—water, earth, fire, and air—and the sub-element of electricity; what no one had ever witnessed was the perfect synthesis of those powers.
With a circular movement, Kael raised a whirlwind of wind; within it he spun a torrent of water, and the temperature plummeted: the whirlwind crystallized into a column of ice carved at the speed of thought. Without stopping, he released a flame that embraced the glacial spiral; upon contact, the ice fragmented with a whistle, transforming into a cloud of incandescent vapor that covered the arena like a white veil. Over that fog, he discharged an electric arc that crackled in a blue burst. Sparks and burning drops fell like a rain of stars on the circle of runes, without a single one escaping his control.
Each combination—fire and earth to generate lava, fire and water for steam, wind and water for ice, electricity running through all of them—unfolded in a matter of seconds, like a living alchemy book. To crown the exhibition, Kael condensed the lava into a ring that solidified into shining obsidian; he raised it on his palm and let it fall, crashing against the ground without breaking: a polished, perfect signature of his mastery.
The silence that followed seemed eternal. The judges found no words: after divine invocations, gravitational collapses, and blows that felled legends, there was still room for something completely new. Kael dedicated a discreet reverence and withdrew among murmurs of astonishment.
With the turns of their four friends concluded, the exam continued with less thunderous aspirants. Makia, Aelius, Ian, and Kael took advantage of the first recess to gather on the stadium cafeteria's terrace, a balcony open to the cold air of the Celestial Gardens.
"You shone, Kael," Makia said, giving him a friendly elbow while everyone let themselves fall onto the stone benches.
"Thanks… though after you three I thought nothing would impress," he joked, still with his pulse accelerated.
Ian brought a loaf to his mouth with a wide smile. Aelius looked at him over his water glass, arching an eyebrow.
"Trying to knock out Rhygar was too much. What if the council decides to sanction you?"
Ian let out a hoarse giggle. "Bah, he took it good-naturedly. Besides, I wanted to test his defense… and the wall," he answered, shrugging.
Makia clicked her tongue, amused: "Aelius, don't play the virtuous one; you returned an entire island to the ground."
The young man with green eyes tilted his head, slightly raising the corner of his lips: "I controlled the trajectory. There was no collateral damage."
"Though I would have liked to see Sofia," Makia said, with a touch of nostalgia. "I hope she does well."
"She'll do well," Aelius responded with certainty.
"Yes, she's very strong," Ian added between a bite of bread.
"I remember when she was a child… she used to cry a lot," Aelius commented, thoughtful.
"Yes… but now she's very serious and strong," Makia said. "Nothing like the shy and tearful girl we knew."
A general laugh relieved the tension. For the first time since they stepped on the arena, the four felt an authentic respite. The exam, officially, had ended for them; the next phase would come soon, but that afternoon they could afford the luxury of laughing, sharing toasted bread with herbs and letting the icy breeze dissipate the sweat and combat dust.
High above the cafeteria, the judges' platforms continued slowly spinning under the setting sun, and though the day had exhausted even the veterans, a new certainty weighed on each of them: never, in the School's living history, had such a fearsome cohort gathered… nor so unpredictable.
Among the 8,572 aspirants, Sofia had been assigned to turn 8,456, almost at the end of the day. From her position, she had witnessed the impressive demonstrations of Makia, Aelius, Kael, and Ian, each more surprising than the last. However, they had no opportunity to see her own exhibition: a spectacular display that left the examiners completely frozen, reminding them that another extraordinary force awaited at the exam's end.