Despite all of the unwanted attention Sion was getting, he wanted none of that, all he wanted was to get it over with and start his lessons, to see what the king really had in mind for him.
He ignored the whispers around him and kept on walking straight ahead, not showing an ounce of fear and a room of what looked like predators, weakness meant liability and showing that to them, would only add to the fuel of them picking on him.
He could not allow that, if he did many things would go wrong for him and he would be dead faster than he could blink.
"That's him… the one from the palace."
"He does not look like much to me. I wonder why the king left him alive anyways, he does not deserve to be among us."
"Where's his emblem?"
"He is not one of the great houses or other noble families, is he?"
He did not respond to any of them, they knew he could hear him and his ignorance of those who asked questions only made them much more annoyed than they already were. He kept walking forward as instructed, his boots echoing across the polished obsidian floor until he stood near the front, where a steward motioned for him to stop and stand.
High above, on the faculty platform, a woman leaned toward the robed man.
"He bore the pulse, the correct one when the summoning happened according to the king; nothing went wrong with the ritual. We cannot challenge his words unless we seek death. It is clear he sees this young man as nothing more than a toy. Do the right thing," She murmured, her voice barely a thread of sound.
The man—Archmagus Corrien, the head of the Academy—didn't blink. His gaze remained on Sion, as if weighing something beyond mere appearance.
"Yes," he replied softly. "But whatever he is or is not, his abilities may be sleeping. For now."
Unbeknownst to Sion, a few others seated in the hall—nobles, children, scholars, and warriors-in-training—had also taken notice. One girl with raven-dark eyes watched with unusual interest. Another student, cloaked in the robes of a diviner, narrowed his eyes and scribbled something hastily into a strange, rune-inked book.
As Sion stood still, posture tense, he caught whispers coming from a small group of older students off to the side. He angled his head slightly, just enough to listen.
"This year's initiation is going to be different. They're bringing back the Depth Trial."
"That's suicide. Last time it killed half the upperclassmen that entered; they are deliberately doing it because he is of no noble blood. He is... like a parasite."
"Well, they want to 'weed out the weak.' Figures they would do it now with the royal competition brewing."
"Poor bastard doesn't know what he is walking into…"
Depth Trial?
Sion's eyes narrowed slightly. He committed the term to memory. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like a ceremonial welcome nor like a normal orientation.
But his thoughts were cut off as a voice echoed through the Great Hall, booming with magic-enhanced authority.
"Let this year's orientation begin. Students, both new and returning—welcome. You now walk among the ambitious, the gifted, and the cursed, ones who were chosen to work directly under the king and in his special group, depending on your performance by the end of the term."
"This academy is a crucible. You do not merely learn here; you survive. And those who rise… shall rise far above even some kings."
Sion felt a flicker in his mark as those words rang out.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone grinned.
Someone else turned pale.
And in the shadows behind the great dais… a veiled figure with glowing purple eyes whispered:
"He has no idea what he is."
The air thickened as the Archmagus raised a hand, silencing every murmur in the Great Hall. A crackle of raw magical energy rippled down his arm, barely even seen by those with the naked eye, but enough to make the more sensitive students stiffen in their seats.
"Many of you were born into power. Others crawled toward it. Some of you… were chosen. That does not mean you are special. Some of you are just pigs, willing dogs ready to feed to be chosen by your masters," The Archmagus said, his voice echoing unnaturally as the lanterns dimmed slightly.
"But all of you are here because you were deemed capable or so certain things said, that will be decided by me though and the upcoming trial."
"And it is time to prove that so-called capability."
Sion's brow furrowed in confusion; he could feel the mark on his back stirring unnaturally. Something did not sit well with him about this trail, but there is nothing that he can say to change it.
A deep rumble shook the floor. Dust trickled from above. Students looked around nervously as the ground beneath their benches began to glow in slow, spiraling sigils.
"This year," the archmagus continued, now cold and impersonal, "tradition returns, and you can thank the king and a certain someone for that; otherwise, it would not be possible. I wonder how many of you are truly capable and who are truly incompetent fools. The Depth Trial will begin… now."
Gasps broke across the hall.
"But it's only orientation—!"
"What?! They can't..."
"I haven't even!"
But it was too late for any of them, especially the new students that had arrived around the same time as Sion.
Sion barely had time to react before the floor beneath him vanished.
One by one, students screamed as the sigils turned pitch black, swallowing the entire front half of the hall, and hundreds of students were pulled into the void below. Some tried to leap away, but invisible force fields kept everyone locked to the path fate had chosen.
Sion fell.
Darkness swallowed his vision, and the air turned impossibly cold.
He landed hard, but not on stone. It was… soft. Like damp moss over stone. Groaning, he pushed himself up and looked around. They weren't in the Academy anymore.
No, this was somewhere else entirely.