"Normally, a stigma is visible the moment a Nyx awakens, even if it remains dormant. If yours is missing from the readout, I assume it hasn't surfaced yet."
She met his gaze, her eyes searching his crimson depths.
"But there is no cause for alarm. Latent Stigmas often require a specific threshold of power—or a significant emotional catalyst—to emerge. With stats like yours, it is only a matter of time."
"I understand. Thank you," Aren replied, his voice calm, though his mind was already a whirlwind of tactical possibilities. To the world, a Rank C was mediocre—but for Aren, it was the perfect veil.
After concluding his business at the Nyx Registration Center, Aren stepped back out into the crisp city air.
Following the bank clerk's cryptic advice, he sought out a high-end internet café.
He needed a secure connection to submit his application to the Soren Academy—the one place where his new identity could truly take root while he remained hidden in plain sight.
Aren found a secluded booth in the back of the internet café, the air thick with the hum of cooling fans and the faint, ozone scent of mana-conductive hardware.
He tapped his Aureus bracelet against the terminal, and a shimmering holographic interface flickered to life.
Before navigating to the Soren Academy's portal, curiosity pulled him toward the trending news feeds.
He didn't have to search long; his own face, captured in a grainy courtroom sketch, was plastered across every major forum.
The headlines were a chaotic battlefield of public opinion:
"THE DIVINE ANOMALY: Was the Holy Sword Malfunctioning?"
"Donovan Heir Absolved: Is the Sacred Court Compromised?"
"Witnesses Claim the 'Innocent' Aren Donovan Smiled During the Verdict."
Aren scrolled through the comment sections, his expression unreadable. The public was divided.
Half the Kingdom viewed him as a victim of a corrupt judicial system, while the other half—fueled by anonymous whistleblowers—claimed he had used "Forbidden Ether" to trick the sword.
Some even speculated that Beryl Donovan had bribed the High Priestess.
Let them speculate, Aren felt a familiar, icy calculation settling behind his ribs. The more they argue over my guilt, the more the court, the witnesses, and the judge become targets.
He closed the news tabs and redirected his focus to the Soren Academy's official application.
It was an arduous process, designed to weed out the weak before they even stepped onto the grounds.
As he filled in his new name, Aren Rayne, and his freshly minted Rank C status, he hit a roadblock: The Mandate of Origin.
The screen pulsed with a deep amber light.
[MANDATE OF ORIGIN]: All applicants must provide a verified family lineage or a High-Ranking Patron's recommendation. Failure to provide either will result in an immediate Tier-3 Security Background Check.
Aren focused on the screen, his fingers poised over the keyboard. As he reached the "Mandate of Origin" section, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips.
The system demanded a patron or a bloodline verification. Without it, he would be flagged for a deep-dive background check—something that would lead the Academy's hounds straight to the "Aren Donovan" scandal.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the letter from his mother, Beryl. He didn't look at the harsh words inside; his eyes were fixed on the Donovan Family Crest embossed at the bottom—a signature of authority that Beryl had intended to be his final severance.
"You gave me this to ensure I stayed far away from the family, Mother," Aren thought, his crimson eyes gleaming. "But you forgot that even a letter of exile carries the weight of the hand that wrote it."
The letter contained a digital verification code—a standard procedure for high-noble disinheritances to ensure the outcast can access their "parting gift" funds. Aren didn't use it to claim his money; he redirected the code into the Academy's patron verification slot.
The system whirred, processing the high-level encryption of the Donovan dynasty.
[PATRON DETECTED: BERYL DONOVAN] [STATUS: FORMAL ENDORSEMENT RECOGNIZED]
The screen didn't care that the letter was a cold dismissal. In the eyes of the automated system, the Head of the Donovan House had personally validated Aren Rayne's credentials.
By trying to wash her hands of him, Beryl had inadvertently provided him with the highest-tier security clearance possible.
[APPLICATION SUBMITTED SUCCESSFULLY]
The blue glow of the screen washed over him, a ghost of a victory in a room full of shadows. Beryl wanted him to disappear into the shadows of destitution.
Instead, she had just opened the doors to the most prestigious academy in the Kingdom for the son she had tried to erase.
"Thank you for the 'mercy,' Mother," he whispered while looking at the screen. "I'll be sure to put it to good use."
The holographic panel flickered once and went dark the instant Aren's finger left the Send prompt.
For a moment, the cramped internet booth fell silent. Only a faint blue glow lingered in the air, humming softly against his skin. The system was processing—threading its way through Donovan's high-security encryption, the last lingering shadow of a family that had already cast him aside.
Seconds stretched.
Then the screen ignited in gold.
The Soren Academy crest materialized—a blade cleaving through a heavy tome.
[APPLICATION STATUS: VERIFIED]
Lines of data unfolded beneath it.
LOCATION:Atocha District, High Council Square – South Entrance Portal
TIME:Two weeks from today. Tuesday, 06:00
PROTOCOL:Phase One – Open Field Operation
Aren leaned back. The chair creaked under his weight.
Atocha.
Even the name carried a harsh edge. On the western borders of the Mohen Holy Kingdom, the district was little more than fractured basalt and dust-choked stone.
Its only value was the ether crystals that came from there. The reason for this was the ether cores possessed by the monsters, thanks to the monster waves emanating from those lands.
For the Soren Academy, Atocha was not a location, but a proving ground.
An open field operation meant exactly what it implied: no controlled environment, no safety barriers, no guarantees. Candidates were expected to endure, adapt, and live.
Or disappear.
Aren exhaled. A single, controlled breath. His body relaxed a beat later, almost offended at how quickly his mind had grown bored with the tension.
Two weeks.
To the Academy's systems, he was a Rank C—unremarkable, safely mediocre. A convenient misclassification. His actual attributes sat far outside the comfortable boundaries of institutional logic.
A useful advantage.
He brushed his thumb across the surface of the Aureus bracelet. The balance shimmered into view, steady and absurdly large. Enough to secure equipment, leverage, options—things far more reliable than talent alone.
He felt no dread. Instead, a restless, jagged spark of excitement flickered behind his eyes. Calculation, for him, wasn't a cold burden; it was a high-stakes game.
He wasn't just planning to pass the exam—he was already thinking of how to break the simulation's logic just to see what would happen.
Beryl Donovan had intended her letter to erase him. Instead, her gold would become the foundation of everything that followed.
Aren stepped out of the internet café. The midnight air bit sharply at his lungs, cold and clean. He welcomed the sting.
He turned his gaze toward the horizon.
There was no hope or hesitation in his eyes—only the cold focus of someone who had already made his decision.
At last, everything was beginning to move.
This time, he would be the one to take the first step.