The ranking hall was built to be unforgiving.
Stone seating rose in concentric tiers around a central platform, each level slightly higher than the last, every angle designed to be seen and every reaction impossible to hide. There were no shadows to retreat into, no corners to soften the weight of attention. The open roof let daylight pour in without warmth, pale light spilling across stone that had never been allowed to age, never permitted the softness of wear.
The space felt preserved rather than maintained.
At the center of the chamber stood a crystalline obelisk.
It rose taller than a man, faceted and clear, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The light within it did not glow so much as breathe—steady, patient, endlessly repeating. It wasn't alive, not truly, but it was aware enough to feel unsettling.
Like something that had learned how to watch without blinking.
Above the entrance, carved deep into the stone arch, the words were impossible to miss:
MERIT IS SEEN.
EFFORT IS MEASURED.
EXCUSES ARE IGNORED.
The letters were sharp, angular, cut with the confidence of permanence.
Cael tilted his head back to read them, squinting slightly.
"That's… comforting," he said.
Riven didn't answer.
His attention stayed fixed on the obelisk—on the timing of its pulse, on how long the light lingered between beats. The pauses weren't random. They never were. Timing mattered here. Everything in this place was calibrated, intentional, and judging.
Students were arranged by year and discipline, their loose order struggling against nervous energy. Some stood too straight. Others shifted their weight repeatedly, hands fidgeting, eyes darting. Instructors lined the walls, slate tablets glowing softly in their hands as they recorded without expression, styluses moving with practiced efficiency.
From the upper tier, Headmaster Valen Oris observed.
He did not sit.
He stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed in a way that suggested complete control. His gaze swept the chamber once, slow and unreadable, and then stilled.
"Rank classification will now begin," an instructor announced. His voice carried easily, sharpened by enchantment.
"Names will be called. Your tier will be displayed. You will acknowledge it. You will move."
The obelisk flared.
A name echoed through the chamber, amplified and clear.
D — COPPER
The student's shoulders sagged as they stepped forward, their footsteps suddenly too loud in the hush. They moved aside quickly, eyes down, as if hoping distance would make the letter hurt less.
Another name.
C — IRON
Muted approval rippled through the tiers. Not celebration, not disappointment—just recognition.
Then—
B — SILVER
A cheer broke out before being swiftly silenced by a sharp gesture from an instructor. The student flushed, nodded, and moved away.
The pattern established itself quickly.
Letters.
Materials.
Judgment.
Each name was reduced to a symbol. Each symbol assigned value.
Riven's name rang out.
"Riven Hale."
He stepped forward and placed his hand against the obelisk.
The surface was cool.
The light brightened—steady and controlled, neither surging nor faltering.
B — SILVER
Respectable. Reliable.
Not remarkable.
Riven nodded once and stepped aside, the word adequate settling into his chest where pride should have been. It wasn't disappointment exactly. It was acceptance—smooth and dull.
Cael clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.
"Silver's fine," he muttered. "Shiny enough."
Riven didn't respond.
Cael's own name followed moments later.
The obelisk flared harder this time, light crawling across its surface in uneven bursts, as if deciding whether to argue with itself.
B — SILVER
Cael blinked.
Then he grinned, wide and unapologetic, like he'd just lost a fight he enjoyed.
"Still tied," he said quietly as he moved beside Riven. "You hate that."
Riven didn't deny it.
A tall girl stepped forward next—broad-shouldered, posture straight, expression unreadable. She stood like someone used to being measured.
C — IRON
Whispers rippled through the hall.
She accepted it without reaction, hands folding behind her back like it was exactly what she'd expected.
Riven clocked her immediately.
Strong. Defensive.
And they don't know what to do with her.
Then—
"Ilyra Ves."
The obelisk responded instantly, light clean and flawless, brighter than anything that had come before.
A — DIAMOND
Applause erupted, sharp and instinctive, before instructors shut it down. Ilyra inclined her head politely, neither basking nor shrinking from the attention.
She looked composed.
Anchored.
Like the result had never been in question.
Then the hall quieted again.
A smaller figure stepped forward, boots clinking softly against stone. Pale. Slight. Her coat was stitched with too many pockets, and something metallic rattled faintly as she walked.
"Hexis."
The obelisk pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
D — COPPER
Silence fell, heavier than before.
Hexis stared at the glowing letter.
Then she laughed.
Not nervous.
Not quiet.
A sharp, delighted sound that cut straight through the tension.
"D?" she said, incredulous. "Really?"
An instructor cleared his throat. "Student—"
"Oh no, this is great," Hexis continued, spinning on her heel to face the hall.
"Do you know how much pressure that takes off? I was worried I'd have to behave."
Stunned murmurs spread through the tiers.
Hexis squinted up at the obelisk. "Quick question. Is this before or after the weapon melted?"
The instructor's eye twitched.
"Move," he snapped.
Hexis shrugged, already reaching into one of her pockets. Something hissed faintly, then went still.
"Worth asking," she said cheerfully, skipping toward the Copper section.
Cael stared after her.
"I like her."
Riven exhaled slowly. "She's dangerous."
The ceremony ended without ceremony.
"First and second years," an instructor barked,
"you will be escorted to your assigned dormitories. Housing is segregated by gender. This is not negotiable."
Groans. Immediate arguments. Swiftly silenced.
The male dormitory wing was older stone, warmed by enchantment rather than fire. Riven's assigned room was sparse—two beds, two desks, a narrow window overlooking the outer wall.
Cael dropped his bag immediately.
"Window's mine."
"Obviously."
Silence settled in after.
The kind that came when adrenaline finally drained away.
Cael sat on his bed, elbows on his knees.
"You notice how the weird ones ranked low?"
Riven lay back, staring at the ceiling, tracking the faint glow of ward-lines overhead.
"The system measures what it understands."
"And ignores the rest."
Down the hall, laughter echoed. Someone slammed a door.
Life went on.
Riven pressed a hand to his chest.
The mark was still there.
Quiet.
Unimpressed by letters or metals.
Waiting.