The first few dozen students were a predictable parade of minor nobility showcasing respectable, but ultimately unremarkable, affinities. A boy from a lesser water-aspected house created a swirling vortex of water in the air. A girl from a family of beast-tamers summoned a spectral hawk that circled the auditorium. They received their ranks—mostly in the high Mortal Tiers, a few breaking into the low Transcendent Ranks—with polite nods and returned to the crowd. It was a slow, methodical process, the appetizer before the main course.
Then came the Great Houses. The atmosphere in the auditorium shifted, the polite murmurs dying down, the attention of the upper balconies sharpening. This was what they had come to see.
"House Pyralis, student Isabella. You are next."
A ripple of anticipation went through the crowd. Isabella strode towards the platform not with the nervous hesitation of the previous students, but with the confident, rolling gait of a predator entering her hunting grounds. She was wearing a simple, sleeveless red tunic that showed off her toned, powerful arms, and her crimson hair seemed to crackle with a life of its own. A wide, eager grin was plastered on her face. She looked like she was about to start a bar fight, not take an academic test.
She stepped onto the platform and faced the panel of instructors, giving Master Ashvale a cheeky wink, which he ignored with practiced stoicism.
"Proceed, Miss Pyralis," said the lead instructor, a wizened old Elf from House Kaelum.
Isabella didn't bother with any subtle or intricate display. She didn't summon a small, controlled flame or create a complex pattern of heat. That was for lesser fire-mages. She was a Pyralis. She was a dragon. And she was here to make a statement.
She took a deep breath, and the air around her began to shimmer. The temperature in the massive auditorium, kept at a constant, pleasant level by the Academy's climate controls, spiked noticeably. Students in the front rows began to sweat. The crystalline Assessment Orb began to glow, its soft white light turning a nervous orange.
Then, she unleashed.
It was not just a fire. It was an explosion of pure, primal energy. A pillar of roaring, incandescent flame erupted from her, engulfing her completely. But it was not wild, uncontrolled chaos. With a roar that was half-human, half-draconic, she forced the pillar of fire to take a shape. It twisted and coalesced, forming the head, neck, and torso of a colossal dragon, its maw open in a silent, fiery scream.
She didn't just show her fire. She *became* it. Her physical form seemed to dissolve within the heart of the flame construct, her will the only thing giving it shape and purpose. The heat was immense, a physical wave that washed over the entire arena. Several students in the lower tiers, overcome by the sudden heat and the sheer intimidating presence of the display, fainted and had to be carried out by medical golems.
The Assessment Orb was no longer glowing. It was screaming. The crystal pulsed with a violent, blinding crimson light, and a high-pitched whine filled the air as its internal mechanisms struggled to quantify the sheer, raw power being directed at it.
The instructors on the panel were leaning forward, their expressions a mixture of shock, awe, and, in Master Ashvale's case, a deep, grim satisfaction. This was what a Pyralis was meant to be. This was true power.
For a long, breathless moment, Isabella held the form, the fire-dragon roaring silently at the domed ceiling. Then, with a final, explosive pulse of heat, the construct dissolved, the flames receding back into her as if being inhaled.
She stood there, panting slightly, her skin flushed and glowing with a faint, residual heat. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple. Otherwise, she seemed completely unharmed, exhilarated even. The auditorium was dead silent, the only sound the frantic, high-pitched whine of the overloaded Assessment Orb.
The lead instructor stared at the orb, then at Isabella, then back at the orb. He conferred in hushed tones with the other members of the panel. There was a moment of debate, then he stood up.
"The raw power output is… unprecedented for a first-year student," he announced, his voice tight with astonishment. "The control, while… explosive, is undeniable." He cleared his throat. "Rank: **High Sovereign (Rank 8)**."
A collective gasp went through the student section. Rank 8. High Sovereign. It was a rank most cultivators didn't achieve until they were centuries old. To be granted it as a first-year, on the very first day, was almost unheard of. It was a statement of intent. The Pyralis heiress was not here to play.
Isabella preened, her grin widening. She gave a theatrical bow to the panel, then to the stunned audience, and sauntered off the platform, basking in the mixture of awe and fear her display had generated.
From my place in the crowd, I watched her go, my mind cold and analytical. *Impressive. A display of overwhelming force designed to intimidate and establish dominance. Classic Pyralis strategy.* But Azrael's knowledge provided a crucial piece of context. *She was holding back.*
I remembered a scene from later in the novel, during a true life-or-death battle, where Isabella entered her "Battle Trance." The description of her power then had been far more terrifying. The fire dragon she had just created was a parlor trick compared to the inferno she was truly capable of unleashing. This spectacular display, the one that had shocked the entire Academy, was her *restrained* version.
She wasn't just a brawler. She was a strategist, playing the part of a fool. She had shown them enough to be seen as the undisputed top dog, to secure the highest rank and the command positions that came with it. But she hadn't shown them everything. She had kept her true trump card hidden.
*Subject: Isabella Pyralis,* my internal narrator noted. *Power level: Higher than demonstrated. Strategic capability: Severely underestimated by all observers. Threat level: Extreme. Potential for alliance: High, if her goals can be aligned with my own.*
The fire had burned, and it had set the bar for everyone else. The game was afoot.