The next day, after Labyrinth closed in on itself, was not accompanied by a sunbeam or warm welcome, but by a cold, damp reckoning: survival, not comfort. The top dormitories of the Academy were in stark contrast to the decaying iron and obsidian of the Maintenance Tier, where white granite and enchanted cedar wood lined the walls, redolent with the scent of aged parchment and the sharp, sterile smell of cleaning salts. Aleric sat at the center of his assigned cell, a bare space of four by six feet, his bed untouched. For twelve hours, he had maintained a perfect, unmoving posture on the hardwood floor, his back a line of absolute verticality.
Inside, he mapped out his own body, channeling a thread-thin flow of mana through his meridians. He was not resting; he was actively repairing his nervous system. He knew each and every tiny tear in his muscle tissue, channeling it with just enough energy to initiate cellular repair, no more, no less. Sleep was a wild variable to him—a point when his ego could slip and secrets spill. Yet, he had audited his reserves and determined that he had not suffered a critical amount of mana loss. He did not require a deep trance of replenishment. He allowed himself a rare luxury of physical rest, though his mind remained vigilant, a sentry still, analyzing the geometric data of trials he had just passed through.
Noon on the first day of his well-deserved respite, a soft, tentative thud sounded against the wood of his door. Aleric did not open his eyes immediately. He cocked his head, his gaze shifting towards the threshold. For him, the world was not simply made of stone and air; it was a living, breathing entity of shifting energies. He focused his gaze on his heavy oak door, his sight piercing it, tracing the colors of the soul beyond.
Through the wood, a familiar aura flickered—a pale, translucent blue that wavered with the jagged frequency of residual anxiety. It was the girl he had coerced through the Dead Floor. Even without seeing her face, the unique, stuttering pulse of her mana was as distinct to him as a nameplate. He watched the way her energy pooled at her feet, heavy with hesitation.
"Aleric?" she whispered through the wood. "The Prefects... they told us. They said the Grave-Titan wouldn't have killed us. They said it was just a recycler. They said you lied to us."
Aleric remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the pale blue aura pulsing on the other side of the door. He did not owe her the energy of a response. The lie had achieved its purpose: it had converted her paralyzing terror into a functional survival drive. Now that the test was over, her opinion of his character carried zero mass in his ledger. "Why did you make us believe that?" she asked, her voice rising with a touch of indignation. "We thought you were helping us. But you just... you just wanted to use us to open the gate."
After three minutes of silence, the pale blue signature began to drift away, dragging with the weight of disappointment. Aleric allowed his mana-loop to settle. He had no need for the camaraderie that the other survivors were likely currently seeking in the refectory. He was a solo variable in an equation of power. Eventually, the stillness of the room and the stabilization of his core pulled him into a light, calculated slumber.
By the second day, Aleric emerged from his room to procure sustenance. The Academy's Great Refectory was a hive of frantic, nervous energy. Aleric moved through the hall like a ghost. He kept his head lowered, the high collar of his coat serving as a physical barrier between him and the world. His eyes remained a flat, unremarkable brown, the crimson glow of his true nature buried deep beneath layers of psychological dampening.
He could sense their gazes on him, like a heat emanating from a hidden campfire. The legend of the "Monster of the Maintenance Tier" had spread like wildfire through the student ranks. Students slipped out of his way as he made his approach towards the food line, their whispers tracing his movement like dry leaves crunching underfoot on a quiet autumn afternoon. Aleric did not acknowledge them, however, too busy scanning with his particular sight. He read the auras of all around him—a jumbled mess of muddy greens and yellows that swirled together like a sea of mediocrity.
Aleric spotted a table that was somewhat out of the way and settled down, his particular sight catching a familiar silver-grey shimmer hovering around that location. Kaelen. Her aura radiated with confidence, unsharpened and unadulterated, without any hint of the nervousness that seemed to plague all the others. She took a seat opposite him, her eyes sparkling with alertness. "You eat alone, yet it seems like the entire room revolves around your shadow," Kaelen said softly, yet clearly enough to be heard over the din of the cafeteria. Aleric did not answer, his focus fixed on his spoonful of nutrient broth as he mechanically chewed his food. "Solitude is a very efficient filter. It simplifies all variables." He raised his head, his brown eyes locking with Kaelen's. "You're a spy, Kaelen—a master analyzer of all and everything within these halls. Tell me, who is the strongest among them? How many remain on their feet, and who among them is worth my attention?" Kaelen leaned back from her seat, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I can tell you what I've learned, but it comes with a price."
"What is thy price?" Aleric asked, his eyes returning to his meal.
"Right now, I require nothing," Kaelen answered, her silver-grey aura steady. "But I wish for thee to keep a favor for me. I shall ask for it when the time is right, and thou shalt grant it."
Aleric weighed the request. A favor was an open-ended debt—a dangerous variable. "I agree, provided the favor remaineth within the limits of my own survival and strategic goals."
"Agreed," Kaelen said. She leaned in closer. "Listen well. Before the first test, there were two thousand candidates. Now, after the clearance of the Labyrinth, only five hundred remain. There shall be two more tests. The nature of the second is yet hidden, but the third is the finality: the Duel Test. In that trial, there can be only one victor. It is not merely a test of expulsion, but a theater for noble families to flaunt their heirs' prowess. I estimate that by the time the final exam arriveth, only ten of us shall be left standing."
She began to trace patterns on the table, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There are five thou must watch. First, Caspian of House Mourne. He is thy top priority. He is a master of the sword, yet he blendeth magic with his steel in a way that defyeth standard logic. His father's side is the premier sword-master lineage, and his mother's side is a fountain of ancient magic. He is the predicted apex of this year, though none have seen him truly exert himself yet."
Secondly, she continued, there was Silas—the spear user with an incredible range and flawless kinetic precision. Thirdly, there was Seraphina of the Sun-Stone—a pure magic user with a mana capacity almost twice that of an average user. Fourth... fourth was Malakor. He was a Spirit User.
Aleric paused his spoon mid-air, letting the term register. Spirit Users were aberrations—oddities. In his mind, he constructed an equation involving social and mana-related factors. Spirits were intelligent manifestations of raw mana that dwelled within the world. Making a spirit friend was a logistical nightmare—requiring you to burrow into the world's most hostile environments—the heart of a volcano, the depths of an ancient forest—to simply wait for a spirit to take notice and form a bond with you. This was a contract of wills—an alliance that allowed a mage to tap into a spirit's elemental essence.
Couldn't they have taken out the Spirit User? Aleric asked. Being able to command a sentient force of nature at his age meant he had potential for greatness.
Kaelen shook her head. Being able to use a spirit doesn't automatically grant you power over all others. She suspected that Malakor only had a low-rank spirit at his command—likely only making the bond a short time ago. At that level, a low-rank spirit would only act as a catalyst—boosting his magic and aiding his casting. He wouldn't be that powerful, not yet at least, when Caspian is that much more powerful.
And what about the fifth member? Aleric asked.
A commoner, Kaelen replied, her eyes narrowing. Jax. There was very little information available on his past, but rumors claimed he was incredibly powerful. He managed to survive the Labyrinth with zero mana waste and not a scratch on his armor. He was a wild card in all of this.
Before Aleric could respond, a resonant, magically amplified chime rang through the refectory. The Academy's Principal stepped onto the high marble balcony above the hall. Beside him stood a woman Aleric recognized instantly: Professor Elara.
"Students!" the Principal's voice boomed. "Today, we celebrate a discovery that shall alter the very annals of Grandis! Professor Elara hath recovered the lost grimoire of the First Architect—the one who mapped our world and everything within it. This book containeth the magic spells that can change the very history of Grandis!"
The hall erupted in applause, a wave of cheers for this discovery that would bring the Academy greater prestige. Aleric observed all this with a stony silence, his expression cool and detached. He observed Elara in the spotlight, his brown eyes calculating behind the façade. Only he knew the true reality of the events of that night, of his presence by her side, the unseen force that guided her towards the secrets of the architect. He did not want applause; he wanted results.
Aleric returned to his room after a light meal in the hall, but only for a short time. Night fell quickly over the landscape, and he found himself in the thick of the forest surrounding the Academy. The air was thick with the scent of pine trees, and the wild beating of beasts echoed in the darkness. He stood motionless in the clearing, his hands by his sides. And then the underbrush exploded.
A horde of hungry beasts, attracted by the wild mana in the air, descended from all directions. He did not flinch. He did not bring out his sword. He merely stood his ground as the beasts approached. The claws of the hunting beast were mere inches from his chest. And in his hands, a spark of light flickered to life. Not a flame, not a fire spell. A mere spark of intent crystallized into reality.
BOOM.
A torrent of fire exploded from his core, not a wild blast of flames but a very precise sphere of fire that incinerated everything in the clearing. The beasts turned to dust in an instant. Aleric remained in the middle of the clearing, untouched by the fire. He had created a thin layer of mana about himself, a layer of heat that was strong enough to protect him from the fire he had created. He was testing a new form of magic, dialing in the math of heat and protection before the real trials began. When the fire died down, he checked the towers of the Academy and saw they still waited. He was ready for the next trial.