The silence that followed the announcement did not feel empty.
It felt heavy.
Atelion stood at the front of the first-year hall, his posture straight, expression calm, hands folded behind his back. Around him, hundreds of students stared some with admiration, others with disbelief, and more than a few with thinly veiled hostility.
First in every test.
Representative of the First Years.
The first student in a century to pass the Dual Discipline Examination.
Titles stacked quietly on his shoulders, and Atelion felt every single one of them.
This was not part of the original novel.
Not like this.
In the story he had read, the academy arc was straightforward. Talents were sorted cleanly. Prodigies followed predictable paths. Representatives were chosen from known noble lineages or famed families.
There had never been a student like him.
And that, more than anything else, unsettled him.
"Dismissed."
The proctor's voice echoed through the hall, snapping the tension like a blade through silk. Students rose immediately, conversations erupting all at once.
"He's ridiculous did you see the strength test numbers?"
"No one should be able to use aura and magic like that…"
"I heard the council is already watching him."
Atelion turned and walked out before the whispers could sink their claws in deeper.
He had expected attention. He had even prepared for resentment.
What he hadn't expected was how fast it came.
The academy grounds were vast too vast for coincidence.
Stone pathways curved through manicured gardens and open courtyards, training fields stretching far into the distance. Towers rose like sentinels, each housing a different discipline, library, or sealed archive.
This place had been built for heroes.
And heroes, Atelion knew, rarely lived quiet lives.
"You're walking too openly."
The voice came from his left.
Atelion did not turn immediately. "If I hide now, it confirms weakness," he replied evenly.
A tall boy with ash-gray hair fell into step beside him, hands tucked into his sleeves. His eyes were sharp calculating in a way that reminded Atelion of mirrors.
"So you're aware," the boy said. "Good. That makes this simpler."
Atelion finally looked at him. "You're the student council president."
A pause.
Then a thin smile. "So you noticed."
"Seven-star aura," Atelion said calmly. "Your breathing is controlled. Your steps are weighted. And you watched the entire exam instead of participating."
The boy chuckled. "And here I thought I was being subtle."
They stopped beneath the shadow of a stone archway.
"I'm Kael Varrow," the president said. "You're Atelion."
No titles. No exaggeration.
That alone told Atelion this man was dangerous.
"You stood out today," Kael continued. "Not because of power. Power can be explained. You stood out because you didn't look proud."
"That's not a crime."
"No," Kael agreed. "But it's unusual."
Atelion met his gaze. "You didn't come to congratulate me."
Kael's smile faded. "I came to warn you."
Silence stretched between them.
"The academy tolerates anomalies," Kael said. "It does not protect them."
Atelion nodded once. "I expected as much."
"Good." Kael stepped back. "Then you'll survive."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Atelion exhaled slowly.
The game had begun earlier than planned.
That night, Atelion sat alone in his assigned chamber.
Single occupancy. Top floor. Stone walls layered with enchantments.
Privilege disguised as isolation.
He closed his eyes and let his senses sink inward.
Aura stirred first warm, disciplined, obedient. It flowed through his body like tempered steel.
Mana followed vast, fluid, alive. It answered thought rather than command.
He guided them carefully, not forcing union, not separating them either.
Just… coexistence.
The star-circle pulsed faintly within him. One point of convergence. Stable. Quiet.
Progress was slow.
And that was intentional.
If he rushed, he would draw attention from things far worse than rival students.
Atelion opened his eyes.
He had survived today.
That did not mean tomorrow would be kinder.
The following days confirmed his suspicion.
Challenges came subtly at first.
Training schedules adjusted without notice.
Instructors watched longer than necessary.
Students tested him in small, deniable ways.
A shove here. A provocation there.
Atelion deflected them all not with dominance, but with precision.
He never overreacted. Never escalated.
That restraint frustrated them more than strength ever could.
But not everyone sought conflict.
"Hey."
The voice was young, irritated, and loud enough to be intentional.
Atelion turned.
A boy with silver-rimmed glasses and deep blue robes stood there, arms crossed, expression sharp with annoyance.
"You're Atelion," he said flatly.
"Yes."
The boy scowled. "I placed second in the mage exam."
Atelion waited.
"…By less than a margin," the boy continued. "And then you pass the dual exam on top of that."
"I didn't intend"
"Don't," the boy snapped. "I don't want your humility."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "I want to beat you."
Atelion studied him. The mana density around the boy was impressive. Controlled. Refined.
A rival.
Not an enemy.
That mattered.
"Name?" Atelion asked.
"Lorien."
Atelion inclined his head. "Then try."
Lorien blinked. "That's it?"
"If you improve," Atelion said calmly, "so do I."
Something in Lorien's expression shifted not anger, not resentment.
Motivation.
"Fine," Lorien muttered. "Don't regret it."
He turned and left.
Atelion watched him go.
One thread changed.
Many more to come.
That evening, far from the academy, deep beneath the roots of the world A circle of robed figures stood around a blackened altar.
"The anomaly has entered the academy," a woman's voice said softly.
Scarlet light reflected in her eyes as she smiled.
"Good," another replied. "Let him grow."
The woman tilted her head. "And when he does?"
Her smile widened.
"We harvest."