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The Grand Awakening Hall was alive, not merely with anticipation, but with a tension so thick it seemed almost solid. Hundreds of students shifted in their seats, whispers and murmurs colliding like tiny storms, the hum of the enormous crystal at the center weaving it all together into a living rhythm. Sunlight poured through the stained glass dome high above, scattering fractured colors over polished marble floors that reflected every whisper, every movement, and every expectation.
The hall was enormous, built centuries ago and meticulously maintained. Golden banners of ancient lineages hung from the balconies, bearing the crests of noble families, while carved statues of legendary heroes lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow each student as they waited. At the center, the Awakening Crystal glowed faintly, humming with latent energy that could sense the potential of every hand that touched it.
Students murmured prayers, adjusted their uniforms nervously, or exchanged confident glances with peers. A select few sneered openly, their noble blood bolstering arrogance that their grades and talents had yet to earn, while others whispered secrets, hoping to glean hints of rival strengths or weaknesses. Today, for some, would be the pinnacle of a lifetime of preparation. For others, it could be the start of irrelevance.
Zael Nightshade sat near the back, his posture calm, his expression neutral. From the outside, he appeared composed, almost indifferent, yet every nerve within him hummed with tension. His gaze swept the hall, cataloging faces, gestures, subtle shifts in posture, and whispered words that might hint at strength, arrogance, or envy. He had learned long ago that observation was as valuable as talent.
The weight of expectations pressed down upon him like a stone. His older brother, Kael Nightshade, had become a legend even before reaching his second decade. With three mythical and two legendary talents, Kael was untouchable in the eyes of students and nobles alike. Every whisper in the hall, every sideways glance, every subtle tilt of the head was filtered through the prism of comparison: How did Zael measure up?
Not yet my concern, Zael reminded himself. His mind drifted for a moment to memories that no one in this world could ever understand. He had died once, in a world utterly ordinary, devoid of talent, magic, or power. A normal urban life, one of mundane routines, dreams, failures, and heartbreak. And then, death had taken him, without ceremony, without fanfare. Yet here he was, reborn, granted another chance in a world where potential was measured in raw talent.
Beside him, Tyron Blaze leaned closer, the subtle warmth of his presence a tether to reality. "Relax, Zael," he murmured, quiet and insistent. "Don't let them see your hands shake. I don't want to have to drag you out of here."
Zael forced a small, humorless smile. "Yeah… sure," he muttered, though his stomach twisted with tension.
A few paces ahead, Seraphina Oregon stood like a statue of perfection. Her dark hair flowed in straight strands over her shoulders, framing sharp, pale features. Her eyes were calm, almost cold, but they pierced through Zael like blades, assessing him with quiet scrutiny. She gave a faint smile, one part reassurance, one part judgment. "You'll do fine, won't you?"
"I… I hope so," Zael replied, his voice tight.
She leaned closer, voice dropping so only he could hear. "Just don't hold anything back. I'll be watching."
Zael turned away, forcing calm into his posture. They don't know, he thought. No one knows I've lived before, no one knows what I've seen, what I've lost. And I'll keep it that way. I can't afford weakness now, not ever.
The hall seemed to hum with anticipation. Noble families whispered from the balconies, discussing the probable strengths of their heirs and rivals. Some made bets quietly, others offered veiled insults. "I heard the Nightshade boy isn't even half the prodigy his brother is," a thin-voiced woman murmured. "Common blood, common talent. No hope."
Zael ignored it all, cataloging faces, gestures, and murmurs, storing everything for later analysis. Every whisper was data; every glance a clue. In this world, knowledge and observation were as valuable as the most powerful talent.
The first student was called: a tall silver-haired noble boy, his posture rigid with pride. Zael's eyes followed him as he approached the crystal. He placed his hand on the radiant surface, and light flared, twisting around him like liquid gold. Letters appeared above his head:
Armor Creation — Hero Grade.
Gasps and whispers rippled across the hall. Hero-grade talents were rare, almost mythical for students at this stage. Pride radiated from the boy as he stepped down, receiving admiration, envy, and awe in equal measure. Zael's chest tightened as the weight of the hall pressed down on him. Even Tyron's eyes betrayed the tiniest flicker of envy, quickly masked under calmness. "See?" Tyron murmured. "Don't let envy cloud your mind. There's more to this than grades."
Zael nodded, though the pit in his stomach refused to ease.
The ceremony moved forward, each student stepping into the light, letters forming above their heads, casting reflections on the polished marble. Fire Manipulation — Rare Grade. Sword Mastery — Hero Grade. Whispers and gossip filled the hall, nobles comparing lineage, commoners measuring envy, some students openly laughing at lower grades. The hierarchy was clear: talent dictated reputation, and reputation dictated influence.
Finally, the moment came. His name rang out:
"Zael Nightshade."
All eyes snapped to him. Seraphina's gaze sharpened; Tyron's hand brushed his shoulder. Every nerve in his body tensed. Step by deliberate step, he walked toward the crystal, forcing panic into controlled strides.
He placed his hand on the glowing surface. A wave of warmth surged through him, humming deep in his bones. Light flared and twisted, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Letters shimmered above him:
Multiplier — Common Grade.
A ripple of snickers and whispers filled the hall. Common. Weak. Barely relevant. Even Seraphina's expression faltered briefly, a shadow of disappointment crossing her perfect features.
Nearby students whispered, taunted, and mocked:
"Nightshade? That's all?"
"Even his brother's shadow outshines him."
"Common? For the mighty Nightshade name? Pathetic."
"Looks like we have a loser in the making."
Zael's face remained neutral. Inside, humiliation churned like molten fire, but he refused to give them the satisfaction.
He pressed himself against a quiet corridor wall, the cold stone biting against his back, and let the whispers wash over him. His jaw clenched.
And then—a faint, almost imperceptible hum vibrated in his mind.
System activated.
A calm, mechanical voice resonated:
Talent Bank: Initial awakening sequence complete. Talent detected: Multiplier. Upgrading to Supreme Blessing.
Heat surged through him. The talent he had assumed weak had been upgraded silently, invisibly. Giddiness threatened to bubble over, but he forced it down. It works… it actually works…
He wanted to shout, to tell Tyron, to tell Seraphina, to reveal the secret of the Talent Bank. But he forced himself to remain calm. Not yet. If they knew, it would ruin everything.
Seraphina appeared at the entrance of the corridor, her steps deliberate, eyes sharp. "A… common talent?" Her voice was clipped. "I… I didn't expect that from you."
Zael's face remained neutral. "It's… just the first one."
Her gaze hardened. "We… shouldn't see each other anymore. I… can't be with someone like this."
Her words struck deeper than whispers or mockery. She turned gracefully, elegance intact, whispers trailing behind her.
Tyron gripped Zael's shoulder firmly. "Ignore her. None of them see what's really happening… only you do."
Zael nodded, locking away the giddy energy. Let them doubt, let them mock. They won't see what's coming.
The rest of the ceremony continued. Seraphina stepped forward: Shadow Veil — Epic Grade. Gasps and whispers ran rampant. Tyron followed: Lightning Speed — Epic Grade.
Zael's eyes widened, cataloging their strength, composure, and presence. Seraphina… Tyron… extraordinary. And here I am… common…
But the secret shimmered within him. Common outside… Supreme inside. Soon, no one will know what's real.
As the sun dipped below the stained-glass dome, casting long shadows across polished floors, Zael Nightshade allowed himself a faint smile. Today had been humiliating, yet it was the beginning—the awakening no one could see, the first step of a rise that would remain hidden until the world was ready.
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