The blue pill sat on his tongue like a lie he was choosing to swallow.
He washed it down with water from the small basin in the corner, then collapsed back onto the narrow bed. The room felt smaller than it had yesterday—the stone walls pressing in closer, as if they knew his secret and were closing in to suffocate him with it. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow window, painting pale golden stripes across the floor that slowly crawled toward shadow as evening approached.
He didn't move from the bed.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, sharp and insistent, but he ignored it. Food meant going to the main hall. The main hall meant crowds of students. Students meant questions he had absolutely no way to answer.
By now, the story would be spreading everywhere.
Rank One Varyn—perfect trial scores, the untouchable prodigy with the eerie purple hair—couldn't summon even a single colored flare in basic class this morning. Not even a tiny flicker. The instructors had quickly called it backlash from the intense trials. The academy healer had confirmed it with a grave nod and that blue pill. Convenient. Safe. It bought him precious time.
But time was a currency he was burning through far too fast.
He rolled onto his side and stared blankly at the wall. The faint runes carved there pulsed with a gentle, steady rhythm—completely indifferent to his growing panic. This academy ran entirely on power you could see—brilliant red flames, flowing blue water, vibrant green growth, radiant yellow light. Colors that announced exactly who you were and precisely how strong you were. Everyone had one affinity color. Everyone except him.
The battlefield memory came back again, sharp and uninvited.
This time it played out even clearer than before.
He stood—no, the original Varyn stood—in the center of a massive circular arena bathed in harsh white light. Rows and rows of opponents faced him from all directions, their academy robes marked with bright affinity stripes: red, blue, green, shining gold. Their hands glowed intensely as they built powerful spells, preparing to unleash everything they had.
Then Varyn's hands moved.
Not fast like wind magic or explosive like force spells. Just... precise. Controlled. Deliberate. A small flick of slender fingers. A subtle tilt of the wrist. No color bloomed from his palms. No light flared dramatically around his body. But one opponent simply dropped to the ground, eyes rolling back white mid-cast. Another clutched his head desperately with both hands and folded over double. A third froze completely solid, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, then crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
Silent. Clean. Invisible.
No flashy colored magic needed at all.
Because the power had never been about visible displays.
He opened his eyes, heart pounding hard against his ribs.
Purple affinity. Mind and spirit magic. The absolute rarest color on the entire spectrum. The one students whispered about in hushed, fearful voices.
If that was really true, then no amount of rest or healing would ever fix what was wrong with him.
That terrifying power had belonged to the original soul that lived in this body.
And that soul was gone forever. Replaced by him.
He sat up slowly, pushing the long purple strands away from his face with shaking hands. The hair felt heavier today, like it was physically carrying the crushing weight of expectations he could never possibly meet.
The tablet on his desk chimed softly, breaking the silence.
DINNER SERVICE – MAIN HALL – FINAL CALL
His stomach twisted painfully—half from gnawing hunger, half from pure dread. Skipping another meal would only draw more unwanted attention. Weakness would definitely be noticed. More questions would inevitably be asked. He had to eat something. Had to act normal and blend into the background.
He forced himself to stand, smoothed down his wrinkled robes with unsteady hands, and stepped out into the hallway.
The stone corridors were much quieter now, with most students already down at dinner. A few stragglers hurried past, casting quick sideways glances at him. One girl with short green-tinted hair actually slowed her pace dramatically, eyes going wide as saucers, before her friend grabbed her arm hard and practically dragged her away.
Whispers followed him down the hall like trailing smoke.
He kept his face carefully blank and kept walking forward.
The main dining hall was an enormous cavern filled with floating tables—long wooden surfaces hovering perfectly three feet off the polished stone floor, lit by soft glowing orbs that drifted lazily overhead like captured stars. Students sat scattered in loose groups, their trays appearing magically the instant they touched the enchanted wood. Food shimmered into existence before them: perfectly roasted meats, steaming colorful vegetables, bread still radiating warmth, large bowls of soup that filled the air with the rich smell of herbs and salt.
He chose a table positioned near the far edge of the hall, almost completely empty and half-hidden in shadow. Two older students sat at the opposite end with their heads bent low over their plates. They glanced up briefly when he approached, then very quickly looked away.
He sat down carefully. The table recognized his presence instantly—a plain tray materialized out of thin air. Simple, basic food appeared: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, a single roll, and a dark fizzy drink. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would draw attention.
He ate mechanically, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his plate.
Halfway through his meal, someone suddenly slid onto the bench directly across from him.
He looked up, startled by the intrusion.
A boy around his age—maybe a year older at most—with short messy black hair and warm, friendly brown eyes. His academy robes had a single green stripe sewn onto the left sleeve. Open, friendly face. Relaxed, easy posture. He carried his food tray the normal way instead of floating it with showy magic.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked cheerfully, already settling comfortably into his seat. "Everywhere else is either completely packed tight or... weirdly tense, you know?"
He glanced around the massive hall quickly. Plenty of empty spots were scattered at various other tables, but all the popular ones were absolutely crammed full of tight friend groups. Several curious heads turned their direction, watching.
The boy noticed the attention too.
"Yeah, rumors travel way faster than actual spells around here." He stuck out his hand across the table with an easy grin. "I'm Arlen. Second-year student. Green affinity—plants, growth, some basic healing on the edges."
He hesitated for just a heartbeat, then reached out and shook the offered hand. The grip was surprisingly firm and heavily callused from hard work.
"Varyn."
Arlen's eyebrows rose slightly in recognition, but he didn't make any big deal about the famous rank or the perfect scores.
"Nice hair," he said instead, completely casual and friendly. "Real natural purple's super rare. Most of us just fake it with cheap dye if we want that dramatic look."
He touched a long strand self-consciously, tucking it behind his ear.
"It's... natural. Born with it."
Arlen nodded like that made perfect sense and wasn't surprising at all.
They ate in comfortable silence for a full minute. Arlen's food was practically alive with visible magic—the crisp leaves on his salad shimmered with faint green light, a dinner roll had tiny living vines actively curling out from the golden crust, a bright red apple glowed softly from deep within when he bit into it with a satisfying crunch.
He couldn't help staring openly at the display.
Arlen caught him looking and grinned wider.
"First time seeing live affinity magic up close like this?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Where'd you transfer in from, anyway? No offense intended, but you really don't have the usual top-rank student vibe going on."
Dangerous question. He had to be extremely careful here.
"Far away," he answered vaguely, keeping his tone light. "Really small place. No formal magical training to speak of."
Arlen accepted the non-answer easily without pushing for specific details.
"Color magic's the absolute foundation of everything here," Arlen explained casually, gesturing at his softly glowing apple. "Everyone's directly connected to the spectrum somehow. Red's fire, raw force, pure destructive power. Orange is physical impact and momentum. Yellow's light manipulation, illusions, precision work. Green—like mine—is life energy, growth, healing and restoration. Blue's flow, water, adaptation to changing situations. And purple..." He lowered his voice significantly, leaning forward. "Mind and spirit. Direct perception, emotional control, mental manipulation. Definitely the most dangerous one."
He kept his facial expression carefully neutral, giving nothing away.
"Dangerous how, exactly?"
Arlen leaned in even closer, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"High-level purple mages don't need any visible spells at all. No colored flare, no protective shield, no dramatic light show whatsoever. They just... think at you. And terrible things happen. Stop your heart dead. Completely erase a specific memory. Make you forget you ever tried to cast that spell in the first place. The Final Trials specifically reward pure efficiency—perfect scores always go to the absolute cleanest eliminations. Zero wasted mana, you know?"
A cold chill ran down his spine.
"That's how you did it in the trials, right?" Arlen asked, genuinely curious but not at all accusing. "Everyone's been saying the backlash hit you really hard this morning. Couldn't produce even a basic flare in Instructor Gravel's class."
He nodded slowly, carefully.
"Word travels fast here."
"Yeah, insanely fast. Some people think it's genuinely tragic—a wounded prodigy. Others think you're actively hiding your true strength on purpose, suppressing it deliberately to avoid unwanted attention and challenges. And a few people think..." Arlen shrugged casually. "Well. Students always love drama and wild theories."
He forced out a small, unconvincing laugh.
"Let them think whatever they want."
Arlen finished his glowing apple in three big bites; the leftover core immediately sprouted a tiny green seedling before dissolving completely into sparkling mist.
"Look, if you ever need a quiet place to practice magic—no audience watching, absolutely no judgment—I usually hang out in the minor greenhouse right after dinner. Plants definitely don't judge anyone. Plus I owe several favors to the groundskeeper, so access isn't a problem."
He considered the genuine offer carefully.
"Thanks for that. Maybe I'll take you up on it."
Arlen stood up smoothly, his empty tray dissolving into nothing under his casual touch.
"No pressure at all. Just... top rank or not, this place has a nasty habit of eating the isolated students first." He smiled warmly. "See you around, Varyn."
He watched Arlen weave skillfully through the crowded tables and disappear into the sea of students.
Alone once again, he finished eating his food quickly. Hushed whispers floated over from nearby tables—soft enough that he couldn't make out actual words, but loud enough to feel their heavy weight pressing down.
He left the hall before dessert could appear on his tray.
Back in his assigned room, he locked the door firmly and sat cross-legged in the center of his bed.
He closed his eyes tight.
He tried again—not reaching for color this time, not searching for visible flare, but reaching for something much quieter. Something invisible.
A faint sense of other minds nearby. A thin thread of ambient emotion. A subtle pressure he could push against someone's wandering thoughts.
He reached outward as far as his imagination could possibly stretch.
Nothing answered his call.
No distant echo. No mental resistance. Just hollow, empty silence.
He opened his eyes and exhaled very slowly.
Purple affinity. Silent and invisible. Absolutely deadly.
And completely, utterly gone from this body.
The tablet chimed sharply again—this time with a new message flashing urgently.
ACADEMY BULLETIN: RANKING VERIFICATION PETITIONS NOW OFFICIALLY OPEN FOR CURRENT TERM. 50 STUDENT SIGNATURES REQUIRED TO TRIGGER FORMAL CHALLENGE.
His blood turned to ice in his veins.
Anyone could challenge the posted results now.
Anyone could demand a very public demonstration.
He pushed his hair back with both hands and stared up at the glowing ceiling runes.
Rumors spreading through the halls were one thing.
Actual proof demanded in front of witnesses was something else entirely.
Tomorrow meant more mandatory classes.
Tomorrow meant even more watching eyes.
Tomorrow the whispers would grow sharp teeth.
He pulled the thin blanket over himself without bothering to change out of his robes.
The academy outside his locked door hummed with constant magical power—bright colors flaring dramatically in practice yards, carefree laughter echoing down stone halls, confident students absolutely secure in their visible, proven strength.
Inside his locked room, Rank One lay awake for a very long time.
He didn't need to somehow become genuinely strong overnight.
He just needed to stay unnoticed and unremarkable long enough for everyone's attention to shift elsewhere.
Because once they formally demanded proof he couldn't provide...
There would be absolutely nothing left to hide behind.
And in a world built entirely on visible color, being completely colorless was exactly the same as being nothing at all.