One of the greatest problems of the final test to become a Silver Herald is that awakening one's own Aura can consume a person entirely.
Some are torn apart from the inside out. Others… simply explode and become unrecognizable fragments of what was once an Audrean.
It was a risk everyone there was willing to take.
Years of training had prepared body and mind—but the truth was that things did not always turn out as expected.
Some die.
And others awaken an Aura capable of rivaling the Mana of a Calamiti.
Many of those present in the hall were already subtly displaying theirs, whether by testing reflexes or, of course, showing off their auradora—a weapon forged from the individual's own aura during the Awakening. It is one of the few weapons made by an Audrean capable of killing a Zalma and even a very powerful Calamiti (for everyone's sake, the latter has not yet been tested). That particular candidate's auradora consisted of throwing knives.
According to Eren Belalvo, in the book Analysis of the Concept of Soul, Body, and Aura, the descendants of Charia awaken "powers" that reflect the essence of their being.
They are usually physical enhancements—endurance, immunity, speed, stealth.
There are even rarer cases, such as the Monteiro family itself, which developed and refined its Aura to the point of mastering an element.
The first of that lineage, Devian Monteiro, became known for his affinity with earth and for his auradora, the scythe Lucem Mortis, capable of cutting down multiple Zalmas in a single swing. They say Devian possessed another ordinary scythe just as lethal as his auradora, but it was lost during a hunt and never found again.
The current Archduke, Carmelius, can create and shape ice and snow.
This year in particular, many waited anxiously to learn what ability and auradora would be awakened by the last descendant: Ariadne Monteiro.
Unlike the others, Lady Ariadne did not train with the remaining candidates, nor did she have contact with the novice Heralds.
She was an archducal princess, of course—and for safety, it had been planned that she would only be introduced to the Heralds upon turning twenty-one.
A great foolishness, in Leo's view.
Looking at her own hand wrapped around the mug, Leo tried to apply enough pressure to crush the metal, squeezing until her palm protested in pain.
Apparently, it wasn't super strength.
And where were the supposed electrifying threads meant to pull at her? The burning sensation so many described?
Inside her, everything remained in dead silence.
Nothing.
No spark, no sign.
She shouldn't be there.
Perhaps her aura was reshaping itself to a new size… or taking a nap.
And what if her aura was weak? Pathetic, even?
No. Not now.
This was not the time for that kind of thought—not when she was so close.
Others had died so that she could be there today. So that she could move forward and fulfill what they could not.
And yet, part of her wanted to scream at the gods, at the instructors, at the entire room.
She wanted to break the jaw of anyone who said she didn't deserve it.
For now, she only chewed on her anguish—with the same force she used to crush the mug.
"I've known Leo from the first to the fifth drink… but the sixth? That's another story," Tamaya commented, appearing beside her with the natural ease of someone arriving just in time to save the scene.
Tall, with short hair braided close to her scalp and dark skin gleaming under the warm hall lights, Tamaya slid a plate of roasted meat with rice and salad toward her friend.
The smell was irresistible, and Leo's stomach growled loudly.
She had been so anxious about the Graduation Ceremony—and so confused about her own Awakening—that she hadn't eaten in hours.
She hadn't even managed to offer anything to the dead; how could she join the others in their honors?
"Are you going to eat, or are you going to snub the person who brought you food? My mother would call you ill-mannered," Tamaya said firmly, with that look that left no room for refusal.
"Oh, no… I definitely don't want to be scolded by Magna," Leo relented, pulling the plate closer and taking a generous bite.
Only then did she realize how hungry she was. The meat was tender, juicy, with a lightly spiced aroma that enveloped her completely. She looked at Tamaya with an almost comical expression, as if asking, What is this?
"Venison, with a green sauce I'm working on. So? Is it good?" Tamaya asked, already knowing the answer, pride written all over her face.
Tamaya Alvez was graduating alongside Leo, daughter of the Head Cook of the Monteiro main house. She had inherited an incredible culinary talent from her mother. And apparently, the Awakening had not shaken her as much as it had others who tried to slip into the hall unnoticed by their own condition.
"You don't have to say anything… you're practically licking your fingers," Tamaya laughed, seeing her friend with sauce-stained lips, like a child discovering a new flavor.
Leo wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and took another sip of the now-warm beer.
She wasn't drunk, as her friend probably thought. Even with that amount, she seemed to have the same resistance as Revian, the minotaur guard.
Yeah, maybe her Aura was high alcohol resistance.
Very useful.
Especially in a tavern brawl.
"Are you okay?" Tamaya asked. Her voice carried a mix of concern and forced casualness.
For a moment, the wooden bench creaked beneath Leo's movement.
After everything they had been through, any moment of peace should have been a reason for joy—not an excuse to remember what (or who) had been left behind.
Before answering, Leo looked around.
She saw familiar faces, those who had been with her from the beginning.
But she also noticed empty seats.
When she entered the hall and saw them there, alive, serving themselves meat and beer, she had felt relief.
For being alive.
For them being alive.
But it wasn't easy.
Your partners may one day—and will—die; carry that weight like a shroud on your back.
Being there was, in itself, a miracle. But it was hard to ignore the weight of those left behind.
"I think just being here… already means something," she replied quietly.
Tamaya leaned over the table, sliding her fingers along the rim of her mug.
"I think so too. You know, I'm not a great swordswoman or anything… but Inácio would have loved to taste this," she said, pointing to the plate.
Leo remained silent. She recognized her friend's attempt to seek comfort in something familiar.
"We promised that… if we met at dinner today, we'd cook together…" Tamaya squeezed her eyes shut, biting her trembling lips in a failed attempt to contain the emotion.
"I know that… that we shouldn't expect the other to return after the ceremony…" her voice faltered. "But I swear I tried. I believed he'd be here now."
Tamaya slowly broke down, hiding her face in her hands.
Leo squeezed her shoulder firmly, a mute gesture of comfort.
Don't get attached. Don't make friends. Don't become "one."
It's the first lesson learned here.
Candidates for Heralds should never depend on their pairs, much less wait for them, as "suggested" in training.
But it's hard to live by a rule that denies you even the right to hope.
Honoring the dead is even more painful when you were attached.
They weren't exactly a couple—or anything like that, as far as she knew. More like soul siblings. They had come here together as children, grown and trained side by side. Inácio was an excellent swordsman, as skilled as Leo was with blades. On Thursday dawns, while training, Leo would find him throwing daggers at targets and would end up joining him.
They never became friends, or anything more—just shared the same desire.
To be here today.
By their abilities, both should have been alive. But only one was there to tell the story. After all, she survived—by some miracle, it must be said.
And now, all they had… was this.
"He should be here…" Tamaya murmured, breaking the heavy silence. Her voice held no anger, only a sadness that cut like a sharp blade.
Swallowing hard, Leo searched for the right words.
"Then… let's eat for him. I think wherever Erno took him, he'd be disappointed to know you haven't eaten anything you prepared," Leo said, dark circles marking her young face. But she smiled—not with joy, but with someone still trying to believe she had truly passed the Awakening.
"And drink." She raised her mug. "Definitely drink for him."
Words of comfort were never Leo's strength. She didn't quite understand the pain of loss, having never lost someone so close. She had always kept a comfortable distance from everyone. And even saying she felt nothing… deep down, she wished they were still there, that they had reached this moment together.
What made them less worthy than her?
Across the table, an older man approached carrying a bowl in trembling hands. He must have been about twenty-eight—an advanced age, considering the average survival rate there. Messy hair, a fresh scar on his forehead. From what she vaguely remembered, his name was Mariano; he was even handsome, considering how worn down he looked. He sat heavily on the bench across from her and, as if he had heard the entire conversation (he probably had), said:
"We survived. That's what matters now."
It sounded more like a failed self-help attempt than genuine feeling.
His calloused fingers were dirty with earth and dried blood. He had gone hunting with the others but clearly hadn't felt the need to clean up before dinner. Understandable. A bath, in that context, was almost a consolation prize. And it was common knowledge that the Awakening drew out everyone's worst demons.
"You should stop getting attached to the dead… or you'll keep crying every day," he added, with the sensitivity of a brick, while holding a chicken leg with dirty hands.
Incredulous, Leo felt Tamaya's heavy breathing beside her, anger and hurt boiling inside.
"Go to hell, Serqueira!" Tamaya exploded, knocking his mug to the floor and abruptly leaving the table.
Leo thought about calling her back, but… knowing the woman, it was better to leave her alone for a while.
"What a shame. That one was cold too," he commented, picking the mug up from the floor and snorting, as if the greatest crime of the night had been wasting a cold drink.
He turned to Leo: "If you're going to throw something on the ground, make sure it's not my plate. Unlike some people, I hunted the meat on it."
She ignored the provocation. Not because she agreed with him, but because she was too tired to be shaken.
Giving in would be the same as accepting other people's "truth."
And that… could lead anyone to ruin.
And in the end… which path didn't?
In the corner of the hall, a small group tried to warm themselves by the large brazier. Rain began to drum against the narrow windows, while distant thunder reminded them that the world outside remained merciless—as always.
The end of the trials hung in the air like a thick cloud of uncertainty, creating an uncomfortable mix of fear, anxiety, and a generous touch of collective depression.
A cold breeze dared to play with Leo's long braids. Yawning with exhaustion, she pulled on her second coat, wrapping herself like a melancholic burrito. That wasn't a good sign.
Everyone looked half-dead and nearly drunk, unprepared enough to hardly resemble future Heralds.
The night blew cutting winds outside, and one by one, the surviving candidates bade farewell to the dead by tossing their empty mugs into the fireplace—in a silent, improvised ritual. It was symbolic. A mute tribute. Perhaps useless. But beautiful enough to lend some meaning to the tragedy.
Mariano was the first to stand, leaving the table without a word. He seemed uninterested in interaction—which perhaps made him the most sensible there. He hadn't lost anyone, apparently. Still, he paid his respects. Out of empathy? Courtesy? The food? Who knew. At that point, even a stale loaf of bread seemed a legitimate reason for sentimentality.
Then, amid the heavy air of restrained grief and alcohol, the silence was shattered—almost literally—by a hard punch against the wood. Leo's mug overflowed instantly from the violent impact.
Brukk had arrived. Because of course the orc would make an entrance worthy of a riot.
Leo didn't even bother to look surprised. The others at the table, however, looked ready to punch him. A perfectly understandable reaction.
"This time I won't lose, Thalion! I challenge you to taste the Fire of the Depths!" Brukk bellowed, his voice loud and nearly hoarse, echoing through the far wings of the Great House. His enthusiasm bordered on madness, and his stubbornness suggested he had mistaken the hall for an arena.
If it had been yesterday, they would all have been dragged to the Towers and duly punished. But today… they were still just candidates.
The silence of the room, once sacred, now turned into a minefield of emotional tension. And between trying to sleep and drinking, guess which choice prevailed? Exactly.
The collective drinking included, of course, the new guards and knights of Montreal. Unlike the nearly suicidal trials of the Heralds, the chances of survival to become a guard or patrolman were higher—and even Demerians could obtain a post within the archduchy's ranks.
Demerians were citizens from Demeria, the Lands Beyond, children of Rheos, and possessed a wider range of species—fairies, demons, merfolk, minotaurs, among others.
A place devastated after the "Great Massacre." And no route back had been discovered—or allowed.
Of course, it was risky to shelter Demerians in their lands while the Emperor hunted, enslaved, and killed all he found.
But the jurisdiction and agreement between Camalia and Adária established that if a Demerian assumed another citizenship and had an "Owner"—a citizen who bought them and took responsibility for their actions—they could live in peace. Or something like it.
Another important detail: Demerians could not be Heralds.
The reason? Magic.
Magic was part of their essence, something born with the individual, integrating body, mind, and soul. Capable of shaping muscles, the mind, and even spectral manifestations, Magic made them unique… and incompatible.
Thus, Magic is present from birth, and its magnitude does not change until death—you are born powerful or you are not.
Aura, on the other hand, was exclusive to the descendants of Charia—the Audreans, also known as ordinary humans. An extension of the soul, it could be trained, expanded, refined. At 55%, one could manipulate elements to some degree.
Among the knights—not Heralds—were two of Leo's friends: Brukk of the Gray Skin, the bulky and emotionally unstable orc, and Thalion Aeris, the wind elf, elegant and constantly irritated by the former's dramatic outbursts.
"You make absolutely no sense, Brukk… and you've only had ONE mug," Leo emphasized. "Are you sure you want to propose a challenge?" she asked, exhaustion clear in her voice.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tamaya return to the table, taking a deep breath and rubbing her forehead with two fingers—the universal sign of I don't have patience for this nonsense today.
"Buddy, none of us has the strength to carry you up to the seventh floor… so here's a tip: contain the excitement."
To her right, Ryuu Kenshiro sat calmly. Straight hair tied in a neat bun, lightly tanned skin reflecting the fireplace's yellow glow, and that smile of someone who had seen worse, yet still tried to seem kind. He was a year older than Leo, twenty-one, but his maturity and manners gave him the aura of a tired tutor leading a chaotic group.
It was no surprise, coming from a former member of the Kazura wanderer clan. Formed by more than thirty-five people, they were nomads who traveled widely, spreading teachings and selling their creations in villages and market districts. They followed a motto: "A light soul binds itself to no single place, has no ambitions nor desires."
However, three years ago, Ryuu found himself among Herald training and decided to leave his clan to pursue what he longed for. And he could only return if he abandoned everything he had learned.
Always a choice, never an option.
Ryuu was right—Brukk was the largest among them, the most massive, almost like a wall of bluish-gray stone. What he lacked in patience, he made up for in muscle and unending loyalty to this small group.
"Of course I'm sure!" Brukk replied excitedly. "Since when am I not sure about my plans?"
Brukk and Thalion were among the Demerians "purchased" in Montreal territory and had come there exactly five years earlier, after Carmelius found them in a fighting arena in Sidnel, sold for the highest price. Not to justify the unjustifiable, but it was the best choice to "free" them from the Emperor of Adária—or other local nobles.
Considering one was an elf and the other an orc, how had they not escaped?
The answer was simple: look at their necks, where a steel collar prevented them from using any ability. If they tried, their heads would explode—something monitored by members of the King's Council.
Even knowing that with Demerians at his side he could easily confront the Emperor of Adária head-on and end the growing anxiety of the war drawing ever closer to Camélia…
That, however, was a story for another time.
"I can list several moments. January, for example, when you decided to rip off the head of a level-four primal Zalma, fully aware the creature regenerated in seconds. Or the time you—"
Ah, right. Leo hadn't been there. She had only heard the accounts afterward—and honestly, that was enough. She had peeked into the Autopsy and Anatomy room and seen the body of that horrendous creature, resembling a frog with skin as thick as a turtle's shell.
That day, she nearly vomited her lunch from the putrid stench the corpse exuded.
"Shut up, Alves. I didn't ask for your opinion," Brukk grumbled irritably, pointing at her.
"As you wish. Just don't make me come back from the next mission covered in stomach fluids. I spent a week trying to get that smell out of my hair," she shot back, real disgust in her voice. If looks could kill, Brukk would already be on the floor.
"Hey, Bellius, and you? How long are you going to flirt with that mug? Your beer must be warm by now," Ryuu teased, positioning himself in front of her, to Tamaya's right. His firm voice broke Leo's reverie, where she had drifted into her own thoughts.
Not to reveal more than she should, she gave a crooked half-smile and replied dismissively:
"I'm just waiting for you to stop talking and finally carry out your challenge."
"Oh, that's what you want to see? Then hold this!"
"Hey, wait! Wasn't that challenge mine?" Thalion interrupted excitedly. "I'm the one who's going to win this!"
Without further delay, the three friends raised their mugs at Ryuu's signal. In one motion, they downed the golden liquid, under the attentive, amused eyes of those around them. One, two, three gulps… The empty mugs slammed onto the table.
Thalion and Brukk, faces flushed and eyes half-closed, sank into their chairs, bodies slumping as if gravity had increased just for them. Between burps, they looked on the verge of passing out.
Ryuu, on the other hand, unperturbed, was already downing his tenth cup as if it were water.
The girls exchanged surprised looks, astonished at his endurance.
"But… what's your secret?!" Tamaya asked, almost laughing.
Ryuu wiped his lips with the back of his hand, gave a mischievous wink, and replied mysteriously:
"If I told you, I'd have to share the victory."
Laughter still echoed through the tavern, muffled by the clink of mugs and overlapping conversations. But Leo, despite the brief smile she had given, sank back into the silence that enveloped her like a thick fog.
Brukk let out a grunt and, his body limp, toppled sideways onto the table with a dull thud, drawing laughs from nearby.
"Brukk's down," Thalion murmured, swaying as he tried to stand, eyes half-closed. "Think I can blow my first salary at the Forge of Seven?"
"You won a headache for tomorrow… I mean, do elves even get headaches?" Ryuu asked, laughing as he stood. He looked at his two companions, shaking his head good-naturedly. "I'll take these two to the dormitory before they wake up on the floor."
He moved to support Brukk by the shoulders, asking Thalion to help, then turned to Bellius with a lighter but attentive look:
"Don't stay too long. Especially you, Bellius," his dark brown eyes scanned her as if reading her thoughts. "The ceremony won't be the same without your grumpy face around."
She nodded with a discreet smile.
"You need to deal with my beauty once a day to survive, Aeris."
"Oh, Tamaya…" Ryuu turned briefly, as if remembering something important. "You still haven't told us what weapon you got after awakening your Aura."
Tamaya smirked, crossing her arms and leaning forward slightly, savoring the suspense she was about to create. Her eyes gleamed as she shot Ryuu a mischievous look:
"Tomorrow you'll see, handsome."
She then turned to Leo, who turned her head away as if no longer interested in the topic.
Tamaya leaned in a little, curiosity unchanged:
"And you, Leo? Will you tell us? I think a longsword would suit you just as well as a bow."
Even cornered, Leo kept her calm as best she could. A silent tightness closed in her chest. She didn't want to talk about it—not now. Not when she herself wasn't sure what had happened. Or what she might even be able to wield after hours of trying something.
She took a deep breath, trying to find an answer, but only looked away and whispered:
"Yeah… maybe. I'd rather wait until tomorrow…"
Silence briefly settled over the table, and Ryuu, sensing the tension, nodded, as if understanding that some battles needed more time.
That was Thalion's cue, still woozy, to mumble through hiccups:
"I think… I'm going too…"
And with Ryuu's help, he began to leave, leaning on his friend.
Shaking off some of the stupor clouding her mind and body, Leo tried to be more realistic and less irrational.
Alright. Tomorrow, she, Tamaya, and Ryuu would officially become Silver Heralds.
She forced a smile, simply nodding, and watched as Ryuu guided the two nearly unconscious men out of the refectory.
Now almost alone, with the surrounding chatter seeming distant and muffled, Leo looked back at her hand.
No answer.
The emptiness was strange, unsettling. As if something inside her had broken—or worse: was slowly fading. Her mind, usually sharp, felt wrapped in a thick, cold fog, where thoughts drifted loose and shapeless. The absence of Aura was not merely a failure. It was a warning. An omen.
She dug her nails into her palm, as if trying to grasp something slipping through the invisible fingers of fate.
"I'll ask again—are you okay?" Tamaya asked, placing her hand over Leo's, more insistent now. She knew Leo well enough to see that when nervous, she didn't hide her feelings very well.
Leonia blinked, looking at the other woman's hand, forcing a tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Just… tired. I think I need to rest a bit."
Tamaya nodded gently, without pressing further.
Leo stood with measured, almost careful movements, as if afraid any misstep would leave her even more vulnerable.
"I'm going upstairs. I want to be whole tomorrow," she said softly.
And then she walked away, passing through the door that led to the corridor. The wood creaked beneath her feet, and the refectory's false cheer faded behind her, muffled.
Outside, the wind howled, as if amplifying her insecurities. They exchanged brief waves and restrained words, each lost in their own thoughts. The night enveloped her as she left the refectory, carrying with it the uncertainty of the future and the faint hope that, in the end, it would all be worth it.
They say that at birth, your destiny is already chosen by the gods.
And Leo believed that all these hardships and the claustrophobia surrounding her had a purpose—a greater reason.
It would make her prosper.
Tomorrow, nothing would go wrong.