The examination hall buzzed with the relentless scratching of quills, a symphony of academic desperation punctuated by the occasional groan or muttered curse. Lorian sat hunched over his test paper, far across the room from the poised figures of the top candidates, staring at the ink-blotted mess before him. The words swam like fish in a murky pond, refusing to stay still long enough for him to catch them. His mind was a battlefield, torn between the mundane terror of mana theory questions and the lingering chill of that blue-tinted void.

  Focus, Lorian, he told himself, gripping his quill so tightly it creaked. You’re not a magical potato. You’re… a slightly sentient magical potato. That’s progress, right?

  He glanced at the first question again:

  Question 1: Describe the principles of mana condensation and its applications in spellcasting.

  Simple enough. He’d read about this in one of the dusty tomes he’d “borrowed” from the village library (and never returned—oops). Mana condensation was about compressing magical energy into a denser form for stronger spells. Easy. He scribbled a shaky answer, something about “squeezing mana like a lemon” and “making spells go boom.” It wasn’t elegant, but it’d do.

  Then his thoughts betrayed him. The memory of the frozen blue world crept in—how time had stopped, how the obelisk’s runes had twitched like they knew something he didn’t. Was that mana condensation gone wrong? Or something else entirely? His quill faltered, leaving a splotch on the page that looked vaguely like a crying face.

  Not now, he growled internally, shaking his head. Exam first, existential crisis later.

  He moved to the next question:

  Question 2: Discuss the ethical implications of using mana to influence the minds of non-magical beings.

  Lorian’s stomach sank. Ethics? He barely knew how to spell it, let alone philosophize about it. He started writing something about “not messing with people’s heads unless they deserve it,” but his mind looped back to his own predicament. Was he influencing anyone with… whatever that was? Could he accidentally turn the entire hall into statues frozen in blue?

  His answer veered off course. “Mana’s tricky,” he wrote. “It’s like giving a toddler a sword—sure, they might not stab anyone, but do you really want to risk it? Also, reality’s kind of fragile, isn’t it? One wrong move and—poof—everything’s blue and nobody’s happy.” He scratched out the last bit, but the damage was done. His paper was starting to read like the ramblings of a madman.

  Far across the room, Yenika Lunavar’s quill danced with the grace of a seasoned duelist, her answers flowing in perfect script. Yet her violet eyes occasionally swept the hall, sharp and searching, lingering briefly on the distant figure of Lorian. She’d noticed his earlier distraction during the selection test—the way his mana had roared, unchecked, before he’d played it off with that clumsy facade. It wasn’t just nerves now, either. No, this was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of her finely honed instincts.

  He’s unraveling, she thought, twirling a strand of silver hair around her finger—a habit she’d never admit to. That surge earlier, and now this… he’s hiding something. But what? A power he can’t control? A secret he doesn’t even understand himself?

  She’d felt the mana wave during the selection test—an untamed roar that had rattled her bones. And Lorian had just stood there, scratching his head like a confused puppy. Watching him from afar now, hunched over his desk like a defeated soldier, she couldn’t reconcile the two images: the bumbling fool and the potential titan. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

  Perhaps he’s a diamond in the rough, she mused. Or perhaps just a very loud lump of coal.

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  Lorian, oblivious to her distant scrutiny, was losing his battle with the test. Question three asked about historical magical events, and he vaguely recalled something about a mage who accidentally turned a kingdom into frogs. He wrote a half-hearted summary, then added, “Note to self: don’t do that.” By the time he reached the final question—“Explain the significance of rune resonance in large-scale magic”—he was ready to surrender.

  “Why are there so many words?” he whispered, earning a stern glare from a nearby proctor. He slumped lower in his seat, muttering, “I bet janitors don’t have to deal with this nonsense.”

  The two-hour mark approached with agonizing slowness. When Professor Aldric finally called time with another sharp rap of his cane, Lorian nearly wept with relief. He handed in his paper—a chaotic tapestry of scratched-out lines and questionable metaphors—knowing he’d barely scraped by. Maybe they’ll give me points for creativity, he thought. Or pity.

  As the students shuffled out of the hall, Yenika remained seated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the far side where Lorian had been. He was already stumbling toward the exit, pale and almost haunted, his messy hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. She stood, her cloak swishing with purpose, but made no move to approach him. Instead, she filed out with the others, her mind still turning over the enigma that was Lorian Eldric.

  Meanwhile, high above the hall, perched atop the rune-etched obelisk, a figure cloaked in shadow watched the scene unfold. Their eyes glinted with an unearthly light, fixed on Lorian’s retreating form.

  “So,” they murmured, voice soft as a blade sliding from its sheath, “it begins.”

  The announcer’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the restless hum of the crowd. "In one hour, the survival practical test begins. First, listen closely—here are the rules."

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "You’ll all be teleported to an island crawling with high-tier mana beasts, ranked C to A. Don’t panic about facing anything beyond that; the academy’s scoured the place multiple times to make sure it’s ready. Your job? Survive until the clock runs out and take down as many beasts as you can. Only the top 500 move on. But here’s the kicker—those beasts aren’t your only threat. Other candidates might come for you too. If they do, and something goes wrong, don’t look to us. The academy washes its hands of it. This is a proving ground, plain and simple—only the strong walk away."

  Fear swept through the room like a cold wind. You could see it in the candidates’ wide eyes, their twitching hands, the way some muttered under their breath like it’d keep the dread at bay. But Lorian? He just stood there, still as stone, his jaw tight. No matter what, he told himself, fingers curling into fists, I’ve got to push everything I have into this.

  The announcer spoke again, his tone shifting slightly. "Oh, and one more thing—you’re free to form teams. Might make fighting those beasts a little easier."

  Murmurs erupted, a messy tangle of hope and scheming. Yenika barely heard it, her mind already racing. I’ve got to take first place this time, she thought, her violet eyes narrowing. No more of him smirking down at me like I’m nothing. She needed a plan, something solid. A team could watch my back, keep the other candidates off me while I rack up kills. But who? She scanned the room, calculating, weighing every face like pieces on a board. Who’s worth the risk?

  Her gaze landed on Lorian, off to the side, lost in his own head. Him? she wondered. That weird mana spike she’d sensed from him nagged at her, a question mark she couldn’t shake. But then reality kicked in. What if he’s a dud? What if he drags me down instead of lifting me up? And a commoner, no less—teaming up with him could smear my name with the nobles. She flicked her silver hair back with a sharp toss of her head, brushing the idea off. Not worth the gamble.

  Time slipped by, and soon the room buzzed with new alliances—friends banding together, strangers striking deals. Lorian stayed where he was, alone in a corner, untouched by the flurry. No one even glanced his way, like he didn’t exist. He let out a quiet, bitter breath. So this is it, huh? The only commoner in this whole damn place. His lips twitched into a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Cut off from the pack, left to drift like smoke nobody notices. Guess it’s just me and the beasts now.

  Yenika, meanwhile, had her team locked in—handpicked, reliable, a perfect fit. Over near the wall, Arsin Nicova wasn’t faring so well. His soft manners had him drowning in a sea of eager candidates, all begging to join him. Too polite to say no, he just kept nodding, smiling that gentle smile, even as the line stretched longer.

  Lorian watched it play out, and something heavy settled in his chest. Even the good ones get mobbed, he thought, a sting of envy sharpening the ache. And me? I’m just the leftover nobody wants to touch. A lone speck in a crowd that’s already forgotten I’m here. He sighed, the sound swallowed by the noise, and turned his eyes to the floor.