The sun—or whatever passed for the sun in this world—was a pale, silver disc hanging above the city's skyline when I woke up on the academy grounds. My hoodie was still stained with ramen. My cracked mana core? Still cracked. My reputation? Already legendary trash.
Perfect start to the day.
The academy's selection trials had drawn hundreds of candidates. Humans, beastkin, elves—heck, I even saw a guy with silver scales on his cheeks and thought, Great, now dragons have kids too. They were all here, armed with weapons that probably cost more than my college tuition, looking like the main characters of their own stories.
And me?
I looked like the unpaid intern of a third-rate sidekick.
"Name?" A bored clerk asked, sitting behind a wooden table stacked with scrolls.
I hesitated. Something about the question felt… heavy. Like the answer mattered more than I realized.
"…Riven," I said finally. Just that. My last name—if I had one—didn't matter. Not yet.
The clerk scribbled something on his parchment, barely glancing up. "Trash core, huh? Try not to die. Next!"
The first trial was simple: Survive.
Not a test of skill, not even a written exam. No. They shoved us into a massive, glowing arena shaped like a circular canyon, tossed a few monster cages in, and said:
"Good luck."
The cages opened. The ground shook. And then the screaming started.
A wolf-beast twice my size barreled past, chasing a poor elf who screamed like someone had stolen his wallet. Across the field, two beastkin warriors were fighting side-by-side, claws gleaming as they tore into a scaled lizard the size of a car.
And me?
I was standing in the middle of it all, wondering if hiding behind a rock counted as a strategy.
A noble brat in shiny armor smirked at me as he walked past, casually tossing a fireball at a passing creature like it was a warm-up exercise. "Stay out of the way, peasant. Wouldn't want you to die too quickly."
I smiled sweetly. "Oh, don't worry. I plan on dying in style."
He frowned. "What?"
Before I could answer, a smaller beast—something like a mutant boar—charged at me. My brain screamed, RUN, but my feet didn't listen. I raised my hands, preparing to be turned into a pancake.
That's when my shadow moved again.
The ground beneath me rippled like liquid darkness, coiling around the boar's legs mid-charge. It stumbled, roared, and crashed face-first into the dirt. I blinked. The shadow flickered once, like it was laughing at me, before sinking back to normal.
"…Okay," I muttered. "We're definitely going to talk about that later."
The rest of the trial was chaos. I dodged. I rolled. I accidentally threw a rock at a lizard's face and knocked it out. Everyone thought I was some tactical genius. I wasn't. I was just lucky as hell.
When the gong rang, signaling the end, the proctor stared at me with a mix of confusion and irritation.
"…How are you still alive?" he asked.
"Good diet and luck," I said with a grin.
As the remaining candidates gathered, whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Who's that guy?"
"He doesn't even have mana…"
"I saw him trip and somehow kill two beasts at once."
I just smiled, hands in my hoodie pocket, acting like I hadn't just almost died twelve times.
"Trash core, huh? Guess I'm not the only one they scraped off the bottom of the barrel," a voice said beside me.
I turned and saw a guy about my age with messy brown hair, a chipped wooden sword, and the confident grin of someone who didn't mind getting punched in the face if it meant making a friend. His shirt was half-torn, and one of his shoes looked like it had been bitten off by a monster.
"Name's Erynd," he said, holding out his hand like we weren't surrounded by arrogant nobles giving us dirty looks.
"Riven," I replied, shaking it.
"Cool. Let's not die together."
The proctor, the same mage with the "I secretly enjoy watching kids suffer" expression, tapped his staff.
"Round two. Pairs. Survive the swarm."
"Swarm?" I whispered.
The gates opened.
A thousand screeching sounds filled the air.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," I muttered as small, insectoid beasts poured into the arena like living nightmares.
Erynd glanced at my hoodie, then at my empty hands. "Uh, you do know how to fight, right?"
"Define fight," I said.
He groaned. "You're hopeless."
A bug the size of a dog launched itself at us. Erynd slashed it mid-air with his wooden sword, splattering goo all over my hoodie.
"Ew—"
"Focus!"
Another bug lunged, and I ducked purely out of fear. My shadow rippled upward, slashing the creature like a blade of darkness. It fell apart in front of me.
Erynd froze. "…Did you just—?"
"Nope," I said quickly. "That was… wind. Or luck. Mostly luck."
We spent the next ten minutes running for our lives while Erynd cut through bugs like a madman and I pretended to know what I was doing. Every time I messed up, my shadow "coincidentally" did something cool, which only made people stare harder.
By the time the gong rang again, we were covered in slime and panting.
"Not bad, peasant," a noble sneered as he walked past. "I almost thought you'd die in the first thirty seconds."
"Aw, you cared?" I grinned. "I'm touched."
The proctor scribbled notes. "Team Erynd-Riven… passed."
Erynd high-fived me. "Ha! Told you we wouldn't die."
"I told you no such thing," I muttered.
Later, as the candidates rested near the edge of the arena, I overheard the nobles talking.
"Did you see her?"
"Of course. She's royalty. That flame… I've never seen anything like it."
I followed their gaze.
At the far side of the arena, a girl stood alone. She was… different. Her hair shimmered like strands of silver-gold, her uniform spotless, and when she raised her hand, a faint trail of golden flames danced across her fingertips. Even the air around her felt sharper, hotter.
Everyone stared at her like she was a goddess.
I didn't.
Mostly because I was trying to clean bug slime off my hoodie.
Erynd nudged me. "You see her? That's the Celestial Ember Princess."
"Cool," I said.
"Cool?! She's one of the strongest candidates here! Do you live under a rock?"
"Technically, I woke up here after… well, something. Don't ask. I'm still figuring out if I'm dead or dreaming."
The proctor's voice cut through the chatter. "Final trial tomorrow. Only those who survive will earn the right to enter the Royal Arcane Academy."
Great. Survive. Again.
I glanced at my shadow, which flickered faintly like it was alive.
"…You better not be planning anything creepy tonight," I whispered.
For a moment, I swear I heard something—a faint, low voice, like a whisper from the void:
"Soon."