The auditorium of Blackthorn Academy smelled of damp wool and melted candles. Hundreds of students pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath banners that sagged in the humid air.
The banners bore the sigils of the Academy: a serpent coiled around a book, a torch piercing a veil, an hourglass full of black sand. They hung heavy, reminders that this place wasn't just a school but a machine for deciding fates.
At the front of the hall, a crystal sphere hovered above a bronze pedestal. It hummed faintly, the sound of a trapped wasp. Every student would press a hand to its surface, and the sphere would measure them—power, potential, rank.
"C-tier. Congratulations."
Applause thundered. Another rank assigned, another future soldier or sorcerer sanctioned by the government.
Megan Cross waited her turn. To most people in the hall she was just "Next." Next in line. Next to fail.
Her robe was borrowed and too long, soaking up the rainwater still dripping from her boots. The hem left a trail across the stone floor.
On the wall behind her, a board displayed six MISSING posters. The faces were young, bright, ordinary. Under each, the same phrase: Last seen near the east wing. Vanished overnight.
She forced herself not to stare too long. Everyone else pretended not to notice, as if ignoring the posters could make them untrue.
"Next," the Registrar called.
Megan stepped onto the dais. The chatter in the crowd tightened into a hush.
Up close, the orb wasn't perfectly round. Its edges shivered, as though holding breath.
She pressed her palm against the glass.
Nothing happened.
The Registrar frowned. The orb flickered weakly, then dulled to gray.
"F-tier," the machine announced in its flat voice. "Powerless."
Laughter rippled through the hall. A professor shook his head and marked her file.
Megan smiled the way a person might smile at a knife collection—polite, sharp, and dangerous."Perfect," she said loudly. "I'll keep my nonexistent powers holstered."
The laughter changed, sharper this time, cutting both her and the Registrar.
He handed her a brass card with no mark. "Carry this. F-tier are restricted from unsupervised practice, duels—"
"Breathing?" Megan asked. "Should I schedule that for weekends?"
Snickers spread again, more at her tone than her failure.
She turned to leave—
The orb pulsed.
Only once. Like a heartbeat in a corpse.
A dark filament uncurled across its surface, twisting into the shape of an eye with too many lashes. The image vanished as quickly as it appeared.
No one else seemed to notice. No one except Megan.
Her breath caught. For a moment she felt seen, not by the crowd, not by the professors, but by something inside the orb.
The Registrar shuffled papers, dismissing her. "Next."
Megan stepped down from the dais, clutching the empty brass card.
The line moved on. Students pressed their hands to the orb, one after another. Each name recorded. Each rank assigned.
Megan slipped through the crowd, ignoring the stares. A green-sash boy leaned toward her as she passed. His smirk was sharp. "See you in remedials."
"Bring flashcards," Megan said without missing a beat. "We'll start with your shoelaces."
A few students snorted. The boy's smirk faltered.
Megan pushed on, weaving past benches and whispering clusters.
Lena caught up with her near the back. Her friend's face was pale, her voice low. "Don't joke. Did you see the new poster? That makes six."
"I saw," Megan said.
"People don't just transfer without transcripts. Not here."
Megan forced a shrug. "Maybe they got scholarships. Maybe they wanted better food."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Promise me you won't wander tonight."
"I'm F-tier," Megan said. "By law, I can't even wander properly."
"Promise me."
Megan hesitated, then gave a half-smile. "Fine. I promise inefficient wandering only."
The ranks continued. The orb glowed, dimmed, glowed again. Cheers for some, groans for others.
Megan let herself drift toward the edges of the hall. The laughter still echoed, but so did the pulse she'd felt beneath her hand.
A whisper in her mind, unbidden: You were not powerless. You were measured wrong.
She shook her head. Imagination. Stress.
And yet—her palm still tingled.
She glanced once more at the board of missing faces. The latest poster showed a boy about her age. Beneath the ink, the words: Last seen in the east corridor. Midnight.
The orb hummed faintly behind her, already turning to the next student. But Megan felt it still, like a gaze that hadn't let her go.
She pulled her robe tighter and walked out into the rain.
The storm swallowed her, but the sensation of being watched followed.