The door closed behind them with a soft *hiss*, sealing them inside.
The Forge was... not what Ilias expected.
It wasn't a training ground. Wasn't an arena. Wasn't some massive chamber filled with weapons and sparring dummies.
It was a classroom.
Large, circular, with tiered seating arranged in a half-circle facing a central platform. The walls were lined with screens displaying star maps, equations, diagrams Ilias couldn't begin to parse. Soft light filtered down from above, warm and golden, making the space feel... safe. Inviting.
And seated in the upper tiers were students.
Not many. Maybe fifteen. All watching as Vyra's group entered.
No one spoke. Just... watched.
Vyra gestured to the empty seats in the front row. "Sit."
They did.
Ilias found himself between Zael and the bandaged student, who still hadn't said a word, face still hidden beneath that hoodie.
Kira bounced into her seat, HYMN hovering beside her, scanning the room with quiet efficiency.
Caspian sat with his three lackeys flanking him, spine straight, chin raised, radiating that insufferable air of superiority.
And at the center of the platform, leaning casually against a desk, was a man.
Tall. Broad-shouldered but not bulky. Skin a warm brown that seemed to *glow* faintly in the light, like he'd been carved from living wood. His hair was dark, cut short, and his eyes—green, bright, impossibly kind—swept over each of them with quiet curiosity.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just... *existed*.
And the air in the room shifted.
It wasn't oppressive like Vyra's aura. Wasn't overwhelming. It was... gentle. Warm. Like standing in a sunlit forest, breathing in fresh air, feeling the earth beneath your feet.
*Safe.*
Ilias blinked, glancing at Adi—the small glowing figure perched on his shoulder, invisible to everyone but him.
Adi tilted his head, studying the man. *"This guy is... really something."*
Ilias couldn't argue.
The man smiled—soft, genuine—and pushed off the desk.
"Welcome," he said, voice smooth and calm, "to The Forge."
---
He moved to the center of the platform, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze swept over them again.
"My name is Professor Thorne. I'll be your homeroom teacher for the duration of your time here." He gestured to the other students in the upper tiers. "These are your peers. Some of you may already know each other. Most of you don't. That will change."
He smiled again, and there was something playful in it. Almost mischievous.
"But before we begin, I'd like to know who you are. Introductions. Starting with you."
He pointed to Zael.
Zael stood, hands in his pockets, expression casual. "Zael Orin. First-year. Blessed. I, uh... specialize in energy manipulation. Star-based abilities, mostly."
Thorne nodded. "Sit."
Zael sat.
Thorne pointed to Kira next.
She *bounced* to her feet, grinning wide. "Kira Vex! First-year! Tech specialist and AI developer!" She gestured to HYMN, who floated beside her. "This is HYMN—Harmonic Yielding Multipurpose Network. She's my partner. We build things, fix things, break things, and occasionally stop AI uprisings."
HYMN's voice was flat. "That was one time."
"One time *so far*."
A few students chuckled.
Thorne's smile widened. "Sit."
Kira dropped back into her seat, still grinning.
One by one, the others introduced themselves.
Caspian stood with all the grace of someone who'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times. "Caspian Thel'Voran. Noble bloodline. Heir to the Thel'Voran dynasty. Classical resonance specialist."
He sat, and his three lackeys remained silent, flanking him like statues.
The bandaged student didn't stand. Didn't speak. Just sat there, motionless.
Thorne didn't push. Just moved on.
Finally, his gaze landed on Ilias.
"And you?"
Ilias stood slowly. "Ilias Venn. First-year. From Elyria."
A few students snickered.
One muttered loud enough to be heard: "Backwater planet."
Caspian leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, smirking. "So he came from a backwater planet. Figures." His voice dripped with disdain. "He's trash."
The room went quiet.
Ilias turned his head, met Caspian's eyes, and smiled.
Not friendly.
Just... calm.
"If the two of us can be in the same classroom," Ilias said evenly, "that means we're both trash. Which means everyone here is trash."
Silence.
Every student in the room turned to stare at Caspian.
Caspian's smirk faltered. "That's—that's not what I meant. I meant *he's* trash, not everyone else—"
No one was buying it.
Students exchanged glances. A few smirked. Others just kept staring.
Caspian's face flushed, and he sank slightly in his seat, jaw tight.
Thorne clapped his hands once.
The sound cut through the tension like a blade, and every head snapped toward him.
He was smiling. Genuinely amused.
"Well," he said lightly, "that was entertaining. But let's move on, shall we?"
He gestured, and the screens behind him lit up, displaying images, charts, data.
"Now. Let's talk about why you're here."
---
Thorne walked slowly across the platform, hands behind his back, eyes sweeping over the students.
"You've all heard the history of Aeon. The sacrifice. The war. The legacy. Intriguing story. I love it." He paused, turned to face them. "But I won't bore you with more of that."
A few students relaxed.
"Instead, I'll tell you why *you're* here. Why you, specifically, are sitting in this room and not in a standard combat class like the rest of your peers."
He tapped the screen, and an image appeared—a glowing figure, wreathed in divine light.
"You are Blessed. That much you know. But even among the Blessed, there are levels. Tiers. Categories." He gestured to the image. "There are two ways to become Blessed. The first: you're born with it. Genetic. Passed down through bloodlines, emerging naturally as you mature."
He tapped again, and the image shifted—a mortal kneeling before a god, light pouring down.
"The second: a god *chooses* you. Blesses you directly. Grants you power that would not have existed otherwise."
Thorne turned back to them.
"Those of you in this room fall into the second category."
Murmurs rippled through the students.
"Now," Thorne continued, "that doesn't mean those born Blessed are lesser. Far from it. But those chosen by gods carry something... *different*. Your power is not inherited. It's *given*. And with that gift comes responsibility. Danger. Instability."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Letting you roam free without proper training is like giving a nuclear bomb legs and telling it to go play in the world. Dangerous. For you. For everyone around you."
No one argued.
"That's what The Forge is," Thorne said. "A place to teach you *control*. To help you understand the gods you're connected to. To use your power efficiently, responsibly, and without burning yourselves—or others—to ash in the process."
He smiled again. "I will be your homeroom teacher. But each of you will also be assigned specialized instructors. Teachers who understand your specific gifts. Who can guide you in ways I cannot."
Thorne tapped the screen again.
A new image appeared—a list of names and rankings.
"You're already familiar with the points system," he said. "How you contribute determines your rank. How much you have determines what you can afford. Food. Resources. Training. It's the cycle of economy here."
The list scrolled.
Ilias saw his name near the top.
*Very* near the top.
Kira's name was high as well—apparently stopping an AI uprising earned serious points.
Others were scattered throughout the middle and lower tiers.
And then—
The list stopped.
At the top.
**ILIAS VENN: 50,000 POINTS.**
The room erupted in whispers.
"Fifty *thousand*?"
"How does a first-year have that many points?"
"That's more than some *fourth-years*."
Thorne raised a hand, and the room quieted.
"The reason Ilias has so many points," he said calmly, "requires context."
He tapped the screen again.
The image shifted.
And Ilias's stomach dropped.
---
The Entity.
Massive. Dark. Wreathed in tendrils of shadow and silence, its form twisting and writhing on the screen like a living nightmare.
Students leaned forward, eyes wide.
"This," Thorne said, "is what we call an *Entity*. A corrupted manifestation of the Primordial Silence. Dangerous. Deadly. Capable of leveling cities if left unchecked."
He paused.
"To understand its threat, you need to understand the hierarchy."
The screen shifted again, displaying a tiered chart.
**HIERARCHY OF SILENCE:**
**TIER 1: PITIES**
- Small, weak, corrupted spirits
- Lowest rank
**TIER 2: ENTITIES**
- Evolved Pities, given form
- Dangerous, sentient
**TIER 3: PRIMES**
- Advanced corruptions
- Can bond with mortals like symbiotes
- Possess sentience and autonomy
- Some senior students have bonded Primes (under strict supervision)
**TIER 4: CULTISTS / BEINGS**
- Corrupted mortals who serve the Silence
- Vary in strength (some weaker than Primes, some stronger)
**TIER 5: THE ECHELONS**
- Children of the Primordial Silence
- Seven in total
- Godlike in power
**TIER 6: PRIMORDIAL SILENCE**
- The source
- The origin
- The ultimate enemy
Thorne tapped the chart.
"If you encounter a Pity, you fight. You can win."
He moved to the next tier.
"If you encounter an Entity, you can fight. It will be hard. But you *can* win."
Next.
"If you encounter a Prime or a Cultist, you *can* engage. But it will be extremely difficult at your current level. Proceed with caution."
He paused at the next tier, expression darkening.
"If you encounter one of the Echelons—the Children of the Primordial Silence—you do *not* fight. You run. You get at least multiple teachers. Do not engage alone. You *will* die."
He let that sink in.
Then he tapped the screen, and the Entity's image returned.
"This Entity was encountered on a backwater planet called Elyria. It had already killed dozens. Was preparing to consume the entire region."
Thorne turned to face the class.
"And it was defeated by *one student*."
He pointed.
At Ilias.
Every head in the room turned.
"Our top-ranking student," Thorne said calmly. "Took it down. On his own."
The whispers exploded.
"Wait—*that's* how he beat Vyra?"
"He fought an *Entity*?"
"No wonder—"
Ilias felt his face heat. "I had help. It wasn't just me."
Thorne smiled. "Modesty. Good. But facts are facts. Even with assistance, defeating an Entity as a newly Blessed individual is unprecedented. The Academy decided to reward that."
Vyra was staring at him.
Not with the competitive fire from before.
With something *else*.
Interest. Curiosity.
Maybe something more.
Caspian was silent, jaw tight, eyes calculating.
Thorne clapped his hands again, pulling attention back.
"Now. Let's be clear. This is not a competition. This is not about who has the most points or who can defeat the strongest enemy. This is about learning. Growing. Becoming more than you are."
He smiled, and the warmth returned to his voice.
"The Forge will push you. It will test you. It will break you down and build you back stronger. But you will *not* face it alone. You have each other. You have your teachers. You have this place."
He gestured to the room around them.
"Your real life," Thorne said softly, "has just begun."
---
The class ended in silence.
Students filed out slowly, murmuring to each other, glancing back at Ilias as they left.
Vyra walked past him, paused, leaned in close enough that only he could hear.
"We need to talk," she whispered. "Soon."
Then she was gone.
Zael clapped Ilias on the shoulder. "Well. That was a hell of an introduction."
Ilias didn't respond.
Just stared at the screen where the Entity had been, feeling the weight of every eye that had turned to him.
Ade appeared on his shoulder, visible only to him, and whispered: *"This is going to be interesting."*
Ilias sighed.
"Yeah. That's one word for it."