Chapter 5 The Class of Prodigies
The Division of Special Talents was a world within a world, marked by a gate of carved obsidian and a motto that promised everything and demanded more: "To Bend Fate, Master Both Blade and Thought." Stepping through, Lyon felt the air change. It was sharp, charged with the silent competition of prodigies honing their edges against one another.
The training hall was vast, a crucible of potential. Suspended platforms floated for aerial drills, and the floor was inlaid with rune stones that hummed with logic and mana intertwined. The students here were the outliers, the ones who had broken scales and defied categories. Their gazes were not just curious; they were analytical, dissecting him for weakness and potential in equal measure.
He recognized a few. Lucas, a mountain of muscle whose every strike against a training post sounded like thunder. Kaela Rune, a whirlwind of energy with an electric grin, her person clattering with a portable alchemical kit. Evelynn Frostborn, serene and untouchable, a sheath of perpetual frost clinging to her clothes without melting. And, of course, Seraphina and Aria, moving through the room like natural forces—one a shadow, the other a blade of light.
Professor Mirelle Dorne entered, and silence fell without a command. Her authority was a tangible force.
"You are Section Alpha," she stated, her voice cutting through the last whispers. "You are not here merely to harness power, but to direct it. The tests will break you. The costs may be your lives. Remember: your element is a tool. Your will is the craftsman."
The introductions were a study in ambition and threat.
"Kaela Rune! Alchemy and Applied Tinkering!" she announced, winking at Lyon. "You're going to be a fascinating variable."
"Evelynn Frostborn. Cryomancy and Strategic Application." Her tone was a glacier—beautiful, implacable, and leaving no room for nonsense. Lyon gave a respectful nod.
Then it was his turn. "Lyon Kael. Dominion of Creation and Destruction."
A ripple of tension passed through the room. The murmurs this time were not of awe, but of tactical assessment. Alliances were being calculated in real-time; he was either a future cornerstone or a primary target.
Professor Mirelle's gaze rested on him for a telling moment. "We begin with controlled pairings. Demonstrate utility, not spectacle. Failure is a lesson. Catastrophe is a final exam."
The first match—Lucas versus Kaela—was a spectacle of brute force versus cunning chaos. It was entertaining, but predictable.
Then Lyon was paired with Evelynn.
The temperature plummeted the moment she stepped onto the arena floor. She didn't gesture; she simply willed a lattice of crystalline ice shards into existence, hurling them toward him with silent, deadly precision.
Lyon's hands moved on instinct, his mind channeling the System's cold logic. He didn't block; he unmade. A constellation of void motes blossomed before him, swallowing the ice shards. They didn't shatter; they ceased to be, leaving only a faint mist of condensed moisture in the air.
Evelynn's cool composure cracked with a flicker of surprise. "You neutralize without collateral damage. Efficient."
"Versatility is a sharper weapon than brute force," he replied.
His counter was a single, precise Void Bolt. It didn't roar; it hissed, slicing clean through a reinforced training pillar and shearing off a section with a sound like a cut wire. It was not a display of power, but of control.
From the sidelines, Seraphina gave a slow, approving nod. Aria's analysis was a physical weight, her silver eyes missing nothing. Kaela was already scribbling frantically in a notebook, her mind reverse-engineering the principles she'd witnessed.
As the class dispersed, a priority message flashed on Professor Mirelle's wrist-mounted arcane interface. Her face tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Tonight," she announced, her voice cutting through the post-drill chatter, "all of you will man the Northern Parapets as part of a readiness rotation. Consider it a practical lesson in vigilance."
The unspoken word hung in the air: This is not a drill.
Lyon's instincts, sharpened by the System, screamed a warning. The academy was not a shelter; it was a forward operating base.
That night, standing on the windswept northern wall, the festive lights of the academy felt distant. The wind carried a strange scent—ozone, and something else… the metallic tang of broken iron, impossibly far away.
He understood then. His awakening had been a signal fire in the dark. Someone, or something, had seen it.
The stars above no longer looked like distant lights. They looked like eyes.
Lyon wrapped his cloak tighter, the System humming a low, ready frequency in his soul. There was no more confusion, no more fear of the unknown. Only a cold, focused resolve.
He was done being a student. He was ready to become a problem for whatever was coming.