Alaric regained consciousness, his mind sluggishly pulling itself from the fog. He found himself standing in a brightly lit hall, the atmosphere starkly different from the dim examination grounds he had been in moments ago. The new location was spacious, with the day's light pouring through tall windows, illuminating the vast chamber. Around him, dozens of other children stood in various states of confusion, and more seemed to be appearing by the second, phasing into existence as if they were all teleported there.
Up on a raised platform at the front of the hall, three figures stood waiting. Alaric's gaze locked onto one of them, Professor Loring, the tall, muscular man whose presence dominated the room. He recognized him immediately, his stern expression tempered by a smirk that suggested the final trial was about to begin.
Alaric turned his attention to the others. A few were already stirring, shaking off the lingering effects of their unconsciousness. More and more students blinked awake.
'I guess it's time to wrap this up,' he thought, shaking his head lightly to dispel the last traces of the disorienting fog.
His own experience was rather strange, If not borderline weird. He felt as though that mental trial he went through wasn't even a test at all, it was him just devouring the last vestiges of Luther.
And now? He felt whole. Like the world had stopped leaning to one side.
'Huh. I'm back.'
He blinked once more, re-centering himself.
The room was filled with fewer than five hundred students now, far less than the thousands who had started the day. It seemed the weaker ones had already been weeded out, culled during the earlier phases of the exam. Alaric's lips twitched in mild amusement.
Before Alaric could think further, Professor Loring took a step forward, his booming voice echoing through the hall.
"Allow me to congratulate all of you," Loring declared, his tone filled with both authority and amusement. "The very fact that you stand here proves that each of you is truly exceptional. But, don't think for a moment that this is the end. There are only one hundred and twenty slots available today. The rest of you will have to try again next year. So, remember—this race is far from over."
A palpable tension settled over the room as the reality of his words sank in. They had all fought so hard to get here, but even now, there was no guarantee they would make the final cut… well, most anyway.
Loring's lips curled into an amused grin. "Now, without further adieu, the final examination."
He paused.
Let the anticipation boil.
"It's simple," he said, voice dropping to something like a challenge. "All you have to do… is attack me."
A stunned silence swept the hall.
"But," Loring added, raising a finger, "you only get one shot. One. No retries. No take-backs. Make it count."
A murmur rippled through the students, a mix of confusion and disbelief at the suddenness of the challenge. Loring's grin widened.
With that, Loring leapt off the stage with an almost inhuman grace, landing in the middle of the hall. He stood tall, arms clasped behind his back, relaxed, like he wasn't standing before a storm, but waiting to be entertained by it.
A man with a long parchment stepped forward and unrolled it with a snap.
"First candidate, Kiel Norris!"
A ripple of attention shifted to the front.
Kiel stepped forward hesitantly, pale as bone, and his fingers twitching like he was trying to grip courage and coming up empty. He made his way through the crowd and stopped a few feet in front of Loring, looking like a first-year sent to duel a war general.
Loring looked down at Kiel with a bored expression and gave a slight nod. "You may begin. And don't worry," he added with a smirk, "if anyone's getting hurt, it'll probably be you."
Kiel's eyes widened in panic, his body jolting as he remembered what he was supposed to do. He hesitated for a brief moment, taking in a sharp breath before leaning forward.
Slowly, his hands began to glow, it was a soft light at first, flickering like a candle. Then it grew, swelling into something hotter, denser. The air around him shimmered.
He was going for a spell.
Just as Kiel was about to release the spell, Loring spoke again, his voice casual. "Oh, and one more thing," he said. "If you want better results, use pure Ether. No spells. We're judging your control, not your memory. If you can manifest Ether into something like a blade or javelin, even better. Up to you. Just… don't waste it."
Kiel looked like someone had slapped him. His entire face screamed Seriously? Now you say that? But it was too late to cancel. The spell was primed. Letting go now could mean backlash—or worse.
Unlike formal spells, Ether constructs—sometimes called Ether spells by those too lazy to name them properly—were raw Ether shaped by will. No chanting, no binding glyphs. Just energy, formed into whatever your instincts could shape. They were flexible, powerful, and brutally difficult to master.
Alaric had also used an Ether construct on his first target back at the ambush a couple days ago, shaping it into a knife and catching his executioner off guard.
Gritting his teeth, Kiel let out a strained yell and hurled the spell toward Loring. It was a pulsating sphere of white light, growing in intensity as it flew, throbbing like a heartbeat. Its speed was staggering, crossing the distance in an instant.
Gasps echoed through the crowd, the spectacle of the spell captivating even the more experienced students. When it reached Loring, the sphere flared with a searing brightness, as if a miniature sun had been ignited at the center of the hall.
For a moment, it seemed as though the professor would be consumed by the light, swallowed whole by the incoming explosion.
But then, with nothing more than a lazy flick of his wrist, Loring swatted at the air.
In an instant, the light vanished. The heat, the roar, the intense display of Ether, it all disappeared as if it never existed. The hall returned to its previous state, calm and unchanged, the spectacle completely snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
There was a stunned silence. The entire audience, including Kiel, stared dumbfounded at Loring. The sheer casualness with which he had dismissed the spell left everyone in shock. The spell that had promised so much destruction, so much spectacle, had amounted to nothing more than an amusing diversion for the professor.
Loring's grin remained. "Well, that was a dazzling show," he said, his voice dripping with mock praise. "Alright, next."
The hall remained quiet, the once-buzzing energy replaced by an eerie stillness as Kiel shuffled back and went towards the exit, his head hanging in utter defeat.
'And that,' Alaric thought, 'is the difference between a bunch of Tier Ones… and a Fourth-Tier veteran.'
Just as the hall fell into a heavy silence, with only Kiel's fading footsteps echoing, the man holding the parchment stepped forward and called out another name.
"Reina Yareli."
This time, a short girl emerged from the crowd. Freckled, sharp eyed, and clad in fitted black leather, Reina walked with a quiet confidence that immediately set her apart from the last contender. No hesitation, no fear. She stopped at the designated mark, standing tall.
Loring glanced at her briefly, then spoke with his usual economy. "Begin."
pulse of dark brown Ether shimmered around her, swirling like a windless storm. From a distance, it resembled drifting sand or floating rocks from a distance, but the particles were intangible, weightless as the air itself. The Ether pulsed with an aura of raw power, radiating an intense firmness.
Alaric raised an eyebrow as he observed her technique.
'She's raw, but she knows what she's doing.'
That was no small feat. Spells were easier in a way. They were predefined structures woven through incantations or glyphs. But Ether constructs required instinct, imagination, and a fierce command over one's energy. Reina was going off-script.
She pressed on, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her jaw clenched as she struggled to condense the swirling energy. After a moment of effort, the mass began to coalesce, slowly taking on a form. The rough outline of a hammer materialized from the swirling Ether, its shape crude but solid.
The hammer floated in the air, gaining momentum as it drifted toward the professor. Its speed increased with each passing second, and by the time it neared him, the hammer's head was raised high, poised to strike.
The crowd held its breath.
Just before impact, Loring raised a single finger.
That was all it took.
In an instant, the hammer stopped mid-air, its descent halted effortlessly. The energy began to unravel, disintegrating into nothingness.
Loring looked down at the girl, who stood panting and exhausted from her efforts. He gave a curt nod and spoke in his usual, unaffected tone.
"Next."
Alaric allowed a small, amused smile to slip onto his face.
'She did pretty well for a novice. Well, I suppose it's to be expected from someone aiming to enroll here.'
The second presentation wasn't nearly as striking as the first in terms of spectacle, but to those who actually understood Ether, the difference was night and day. Reina hadn't leaned on spectacle. She'd forged a weapon from pure will, and that mattered.
Alaric's gaze remained thoughtful as the next name was called.
"Klein Laird."
And with that, the third challenger stepped forward.