The Citadel of Domain Control.
The world shifted when one stepped into it.
Not walked—entered, as if peeling through the seams of reality itself.
Here, above the spatial dome that housed the exam below, the laws of physics bent not under machines or wires, but the meticulous weave of magecraft—the pinnacle of constructed sorcery. A pseudo-10-star technique, known only as Axiom Gatework, sprawled across the chamber's ceiling like a constellation carved into stone. Runic threads hovered in the air, living glyphs, each rotating with a pulse that resonated not in sound, but in concept. Understanding them was not a matter of sight—it was permission.
And only one man in the world had the authority to shape it: the Headmaster.
