The accommodation for Rank F students wasn't a dormitory; it was a kennel.
I stared at the room I was expected to share with three other boys. It was a ten-by-ten stone box located in the sub-basement of the Spire. The air smelled of mildew and unwashed socks, and the ambient mana density here was so thin it felt like trying to breathe through a straw.
"Home sweet home," Tobias muttered, throwing his bag onto one of the rickety bunk beds. "At least we have a roof, right? I heard the students who failed the initial pressure test are sleeping in the stables."
I didn't answer. I was too busy inspecting the mattress. It was stuffed with straw—cheap, non-conductive straw. In my previous life, even the war dogs in my legion slept on mana-infused bedding to promote recovery.
"I need to meditate," I said, claiming the bottom bunk.
"Already?" The third roommate, a lanky boy named Jace with nervous eyes, looked up from unpacking. "Shouldn't we go explore? I heard the upper floors have gravity chambers."
"You can't afford them," I said bluntly, crossing my legs. "And right now, exploring is a waste of calories. We have zero AP. Until we earn points, we are effectively starving."
I closed my eyes, ignoring their whispers.
The Argentum Citadel was a machine designed to grind the weak into paste. If I wanted to survive, I needed to fix this broken vessel of a body. I turned my focus inward, visualizing the mana pathways in my chest.
They were clogged. Atrophied. It was like trying to push a river through a blocked drainpipe.
Circulation technique: The Iron Heart.
It was a basic soldier's breathing exercise from five hundred years ago. It didn't expand mana capacity, but it hardened the channels, preparing them for higher output. I forced a sliver of mana from my core, dragging it agonizingly through my left arm. Pain flared—hot and sharp—but I held it.
I sweated. I trembled. After an hour, I had completed one cycle.
My eyes snapped open. Pathetic. In my prime, I cycled mana three thousand times a second. Now, one cycle took an hour.
"Morning announcements," a magical voice boomed from a speaker rune on the wall, startling Tobias so bad he fell off his bunk. "All First-Year students report to the Coliseum for Attribute Assessment. Attendance is mandatory. Lateness costs 50 AP."
"We don't even have 50 AP!" Tobias shrieked.
"Then run," I said, already moving.
The Coliseum was a massive circular arena carved from white marble, open to the sky. The stands were filled with Second and Third-year students, jeering and taking bets on the fresh meat.
In the center of the arena stood the Mana Monolith—a black crystal pillar used to measure raw magical output.
Instructor Horgen, a man built like a siege tower with scars crossing his bald head, stood by the pillar. "Line up!" he roared. "Today we see what you are. Trash? Or treasure?"
The concept was simple. Touch the stone. Pour your mana in. The stone lights up. The color dictates your potential.
Red (Low). Yellow (Average). Blue (High). Violet (Elite).
I watched as student after student stepped up. Jax Thorne, the arrogant blond from yesterday, strode up with a smirk. He placed his hand on the stone. WOOSH. A blinding Blue light erupted, tinged with the heat of fire mana. "Rank C potential," Horgen grunted. "Not bad. Next."
Jax preened, shooting a glare at me as he walked back to the line. "Top that, peasant."
I ignored him. My eyes were fixed on the entrance tunnel.
A low, mechanical whirring sound cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
The students parted like water.
She entered.
She was sitting in a chair unlike anything this era produced. It was sleek, constructed of matte-black metal and polished silver, hovering six inches off the ground on runic repulsion plates. The design was efficient, brutalist, and beautiful.
But the girl sitting in it was the real weapon.
She had raven-black hair cut sharp at her jawline and eyes the color of storm clouds. Her uniform was pristine, pressed to perfection, contrasting with the useless, atrophied legs resting on the footplates of her machine. Her hands, however, were encased in thin, fingerless compression gloves covered in arcanic script.
"Elara Vane," a student whispered behind me. "The 'Cripple of House Vane.' I heard her family tried to pay the Headmaster to reject her so she wouldn't embarrass them."
"Why is she here?" another sneered. "One EMP blast and she's a paperweight."
Elara's expression didn't change. She stared straight ahead, her face a mask of icy indifference. She maneuvered her chair toward the Monolith with a subtle twitch of her fingers on the armrest controls.
"Name?" Horgen barked, looking down at her with undisguised skepticism.
"Elara Vane." Her voice was soft, but it carried a strange resonance, like a violin string pulled tight.
"You know the rules, Vane," Horgen said. "No assistance from your... vehicle. Pure mana only."
"I am aware."
She rolled up to the black pillar. She didn't reach out to touch it. She couldn't reach it from her seated position.
Horgen sighed. "Someone help her up—"
"Don't touch me," Elara snapped.
The air in the arena dropped ten degrees.
Elara raised her right hand. She didn't touch the stone. Instead, she pointed her index finger at it like the barrel of a gun.
Snap.
There was no chant. No wind-up.
A beam of pure, condensed mana shot from her fingertip. It hit the Monolith with the sound of a thunderclap.
CRACK.
The massive black stone didn't just light up. It screamed. The color skipped Red, bypassed Yellow, tore through Blue, and exploded into a blinding, deep Violet. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the sand, blowing the hair back of every student in the front row.
The light didn't fade. It pulsed, heavy and suffocating.
Violet. S-Rank Potential.
Silence descended on the Coliseum. Even the upperclassmen in the stands stopped jeering.
Elara lowered her hand. Smoke curled from her glove. She looked at Horgen, whose jaw was practically on the floor.
"Is that sufficient, Instructor?"
Horgen blinked, recovering his composure. "Attribute... Violet. Extreme range affinity. Next."
Elara spun her chair around. As she faced the crowd of students, I saw it. The awe in their eyes was fleeting. It was quickly replaced by something else: resentment. Jealousy. And the predatory realization of her weakness.
She has a cannon, their eyes said. But she can't move.
As she passed me, our eyes met. Hers were defensive, walled off by years of ridicule.
"Impressive density," I said quietly. "But you're bleeding energy from your elbow. Your conduit seals are loose."
Elara stopped. Her chair hissed as it idled. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"
"Your glove," I pointed. "The third rune on the metacarpal. It's misaligned by two millimeters. You're losing 15% of your output to heat. That's why your arm hurts right now."
Her eyes widened slightly—a crack in the mask. She subconsciously rubbed her right elbow. "Who are you?"
"Kaelen," I said. "Just a guy who hates inefficiency."
"Move it, Vane!" Jax Thorne shouted from the back. "You're blocking the line!"
Elara's mask slammed back down. She scoffed, a cold, sharp sound. "Stick to your own business, F-Rank."
She sped away, the whir of her chair fading.
I stepped up to the stone next. I placed my hand on it.
A dull, flickering Red light appeared.
"Rank F," Horgen grunted, already looking away. "Trash. Next."
I walked back to the line, suppressing a smile. The stone measured current capacity, not control. They saw a flickering candle. They didn't know that with the right technique, a candle could burn down a forest.
Thanks for reading my new novel. Hope you enjoyed the first few chapters. Leave a review!! Give some power stones for support. Hope you Have a nice day.