Arin woke with the first thread of dawn.
The cold bit into his skin, yet his thoughts were colder. He hadn't entered the house since last night. He wasn't lost—he was running from a sentence that still clung to him:
You'll always be my son.
There was no time to linger. The blare of horns shattered the morning silence.
At the village gate, ornate carriages crept forward, banners swaying, soldiers in gleaming helms and steel catching the light like blades.
The government's delegation had arrived.
People rushed to the square, their eyes a mixture of fear and greed.
Arin followed. His gaze did not shine like theirs—it observed.
From Min-Su's memories, he knew: these were not mere "tests." This was a hidden culling. The Empire was searching for rare ore to forge into living weapons.
But his aim was not the Imperial Academy. His sights were higher… farther. The World Academy. And to reach it, he would need results beyond extraordinary.
On the platform stood a tall man in dark-blue robes, a golden emblem of a dragon coiled around a sword upon his chest.
His voice was low, yet it sliced through the crowd:
— "Today, as every year, we test your affinity with mana. Those who meet the minimum will be summoned to the Imperial Academy."
The line formed.
Jim and his friends at the front, faces stiff, their seriousness performed.
Arin stayed back, counting every step.
Jim stepped forward first. His hand pressed to the first orb—light flared bright. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the crowd.
He touched the second—scarlet fire blazed.
The official spoke curtly:
— "Moderate affinity with fire. Mana, sufficient. Accepted."
A guard beside him added:
— "Don't grow arrogant. Many die each year at the academy from laziness and pride."
But Jim only smiled, arrogance written plain across his face, ignoring the warning. The crowd stared with envy and awe.
One by one, the other children passed.
— "Low mana. No affinity. Rejected."
— "Mana present, thunder weak. Secondary test."
— "No affinity. Rejected."
Hope crumbled like dry leaves.
Then came Sikth's turn.
All eyes fixed on him. Even hers—the woman.
He placed his hand on the first orb.
Waited. Nothing.
Whispers spread.
— "No affinity. Rejected."
Cold words. A single sentence, sharp as a blade.
Arin did not move. In his mind, the calculations whirled.
The system. The illness. Yes—the reason was clear… but excuses meant nothing.
— "Step aside."
Stifled laughter from Jim. Pitying glances from the crowd. One look from the woman—heavier than all the rest.
But Arin did not move.
His voice lifted, this time in the pitch of a pleading child:
— "Sir… I haven't touched the second orb."
Desperation, cloaked in innocence.
The official groaned.
— "Waste of time…"
Yet he waved his hand. A lazy gesture.
Arin did not wait. He moved quickly, as if afraid the chance would be snatched away.
His hand touched the second orb.
And the world erupted in light.
Deep blue flooded the air, the temperature plunging. The crowd's breaths froze in their chests.
The official had already begun to turn away—but stopped. His eyes widened.
— "…What in the world is this?"
The attendant muttered in shock:
— "High affinity with water… I've never seen—"
The official cut him off, sharp as ice:
— "Fool! That is no water… it's high ice."
The square fell into silence.
Every gaze locked on the boy who, a moment ago, was branded worthless—
and now stood at the center of a glacial light that stole the breath from every throat.