Kor adjusted the strap of his bag nervously as he approached Marcus’s dormitory. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the stone paths, and a warm breeze stirred the trimmed hedges bordering the walkways. A small group of familiar faces stood together outside the arched doorway, their chatter and laughter reaching Kor before he was close enough to hear their words.
“Kor, glad you could make it!” Marcus said, beaming with enthusiasm. The others turned to look, their expressions varying from mild curiosity to polite interest. Kor’s eyes flitted across the gathered students, recognising some faces immediately.
Kelleth and Teneth, the identical twins who had once looked down on him, now regarded him without their usual sneers. Beth, the girl who had tried to heal the barrier during combat class, even gave him a small wave. Laylee and a few others were also present, and Kor noticed with mild surprise that Marcus’s group had grown since they last met.
Marcus, quick to seize attention, clapped his hands, drawing their attention. “Alright, everyone, I’ve got something special planned for today.”
“Are you finally going to tell us about your specialisation?” one boy quipped, earning a round of laughter.
Marcus waved the comment away with a laugh. “Nothing like that. Master Terrak has arranged some exclusive training for us up in Spire Delta.”
Kelleth let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Not bad, Marcus! Terrak rarely bothers with first years.”
“He’s not conducting the training personally,” Marcus clarified, grinning. “He’s left it to his prime mentee, Vaast.”
“Vaast?” someone murmured, their interest clearly piqued.
Marcus nodded. “Yes. He graduated top of the second years—and he’s offering us the benefit of his expertise.”
Excitement rippled through the circle. A few students murmured quick thank-you; others speculated on what Vaast might teach. Even Kor felt a spark of anticipation flare inside him. He heard about Vaast before, but finishing top of the second years marked him as someone exceptional.
As the excitement settled, Marcus glanced at his pocket watch and smirked. “We’re not expected for another hour, but what do you say we head over early? I don’t want to keep Vaast waiting.”
Kor fell into step with the others as they started toward Spire Delta. The group split naturally into smaller clusters, and Kor wound up alongside another boy.
“Hi, I’m Kor,” he ventured, offering a smile.
“Willem,” the boy replied, inclining his head with a precise motion. Willem’s tall, slender frame and angular movements gave him a slightly mechanical air, and his deep-set eyes scanned their surroundings with quiet intensity.
His mannerisms were odd, but who was he to cast stones? “I don’t know about you, but I could really use all the practise I can get.”
Willem didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed ahead. As they continued along the path, he finally said, “Excellence is not an act, but a habit.”
Kor blinked, recognising the cadence of a quote. He nodded thoughtfully, sensing that Willem’s was a mind given to contemplation. Easing off the conversation, Kor let the silence settle. Being social could be exhausting, and Willem’s considered attitude was oddly refreshing.
They walked in companionable quiet, listening as the rest of the group speculated about their upcoming training. Was it a cultivation chamber? Perhaps one of the rare mana baths? Each suggestion met with Marcus’s coy refusal to confirm or deny, his grin growing wider with every guess.
The hum of animated chatter carried them forward, the air alive with anticipation as they approached Spire Delta.
Kor had only just recently visited one of the campus spires, but Spire Delta held a distinctly serious air. Uniformed staff that could easily pass as guards waited at the entrance, standing with disciplined stillness as Marcus approached with his usual ease. He spoke briefly with them, his confident words enough to grant them passage. As they stepped inside, Kor’s senses adjusted to the hush; it felt like stepping into a different world entirely.
The usual bustle of students and professors was absent, replaced by a pristine, quiet atmosphere that exuded authority. The polished floors gleamed, reflecting the light from crystalline sconces lining the walls. Marcus guided them towards a large circular disc at the centre of the tower—a mana-powered elevator.
Kor’s stomach clenched as he stepped onto the disc. He’d read about these before, marvels of enchantment that combined precision and power. As the last of their group filed on, Marcus turned to one of the uniformed staff. “Eleventh floor.”
The man nodded before disappearing around the corner. Moments later, the door slid closed with a faint hum of energy. Kor couldn’t help but wonder how the calibration worked. Did the spells rely on mathematical formulas for their precision? The sudden ascension of the elevator cut short his musings.
Kor’s stomach dropped, and a wave of vertigo washed over him. He swayed, the sensation leaving him unsteady until a firm hand caught his arm. Willem, his expression unreadable, steadied him with a slight tilt of his head. Kor murmured his thanks, grateful nobody else seemed to have noticed his stumble.
As they ascended, Kor kept his eyes on the opaque walls, thankful they weren’t transparent. The thought of watching the ground fall away beneath them threatened to unsettle his already tenuous composure.
The journey was mercifully brief. The elevator slowed, the hum dissipating as the doors opened to reveal their destination. They stepped into a cavernous room occupying much of the tower’s floor. Elegant arches supported the high ceilings, and the walls glimmered faintly with embedded mana veins that pulsed with soft light. The room was ringed with various pieces of arcane equipment, and even from where he stood, Kor could sense their complexity—their mana signatures far too intricate for him to guess at.
Kor immediately noticed Master Terrak speaking to an imposing figure near the far wall. The man was a mountain of muscle, far more heavily built than any spellcaster Kor had ever encountered. He wore the golden robes of a third-year, the sleeves rolled back to expose his powerful arms. A jewelled diamond sash encircled his waist—an accessory Kor had never seen on any other student. This had to be the one Marcus had mentioned.
“Master Terrak!” Marcus called, his voice carrying across the room. “I hadn’t thought we’d have the pleasure of your tutelage today.”
Terrak turned, a faint smirk tugging at his stern features. “No. Vaast here will take over for this evening.” He gestured to the towering figure beside him. “I see you’ve developed quite the following,” he added, his eyes sweeping over them and lingering briefly on Kor.
“It won’t be a problem, will it?” Marcus asked, his tone light.
“No,” Terrak replied, shaking his head. “It’s a good idea to build groups early. With the fieldwork you’ll need to carry out, team cohesion will set you on the path to success.”
“Fieldwork?” Marcus tilted his head. “I didn’t think that started for a few months yet.”
“It doesn’t, but there are a lot of credits ripe for the taking, so preparation is essential.”
Kor had heard no mention of this before. Did it mean they would have to leave Conflux? The environments beyond the barrier were formidable, rife with dangers like mana-storms and leyline anomalies. Talen had mentioned the beasts too—creatures naturally adapted to the planet’s extreme conditions, many of them formidable spellcasters in their own right.
Terrak glanced at a clock mounted on the wall, his expression tightening. “Vaast, give them the full starter package for today. I need to be off.”
Vaast raised an eyebrow, but nodded. As Terrak strode away, Vaast turned to face the group, his movements deliberate and imposing. He measured them with a steady gaze, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Let’s get you all tested, see what we’ve got to work with.”
Marcus bowed his head deeply, and the rest followed suit. Vaast gestured for them to follow, leading them toward one of the many rooms that dotted the expansive floor.
The mountainous Vaast led them inside one of the most mana-dense rooms Kor had ever experienced. The space was enormous, its high ceilings and gleaming walls layered with intricate enchantments that shimmered faintly in the light. Along one side of the room, training dummies stood in neat rows, their surfaces etched with runes. Long tables opposite the dummies held an array of magical devices, all of which baffled Kor. Even with his rudimentary understanding, he could tell this single room was worth more than his entire hometown.
A series of whistles broke out among them. Beth stepped forward, her wide eyes locked on one table. “Are those mana puzzles?” she asked, her voice alight with wonder. “They’re supposed to be really expensive!”
Vaast turned to her, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his granite-like face. “Indeed, but let’s focus. First, we’ll see what you’re capable of.” He gestured to the staff standing nearby. “We’ll test your output, control, sensitivity—all the basics—before moving on to bespoke training.”
The group eagerly nodded as Vaast turned to Marcus. “But you’ve caught Master’s eye. I will test you personally.”
Marcus met Vaast’s intense stare with his trademark grin, his teeth gleaming. “Excellent. Lead on, my senior,” he said, the words dripping with a polished confidence that bordered on insolence.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Vaast’s lips quirked as he motioned for Marcus to follow. As they left, Kelleth called out, “Don’t disappoint us, Marcus!”
Kor wasn’t sure who had the bigger ego, but Kelleth seemed determined to vie for the title. He shook his head slightly, focusing on the task ahead.
“Right, who’s up first?” asked the lead assistant, his eyes scanning the group.
Kor didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping forward confidently. He reasoned that going first and setting the bar was better than being judged against everyone else. Despite his aspirations, he knew he was still the weakest in the group—at least in terms of skill.
Kelleth and Teneth exchanged incredulous looks, but the assistant paid them no mind. Instead, he gestured Kor toward a human-sized crystal set into the corner of the room. The crystal glowed faintly, its surface shifting with an occasional ripple of black shimmer. Something about it reminded Kor of the Voidshard he had witnessed in Crux Basin.
His stomach clenched. He’d been trying to keep his violet mana score from back home under wraps, and he feared this might expose it. Relief washed over him as the assistant explained, “This crystal isn’t as advanced as the one that tested you before. It can’t provide a colour gradient—just measures output.”
The urge to hide his true results still puzzled him. It went against his nature—he’d always trusted in facts, in a careful analysis of every situation. Yet some instinct, sharp and insistent, warned him against revealing his full potential. Perhaps it was the way the elite students watched the others, their gazes carrying weight beyond mere curiosity, or how the deeper currents of power within Conflux remained frustratingly opaque. Whatever the reason, that gut feeling had only grown stronger since arriving.
Kor nodded, stepping several paces back as instructed. The assistant continued, “All you need to do is fire as many mana spheres as you can into the crystal. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
The others gathered behind him, murmurs buzzing with curiosity. He squared his shoulders, determined to make a good impression. While his reserves were deep and barely tapped, he knew the familiar strain of controlling it would set in, eventually. His technique still needed refinement.
Taking a deep breath, Kor formed a mana sphere, leveraging his hours of practice. The sphere coalesced in only a few seconds, its surface shimmering as he solidified it and launched it at the crystal. It struck true, disappearing into the crystal’s depths without a trace.
“Good,” the assistant said with an approving nod. “Keep going. Fire as many as you can; this will give us a sense of your reserves and control.”
Kor nodded, locking in as he got to work. Visualising, filling, and releasing sphere after sphere. He’d trained relentlessly for this simple task, and he was determined to prove his worth. The spheres flew in a steady rhythm, even as the others shifted restlessly behind him. He shut them out, narrowing his world to the familiar push and pull of mana flowing through him.
Dozens of spheres later, he pressed on, but something had changed. Each draw from his well of power came slower, like drawing water from increasingly greater depths. The spheres themselves betrayed his struggle - at first they had cut through the air with purpose. They now drifted toward the crystal like leaves caught in a lazy breeze. Still, he pushed forward, refusing to yield.
Then he felt it - a sensation both foreign and thrilling. His vast reservoir of mana, which had always seemed bottomless during training, now had a discoverable floor. He could sense the remaining power there, enough for perhaps ten more spheres, and a fierce pride surged through him. Never before had he pushed himself far enough to glimpse this limit. Each sphere now was a small victory, a testament to how far he’d come.
Lightheaded but grimly satisfied, Kor conjured one more sphere, launching it before pausing for the first time to take a deep, steadying breath. The remaining mana hummed within him, a familiar weight. Enough, he thought, to prove himself. The room had fallen silent, save for a cough from one assistant who asked, “Are you done?”
Kor turned around, ready to respond, only to meet the shocked looks of his peers. They stared at him, expressions ranging from disbelief to grudging respect.
“What?” Kor asked, confusion cutting through his fatigue. In all his private training sessions, he’d never managed more than a few dozen spheres before exhaustion forced him to stop. This was the first time he’d pushed his mana reserves far enough to find their true depth.
“How many spheres was that?” Beth asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“Forty-five,” one of the other students said, his tone awed.
“They were weak, though,” Teneth protested halfheartedly, but even he seemed shaken.
The assistant adjusted his glasses, scrutinising Kor. “What did you score on the testing crystal, anyway?”
“I, uh, just made light purple,” Kor said, sticking to the story he’d told Marcus. His stomach dropped as the implications of what he’d just done sank in.
The assistant gave him an odd look, and Kelleth snorted in disbelief. “It’s not uncommon for a mage to develop further after arriving at Conflux. However, we usually expect light purple to manage about 35 mana spheres. Unless they’ve really honed their mastery of the spell before being tested.”
“Oh,” Kor managed, his voice small. The weight of his miscalculation pressed down on him like a physical thing. He hadn’t thought his efforts would risk showing his true colours, especially as he still had mana in reserve. The small lie about his testing had quickly become an unwelcome burden.
“That was really impressive, Kor!” Beth exclaimed, smiling. “Marcus was right about your potential.”
Even Kelleth and Teneth seemed to view him differently. While not quite respectful, their expressions lacked the arrogant dismissal he’d grown accustomed to.
“You still need to work on your control and technique,” Kelleth muttered. “Any Solarian would be embarrassed to throw such weak attacks.”
Kor ducked his head, accepting the admonishment as he moved to rejoin the group. The assistant, still somewhat taken aback, shook himself and called for the next student to step up.
Kor took a seat, his thoughts whirling. His plan to go first had certainly backfired, though not in the way he’d feared. He wondered how the others would fare, his mind buzzing with both pride and curiosity as the next student approached the crystal.
Oddly, it wasn’t Teneth that stepped up next, but Beth. Kor could instantly tell the difference between her technique and his. Her spheres were precise and fluid, forming in under a second and firing with a practiced efficiency. She began her barrage without hesitation, her focus unwavering.
Kor noted her performance with a mixture of admiration and analysis. Beth’s mana spheres were smaller but exceptionally stable, a hallmark of refined control. He counted thirty-two as she finished, each cast a testament to her discipline. Kor filed the number away, already forming comparisons.
The other students followed one by one. Willem managed forty, his larger mana reserves clear in the sheer power of his spheres. Teneth produced the lowest yet at thirty, bemoaning that he couldn’t use his specialisation for the test. While Laylee scored thirty-six, her casting style blending grace and intensity. Most of the others landed in the low thirties, their performances respectable but unremarkable. Kor committed each result to memory, his mind automatically charting patterns and calculating averages.
The murmurs of the crowd revealed an underlying consensus—deep red scores began around thirty spheres, while purple reached into the forties. Willem’s result marked him as a standout, though he accepted it with stoic indifference. Kor couldn’t help but wonder where violet would place. Fifties? Higher? He’d still had reserves left during his attempt, only his stamina seemed to be the limiting factor. That thought unsettled him. If his result was so anomalous, why hadn’t the Lexican government shown more interest?
Kelleth stepped forward, interrupting his musings. The Solarian’s confidence was unmistakable, his every movement radiating assurance. His golden hair gleamed under the light, and his robes fluttered slightly with each purposeful stride. Teneth called for attention, his voice carrying a note of triumph. “Witness the power of a true Solarian!”
Kelleth fired Kor a look, one that held both challenge and superiority. Kor filed away his concerns, eager to see what the boy would achieve.
True to his boasts, Kelleth’s display was nothing short of impressive. He formed and fired each sphere with breathtaking speed, the crystal darkening with each impact. His precision was remarkable, the spheres tearing towards their target in perfectly straight trajectories. As Kelleth passed thirty, the first signs of strain showed. His movements, once fluid, became deliberate, each cast taking a fraction longer than the last.
By thirty-five, sweat beaded on his brow, and his breathing grew laboured. His hands trembled faintly, but the spheres remained stable. The onlookers leaned in, their excitement palpable. Beth even whispered, “He’s close to Willem’s score.”
Kelleth reached forty, his jaw clenched and his posture rigid. His exhaustion was clear, but he refused to falter. Each successive sphere demanded visible effort, his arms shaking with the strain. At forty-four, he hesitated, drawing in a deep breath before summoning another sphere. His casting slowed to a crawl, yet his determination burned brighter than ever.
“Not yet,” Kelleth growled, his voice low but resolute. He steadied himself, his gaze locked on the crystal. With a visible effort of will, he conjured another sphere, his mana fluctuating wildly as he forced it into shape. The sphere hovered above his palm, trembling like a candle in the wind. He hurled it forward, the crystal absorbing it with a flash of light.
Forty-five. A tie.
But Kelleth wasn’t finished. With a guttural grunt, he willed a final sphere into existence. The surrounding mana rippled chaotically, and Kor could sense the immense strain through his own mana sensitivity. The sphere flickered precariously, its instability mirrored in Kelleth’s trembling frame. Yet he refused to yield.
The room fell silent, every breath held in anticipation. Kor felt the moment the sphere stabilised, its chaotic energy snapping into focus. With a final surge of effort, Kelleth cast the sphere. It struck the crystal with a muted hum, dissolving into its depths like countless spheres before it - though none had carried such raw effort. The assistant’s voice rang out, breaking the spell of quiet.
“Forty-six!”
Teneth’s triumphant shout shattered the tension. “Victory for Solaria!”
A ripple of mixed reactions spread through the gathered students—gasps of astonishment, murmured congratulations, and scattered applause. Kelleth collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, his shoulders rising and falling in uneven heaves. Sweat dripped from his temples, soaking the collar of his pristine robes, but his face held a fierce, triumphant smile that spoke of undeniable satisfaction.
Kor stood back, watching the scene unfold. One of the other boys clapped him on the shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Looks like Kelleth just edged you out; better luck next time, Kor.”
Kor didn’t reply immediately. His thoughts churned as he replayed the display in his mind. He hadn’t thought much of the Solarian brothers until now, dismissing them as arrogant rich kids coasting on family prestige. But seeing the sheer amount of grit Kelleth had summoned—the way he pushed himself to his limits and beyond—it was humbling. A reminder, perhaps, not to be so hasty in his judgments.
Even so, when Kelleth turned to him with a look of superior smugness, Kor felt an involuntary surge of irritation. His fingers curled slightly, the absurd urge to punch the boy flashing through his mind. Instead, he exhaled slowly, bowing his head with deliberate calm.
“That was really impressive, Kelleth,” he said, his voice steady and sincere.
For a brief moment, Kelleth’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual composure. “Tatharion’s always rise to the top,” he replied, but his tone carried no malice, only a quiet, almost grudging respect.
Beth’s voice cut through the growing chatter. “Tatharion? Are you related to Dean Velleth Tatharion?”
Teneth puffed up like a rooster ready to crow. “He’s our uncle,” he announced, pride radiating from every syllable.
Animated conversation broke out as the revelation rippled through the group. The assistant stepped forward, his measured tone a counterpoint to the excitement. “Forty-six is truly remarkable—elite even. It’s the mark of exceptional affinity. You must have scored purple on the testing crystal.”
Kelleth nodded, though his expression hinted at weariness. Teneth, however, was quick to jump in. “And not just any purple either,” he added with a grin. “Kelleth has already been named Father’s heir.”
The assistant’s approving nod felt almost ceremonial. “Next up is a test of your control,” he announced, gesturing toward the now-rested crystal. The group shifted, the eager chatter persisting as they speculated about the next challenge.
Kor hesitated for a moment, his gaze settling on Kelleth. The boy’s earlier triumph was now shadowed by the weariness of someone who had given everything. When their eyes met, it wasn’t mutual recognition but the sharp, knowing look of a rival who still held the upper hand.