"Move, Null!"
A shoulder slammed into Ren's back.
He stumbled, his boots skidding on the polished stone. He didn't look up to see who it was.
He didn't need to. The air behind him hummed with a low-frequency buzz—the sign of a minor noble's mana signature.
He could tell the difference between them all.
"Sorry," Ren murmured, the word a practiced, hollow reflex. He kept his gaze fixed on the dirt trapped in the cracks of the cobblestones.
He already knew that in this world, the gods had been very clear about who mattered. Magic wasn't a skill you learned, it was a physical manifestation of your social standing. If you were born into the High Houses, your mana was a roaring ocean. If you were a 'Scholarship Silent' like Ren, your mana circuit was a dry well.
And in a world defined by the beauty of woven mana, Ren was a hollow vessel. They were lovingly called 'Nulls', a person with a magical core, but zero magic powers.
He made his way toward the West Wing of the school, where the commoner classrooms were tucked away behind the laundry facilities like they were hidden from the rest of the world.
'Why am I even here?' he wondered, a familiar bitterness rising in his throat. But he knew exactly why. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for his father's sake.
His father had been a record-keeper for a local lord—a man who lived and died by the ink on his fingers. When the recruiters from the Academy came looking for 'Grounds', Ren's father had seen a way out of the mud.
A son without magical capabilities was a liability. To his father, the Academy was a way to settle a debt and get rid of an extra mouth to feed.
And him being sold to the Academy as a Ground would mean Ren would have to collect the extra magical resonance from people with high magical amplitude.
Usually, that meant he would be the equivalent of a human trash can for some noble or royalty.
As he slipped into his seat, he heard a whisper from his left.
"Did you hear?" It was Mina, a girl from the textile district who had a tiny, flickering spark of Earth magic—just enough to keep a single sprout alive in a pot.
"Hear what?" Ren asked, pulling out his cracked slate. They weren't even allowed the luxury of books.
"One of the 'Triple Crowns' had a breakdown last night," Mina whispered, her eyes wide with terror and excitement.
"In the North Tower. They say the mana surge was so strong it turned the guards' armor to liquid. Now they're looking for a new Ground. A permanent one. A very empty one."
Ren felt a chill go down his spine.
He'd heard whispers about the 'Triple Crowns' but hadn't actually seen them before. They were the three highest-ranking students in the Academy. The heirs to the three pillars of the Kingdom. They were the suns around which the entire school orbited. They wouldn't need somebody like them.
"They won't pick one of us," Ren said, his voice flat.
"They usually take the seniors. People who have practiced 'Vessel-Hardening' for years."
"They don't have time for training now." Mina hissed.
"The Prince's magic is out of control. Didn't you hear me? They need someone now. Someone... empty."
She looked at Ren then, a flicker of pity in her eyes. Everyone knew Ren was the "emptiest" student in the history of the scholarship program. When he had been tested upon arrival, the Resonance stones hadn't just stayed dark—they had turned cold. The professors had called him a "Natural Void."
A fluke of nature.
A boy who shouldn't exist.
The classroom door slammed open.
It wasn't their usual professor. It was a man dressed in the black and silver livery of the Royal Court. His presence was so intense that the wooden desks groaned, and Mina let out a small, strangled whimper.
The man didn't look at the class. He looked at a scroll in his hand.
"Student 4092," the man barked.
Ren's heart stopped.
Then raced.
Then stopped again.
He looked down at his sleeve. Sewn into the cuff in small, grey thread was the number: 4092.
"Stand," the man commanded.
Ren stood. His legs felt like they were made of water. The entire class turned to look at him. Some faces were filled with mockery, but most were filled with a grim, silent relief.
It wasn't them.
"Pack your things," the official said, his eyes finally landing on Ren. He looked at Ren the way a carpenter looks at a cheap nail.
"You have been drafted by the High-Sovereign Council. You are moving to the North Tower."
"The... North Tower?" Ren's voice was barely a breath.
"But sir, I haven't finished my introductory shielding courses. I don't know how to—"
"You don't need to know anything." the official interrupted, turning on his heel.
"You just need to breathe. And try not to die too quickly. It's a lot of paperwork when a scholarship student's heart stops."
Ren looked at his desk. He looked at his cracked slate and his single, blunt pencil.
He didn't have much to pack. Everything he owned fit into a bag that weighed less than the official's shoes.
As he walked out of the classroom, following the black-clad man into the bright, dangerous light of the main hallways, Ren felt a strange sensation. It wasn't fear—he was already too terrified for that. It was a sudden, sharp tug in the center of his chest.
It felt like a thread, invisible and unbreakable, was pulling him toward the North Tower.
The hallways grew wider. The stone turned from granite to obsidian. The students they passed were no longer wearing uniforms; they were wearing robes of woven gold and capes of dragon-silk. And they were carrying books.
They stopped and stared as Ren passed, their whispers like the rustle of dry leaves.
"A Null? In the North Tower?"
"How vulgar."
"I give him three days. Maybe two."
Ren kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the official's heels. They climbed a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever, the air growing colder and more charged with electricity with every step.
By the time they reached the top, Ren's hair was standing on end. The static in the air was so thick he could taste it—a sour, metallic tang on his tongue.
The official stopped in front of a pair of massive, iron-bound doors. He turned to Ren, and for the first time, there was a flash of something like human hesitation in his eyes.
"Listen, kid," the man said, his voice lower now.
"When you get in there, don't speak unless you're spoken to. Don't look him in the eye. And whatever you do... don't let go of his hand until the light stops. If you let go early, the feedback will kill you both."
"Who..." Ren swallowed hard. "Who am I grounding?"
The official didn't answer. He simply pushed the doors open.
The answer was right in front of him.
And it wasn't good.