The gates of Dratch Academy creaked open, ancient stone groaning as moonlight spilled over the crowd. For a moment, no one moved. Then the silence snapped, and thousands surged forward like cattle to slaughter.
Kilisu stood back.
He watched the tide of humanity crush inward, the ambition in their eyes, the panic in their steps. Zenko had already disappeared into the sea of hopefuls, swallowed whole. Kilisu remained unmoving.
He walked in last
The first chamber was circular, lined with glowing glyphs and pulsing runes carved into obsidian walls. Instructors in long dark robes stood behind soulcrystals, each one glowing faintly with an inner pulse. They resembled jagged, heart-shaped stones that almost breathed with the weight of expectation.
Candidates were called one at a time. Nervous feet shuffled. Whispers buzzed like flies.
Each placed their hand on the crystal. The crystal pulsed, shimmered, or cracked, reacting to the soul within.
When Zenko approached, his palms were sweating. He glanced at Kilisu before stepping forward. The examiner gestured silently, clearly disinterested, just another test.
He placed his hand on the crystal.
It erupted. Lightning forked out violently, crackling up his arm, dancing off the glyphs etched into the floor. The crystal didn't just pulse, it howled.
The examiner stumbled back, face pale.
"Lightning. Untrained. Immense output.
Silence fell over the chamber. Heads turned.
Zenko stepped back, sheepishly scratching his neck, eyes wide. Instructors whispered, marking parchments with shimmering ink, embedding magical tags beside his name.
Then it was Kilisu's turn.
He stepped forward. Calm. Cold. His boots made no sound.
Hand on the crystal.
Nothing.
No glow. No hum. No flash of power. Just dead silence.
The instructor frowned.
"No affinity detected. Possible Null-state? Flask may be defective."
Someone near the back scoffed.
Kilisu turned and walked off. He didn't need their pity. Didn't need their theories. The silence was more honest than any of their readings.
The field outside the academy was turned into a trial ground. Obsidian pillars jutted from cracked dirt. Runes glowed beneath the surface, shifting between red and gold. Candidates were split into lanes.
Each would be timed.
The course began with a sprint forty meters across jagged stone meant to test footing and balance. Dozens tripped. One boy shattered his ankle. Screams echoed. Instructors didn't flinch.
Zenko, surprisingly nimble, dashed with arcs of static curling at his heels. He didn't fall once. He crossed the gap in seconds.
Kilisu, on the other hand, didn't sprint. He analyzed. Every step was measured. When others leapt and stumbled, he glided, boots brushing the rock like he was skating across the battlefield. He wasn't fast, but he didn't stumble once.
Next came the climb. A vertical wall of slick stone with shifting glyphs handholds appeared and disappeared. Fail to climb in time, and it collapses on top of you.
Zenko struggled at first. His fingers slipped. But then his body glowed faintly, static clung to the wall, helping him stick. He laughed nervously.
Kilisu stared at the wall. Then he ran.
He didn't climb, he rebounded. Off stones, off rune clusters, off the sides. His cloak fluttered. He reached the top, landing silently.
Then came the gauntlet.
Spinning blades enchanted with dull edge-wards. The point wasn't to kill, but to batter. Below them, a hallway filled with smoke and shifting illusions.
Kilisu? He crouched low. Waited. Memorized the rhythm.
Then he moved like a shadow. The blades never touched him. Even the illusions didn't faze him; one showed a burning village, another a sobbing child. He didn't flinch.
"Your mind has nothing worth twisting."
Mental Trials
After the blood and sweat, came the quiet. Twelve questions. One candle. One instructor is watching.
They asked the same scenarios to everyone, but your answers were weighed against the other half of your soul.
"A caravan of children will die unless you sever the bridge. A general is on that bridge. Who do you save?" "Your comrade is captured. You're told where they are, but saving them will cost the mission." "A corrupt noble offers your freedom in exchange for another's life."
Kilisu didn't blink.
"Kill the general." "Abandon the comrade." "Take the noble's deal. Then kill him later."
His voice was monotone. His eyes were unblinking. The instructor made no comment, but there was a pause.
Zenko, on the other hand, hesitated. Fidgeted. Spoke slower.
He said he'd try to find a third option. Said he wouldn't let anyone die if he could help it.
They still passed him.
The Beast Trial
The final test took place at night, under twin red moons, on a shattered field surrounded by obsidian runes and towering torches.
Candidates stood in a circle. They were called one by one.
"You will face a beast. You kill it, you pass. No assistance. No delay."
Kilisu stepped into the ring.
From the iron gate emerged a creature stitched in bone, hunched, with six limbs, glowing blue eyes, and a hide that shimmered like oil on water. It hissed. Foamed. The runes around the arena flared.
Soul-Leeching Stalker.
Rare. Dangerous. Vicious.
It lunged.
Kilisu sidestepped. Slid beneath it. Blade out short, curved. He stabbed upward through the joint. Bone cracked. Blood hissed. The beast shrieked and turned.
Another slash. Back of the knee. It fell to a crouch.
Then he jumped, planted one foot on its back, and drove his sword through its skull, angled just behind the eye.
The body convulsed, then burst into black ash.
He didn't speak.
Then he saw him.
Another candidate stood on the far side, long black robes, gray eyes, hair down to his jaw.
Shadow poured from his sleeves, tendrils coiling like serpents. His beast, twice the size of Kilisu's, was already dead. Torn in half by pure darkness.
He didn't speak either.
They locked eyes. For a moment. Then the boy turned and walked off.
Kilisu didn't forget his face.
The Ceremony
Night fell fully. Candidates stood under a sky split with stars. Atop the grand tower, a platform unfurled. A man stepped forward.
Gustus.
The Grand Soulicist. Kilisu's target. The man tied to everything.
His voice was thunder. Calm and clear.
"You've passed the first wall. From here, it only grows harder." "You are not yet warriors. You are not yet wielders. But you are the future. The world needs peace. You may one day bring it."
Kilisu's eyes narrowed.
"Peace? From this? From us? You're either naive... or you're lying."
Gustus looked directly at the crowd and, for a moment, Kilisu swore he was looking right at him.
Then he turned.
And the gates of the academy opened.
Dratch Academy: Dorms
The academy grounds were massive towers spiraled into the clouds, walkways of glowing glyphs stretched between them. Soul lamps floated along walls, casting blue light across black stone.
Kilisu passed by a training yard where students were already sparring with weapons, blades of fire, lances of wind, even a bow that fired bolts of light. The instructors didn't stop them. Dratch was a place of ruthless merit, not hand-holding.
Dorms were based on performance. The top 5% got luxury rooms.
Kilisu and Zenko were in that 5%.
Their chamber was two rooms in one beds with silk sheets, a bathing pool, enchanted lighting, and food already laid out: roasted meat, fruits, fresh bread.
The view from their balcony looked out on the eastern field where Kilisu noticed a coliseum-like structure, surrounded by wardstones and lined with steel seats. A place for competition. Rankings. He knew that much.
Zenko flopped onto his bed.
"Best day of my life. I didn't die. I didn't get eaten. I get steak."
Kilisu ate slowly, eyes narrowed at the window.
"You saw him, too. The one with the shadow."
Zenko nodded.
"Yeah. Strong. I don't know what that was, but it wasn't normal."
Kilisu didn't reply. He turned to the window again. Watched the towers rise into the dark.
"How strong are they? How far behind am I really?"
Zenko was already asleep.
Kilisu sat in silence.
He didn't dream that night.
But he did promise himself something:
Never again will I be the weakest in the room.