We don't make it far after the Hall of Measures.
Ryn keeps looking over his shoulder like the scarred instructor might reappear and sentence us to death by etiquette lecture, but the corridor only grows quieter as we move away from the main exam wing. Students peel off into clusters, their voices rising again, relief spilling into chatter.
I'm just starting to relax, just starting to let the exam settle into the past, until I stop when I hear a soft chime sound behind us.
Not the Academy bell.
Something smaller.
Targeted.
An attendant in white-and-blue robes approaches, walking with the kind of calm that says they've delivered messages that ruined lives and messages that saved them, often in the same day.
"Are you Kael Arin?" she asks.
"Yes?"
"The Faculty summons you," she says simply, and extends a thin slate of crystal. My name glows across it in neat script, along with a location:
Upper Annex - Scholar's Gallery.
Ryn leans in, squinting. "Upper Annex? That sure sounds expensive."
The attendant's expression doesn't change. "This is not optional."
Ryn straightens instantly. "Of course it's not."
The attendant glares at Ryn with a disapproving look, before looking back at me.
"It would be in your best interest to attend."
I take the slate.
The moment my fingers touch it, the Codex flickers.
[SUMMONS DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: FACULTY DIRECTIVE]
[RISK: UNKNOWN]
Recommendation for the User is to proceed with caution.
Ryn follows my gaze and sighs. "You ok? You look nervous."
"Yeah, I'm fine, just caught off-guard," I murmur.
"Why don't we go together?" Ryn tries to reassure me.
We're guided through a series of corridors we haven't seen before, cleaner and quieter, but with fewer students and more runes. The architecture shifts subtly as we ascend: less dormitory practicality, more institutional grandeur. Crystal walls with embedded glyphs. Floating lamps that respond to presence. Doors that open without being touched, recognising identity through Aether signatures.
Ryn whistles softly. "Yep. This is definitely expensive."
The attendant stops.
"Only Kael Arin can proceed," she says.
Ryn blinks. "Oh, come on. You've got to be kidding me."
The attendant's eyes flick to him, polite but firm. "This is an individual meeting."
Ryn looks at me, then gestures vaguely with both hands. "Well? Try your best not to get executed, I guess."
"Thanks..." I say
He points at me. "If you die, I'm taking your bed."
I nod solemnly. "Real reassuring, Ryn."
Ryn chuckles and then leans closer, lowering his voice. "Also, if they offer you a noble sponsorship, don't accept it. Trust me."
"Umm... ok, weirdly specific."
Ryn shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. "Just... don't."
I file it away and follow the attendant onward alone.
The Faculty's Gallery isn't just a room. It's a statement.
A wide circular chamber with tall arched windows overlooking Valoria, the city lay out beneath like a living map. The crystal floor is etched with layered, mathematical-looking sigils featuring concentric rings, intersecting lines, and spirals that feel less like magic circles and more like geometry carved into stone by someone who loved precision.
At the centre stands a single desk.
And behind it, the scarred instructor.
He isn't seated.
He's leaning against the desk with arms folded, gaze already on me as if he knew exactly when I would arrive.
Two other faculty members stand nearby, older, robed, expressions neutral. One holds a parchment scroll sealed with blue wax. The other has a crystal orb floating above his palm, rotating slowly.
The scarred instructor speaks first.
"Young Arin, we meet again."
I stop at a respectful distance away. "Indeed, we do, sir."
He studies me for a moment, then gestures toward the desk.
"Sit."
I do.
The chair is carved from crystal, somehow comfortable, and definitely too expensive for a commoner to touch without permission. I sit carefully anyway.
The scarred instructor breaks the silence, "As I mentioned before, when we met briefly in the hallway, I was impressed by your answers, and how you got them."
"However..."
The scarred instructor breaks a seal on a scroll.
"The other members of faculty have reviewed your responses," he says, voice measured. "And have deemed your theory score to be exceptional... too exceptional."
'These motherf— they actually think I cheated'
Unable to contain myself, I shot back at the scarred instructor.
"Too exceptional for a commoner... I assume?"
The scarred instructor's mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite.
"Too exceptional for someone who claims to have 'learned differently,'" he says.
I regain my composure and neutrally say, "I answered what was asked."
The scarred instructor steps closer to the desk, resting his knuckles on its surface. "Indeed, you did, Young Arin! And you did it faster than most nobles."
I can feel the weight of the room shift. The other two faculty watch quietly, like observers behind glass.
One of the other faculty members in the room continues
"Aetherion Academy maintains a scholar track," he says. "Not for nobles. Not for commoners. For minds. Anyone we consider brilliant."
Ryn would hate that sentence.
"For those who demonstrate advanced theoretical capacity," the man continues, "we offer supplemental assessment. If you perform well, you receive additional points added to your entrance evaluation."
"Points?" I repeat quietly.
"Yes, enough to secure admission even if your practical performance is… moderate to say the least."
The scarred instructor cuts in, bluntly. "You still have to do the practical."
I look at him. "Then what's the point of doing this exam?"
His eyes sharpen. "To see if your mind is real, or if you were just lucky."
A beat.
The last faculty member, the one with the orb, speaks for the first time.
"This scholar examination is typically offered to candidates with documented preparatory schooling," he says. "Which you do not have."
I don't say anything.
He continues. "Which means either you are an anomaly that we need to consider…"
The orb rotates faster, humming faintly.
"…or someone is lying."
The scarred instructor's gaze pins me.
I meet it steadily.
"I'm not lying," I say.
His eyes narrow. "Then prove it."
He turns to the desk and taps the crystal surface once. A rectangular panel slides open, revealing ten parchment sheets, each one stamped with a silver crest:
SCHOLAR ASSESSMENT - RESTRICTED.
The older, robed faculty staff member speaks again, almost formally.
"You will answer ten questions," he says. "This is not Aether theory. It is mathematics, biochemical systems, some answers will require logic, some will require applied calculation."
My pulse steadies.
This is familiar ground.
The scarred instructor watches me closely.
"If you do well," he says, voice low, "you'll gain enough points that the Academy cannot deny you, even if... some of the Houses would prefer it."
He says it like a warning.
Or a promise.
Then he slides the first parchment toward me.
"Begin."
I look down at the first page.
All I see are numbers. Not runes disguised as numbers, or symbolic magic made to look like mathematics.
No.
I see actual mathematics.
I catch my breath, not from fear, but from something akin to relief.
For the first time since reincarnating in Elyndra. I'm reading a language that my old self spoke fluently.
The Codex flickers, as if slightly unsure how to categorise the shift.
[EXAM CATEGORY: UNKNOWN]
[TEXT PATTERN: NON-AETHERIAN SYMBOLIC LOGIC]
[RECOMMENDATION: ENABLE ANALYSIS SUPPORT]
I whisper lightheartedly under my breath, "Don't worry, Codex, there's no need."
The Codex pauses.
... The User has declined support. Explanation is required.
I almost smile.
Because the Codex doesn't understand that this exam category isn't unknown to me.
It's made for me.
I dip the quill and begin.
The scarred instructor speaks, almost casually, as if reading from memory.
"Question one," he says. "Solve the differential equation describing a damped harmonic system under external periodic forcing. Provide the general solution and define the resonance condition."
The older, robed faculty member watches me like he expects hesitation.
I don't hesitate.
My hand moves.
I write the standard form of a second-order linear ODE with damping and forcing, solve the homogeneous component, then the particular solution using complex exponentials or undetermined coefficients, define resonance when the driving frequency approaches the natural frequency, and describe damping as minimal.
I finish and set the quill down.
The room is silent.
The scarred instructor's eyes narrow slightly. "Again," he says.
"Again, what?"
"Do you even understand what you wrote?" he asks, tone sharp.
I look up. "Yes."
He studies me, then nods once, almost imperceptible and moves on.
Another question, asked by the orb-bearing faculty member, their voice was cooler. "Biochemical pathway modelling. You are given a two-enzyme reaction chain with Michaelis–Menten kinetics. Derive the steady-state concentration of the intermediate substrate under a constant input flux."
I freeze for half a second.
Not because it's hard. But because of the absurdity.
'Biochemical engineering. Here?'
'I'm in a floating crystal academy that teaches magic through emotion and tradition, yet I'm being forced to answer a question on biochemical engineering."
Suddenly, my old world feels very close.
[TERM DETECTED: BIOCHEMICAL]
[DEFINITION: UNKNOWN]
System requests an explanation from the User.
I whisper, amused despite myself, "It's stuff from my old world."
[CLARIFICATION REQUESTED]
I shake my head and start writing anyway, my mind slipping into a groove so familiar it feels like muscle memory; defining rates for enzyme 1 and enzyme 2, applying steady-state conditions, and substituting Michaelis-Menten expressions.
The quill scratches steadily.
I finish and glance up.
The scarred instructor is watching me like he's seen something impossible and won't blink.
The older, robed man's expression has shifted slightly from neutrality to mild disbelief.
The Codex flickers again.
[OBSERVATION: USER COMPETENCE EXCEEDS MODEL]
[NOTE: COMPREHENSION SOURCE IS EXTERNAL]
[RISK: UNKNOWN]
I suppress a grin. "Codex, not everything I know comes from you."
For a brief moment, a pause.
System disputes that statement. The system is the primary support for the User.
I almost laugh out loud.
But somehow managed to keep it to a small breath through my nose.
A couple of questions later on vector calculus and reaction-diffusion systems.
My handwriting becomes and stays steady. My breathing is calm, and for once, I don't need the Codex.
For once, I'm not catching up.
I'm ahead.
The Codex flickers, faintly indignant.
The User has bypassed system support. This status is unusual. System is requesting the User's rationale.
'It's because I was trained for this.'
A pause.
[MEMORY INTEGRATION DETECTED]
[SOURCE: PRE-REBIRTH KNOWLEDGE]
[CONCLUSION: VERIFIED]
Then after a beat.
The system has concluded that the User has an unfair advantage.
I stop writing for half a second.
"…Did you just complain?" I whisper.
The scarred instructor's eyes snap to me. "What was that?"
"Nothing," I say quickly, and continue writing.
But inside, I'm smiling now. Fully.
The Codex, my strange invisible companion, has opinions.
That's… new.
And also slightly ridiculous.
But not unwelcome.
And for the first time, the system feels less like a tool and more like a presence.
I completed the tenth question with time to spare.
I set the quill down gently.
The room remains quiet.
The scarred instructor moves first. He picks up my sheets and flips through them faster than any human should be able to read. His eyes track lines like he's scanning for errors, for fraud, for cracks.
Then he stops.
His gaze lifts to me.
For a moment, I can't read his expression.
Then he looks to the other faculty.
"He didn't use any assistance," he says.
The orb-bearing faculty member's eyes narrow. "The anti-cheat field—"
"Didn't trigger," the older robed man says quietly, voice almost reverent. "And the work is consistent throughout."
The scarred instructor sets the papers down and folds his arms again.
"Congratulations, Young Arin! You're either exactly what you appear to be," he says, "or you're the most sophisticated fraud I've ever seen."
"I'm not a fraud," I reply.
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once, as if making a decision.
"Good," he says.
The word feels heavier than praise.
It feels like a door unlocking somewhere.
He leans closer, lowering his voice so the others can't hear as clearly.
"Be careful, Kael. Especially after today, when news breaks out, you're going to make enemies here," he says. "Not because you're powerful."
He taps the edge of the parchment.
"Because you're valuable now."
'So I wasn't before I'm guessing...'
I hold his gaze. "I didn't come here to be liked."
A faint twitch of amusement crosses his mouth.
"Good," he says again. "Because being liked is irrelevant."
He straightens.
The older, robed faculty member clears his throat.
"Kael Arin," he says formally, "you will receive significant scholar credit."
Ryn is going to be insufferably annoying when he hears about this.
The orb-bearing faculty member adds, cooler, "Do not misinterpret this as an exemption. You will still participate in the practical examination."
"Yes, I understand," I say.
The scarred instructor steps aside, gesturing toward the exit.
"Go," he says. "Rest and prepare."
As I rise, the Codex flickers, almost congratulatory.
[SCHOLAR ASSESSMENT COMPLETE]
[PERFORMANCE: EXCEPTIONAL]
[NOTE: USER CAPABILITY EXCEED PREDICTED CURVE]
Then, after a beat.
System notes that the User's unfair advantage remains.
'Stop calling it unfair.'
The Codex responds instantly.
System's counterpoint: User's advantage is statistically unfair.
I almost laugh out loud again.
I leave the Scholar's Gallery with my mind buzzing.
They asked me questions I would have found in my old life.
Which means someone at Aetherion either understands the shape of foreign knowledge…
Or they're testing whether I'm something they've been seeking for a long time.
Either way, I've just placed myself on a completely different board entirely.
And tomorrow, the practical exam will still happen.
No matter how high my theory rises, I still have to stand in front of everyone and cast Aether in a world that worships the already established.
I still have to prove that I'm not just a mind.
But that I'm a mage.
Right now, as I walk back toward the dorm wing, the Academy feels different.
Not bigger.
Closer.
Like a machine that's found a new gear and is deciding where to place it.