The doors to the examination hall creaked open with a slow, echoing groan, as if the building itself hesitated to let them in.
A sea of new students stepped into the vast, cold chamber, their boots clicking against the polished blackstone floor. Above them, arched ceilings shimmered faintly with warded runes—sigils that flickered and whispered arcane phrases in dead languages. The floating scrolls that hovered above each desk pulsed in anticipation, their parchment blank but brimming with latent magic.
It was meant to be an ordinary theory exam. No combat, no danger. Just questions.
So why did it feel like they were entering a battlefield?
They didn't have to wonder for long.
The atmosphere shifted as soon as he stepped into the hall.
Aaron Aetherwyn walked in last, quiet as ever, his long dark robes trailing behind him, soft boots making no sound at all. Yet with every footfall, the pressure in the room thickened. The runes on the walls dimmed slightly. The temperature dropped a few degrees. Magic—living, wild, and impossibly dense—pulsed from his body in waves. It wasn't visible. But it was felt.
By everyone.
A girl from the northern provinces gasped, nearly dropping her pen. Another boy choked mid-breath and hunched over, sweat beading on his brow. Even the floating scrolls flickered erratically as if startled.
Only one person didn't flinch.
Professor Lily Virelith stood at the front of the hall, arms crossed, crimson eyes scanning the room like a hawk. Her fiery aura didn't blaze outward—it coiled tightly around her like a sleeping beast, restrained but ready. Unlike the students, she didn't cower from Aaron's presence. She didn't even glance at him.
She simply raised one hand.
"All of you. Sit. Down."
The temperature spiked the moment she spoke, the suppression of Aaron's aura momentarily clashing with Lily's controlled fire.
The students obeyed without hesitation, like conscripts at a general's bark. No one dared challenge her command.
Aaron, meanwhile, slowly made his way to the professor's observation platform, oblivious to the fear-stricken glances trailing behind him. He noticed a few students shrinking into their seats, their hands trembling as they clutched their quills.
Huh. Must be nervous. I remember being nervous during exams too… he thought with a faint, understanding smile. Poor kids.
He took his seat, folding his hands politely on the desk, eyes fixed on the students below. His gaze was soft, almost warm.
The students interpreted it very differently.
That stare—it felt like the silence before a storm. As if Aaron could see straight into their thoughts, their secrets, their weaknesses. A few turned their faces downward, unable to hold his gaze. Others swallowed audibly.
One boy—new, scruffy-haired, seated at the far right—clenched his fists in his lap. His name: Axel Myrravelle.
A commoner.
But one who had bested every entrance test so far.
His eyes, dark and intense, flicked toward Aaron and froze. For a heartbeat, something ancient and cold reached into his chest. A primal fear.
What… what is that man?
Axel's outer mask remained—quiet, respectful, humble. But internally, his mind spiraled.
No. I must endure this. It's only a professor. I can't let fear win.
But even as he told himself that, his hand gripped the quill so tightly it cracked at the base.
---
Lily's voice cut through the tension.
"This is the Theory Exam. You are to write for the next two hours. Cheating is impossible. Lying is foolish. Failing…" Her voice dropped, and the temperature rose again. "…is not advised."
She turned sharply, her crimson cloak swirling behind her like a tongue of flame, and raised both hands. At once, the scrolls before the students unfurled, their first question glowing in searing gold.
Q1: Describe the difference between elemental essence and magical intent. Provide three spell examples that illustrate their divergence.
Silence.
Quills dipped. Magic ink shimmered.
Time began.
---
Above them, on the platform, Aaron leaned forward, fascinated. His eyes sparkled with interest.
Wow… that's a hard one. I wouldn't have known that at their age, he mused. They must be geniuses.
Below, Axel muttered the question under his breath. His knowledge was extensive—he had devoured forbidden grimoires and studied from ancient tombs—but under Aaron's passive aura, his memory was foggy. Sweat rolled down his back.
I have to push through this… I have to become the hero this world needs…
Meanwhile, every time Aaron tilted his head, half the room flinched.
---
...it simmered. Controlled. Dangerous. A silent flame, coiled like a dragon ready to strike.
She barely glanced at Aaron's entrance—but the corners of her mouth twitched.
"Sit," she ordered the students, her voice sharp as a blade dipped in fire. "Your time starts when I say it does, not when you think it should."
Dozens of students scrambled into their seats, stiff and trembling. Lily's presence alone was enough to lock their backs straight. But it was Aaron—quiet, unreadable Aaron—who made them feel as though gravity itself was against them.
He moved to the observation platform, a darkened overlook where the other professors sat. None of them dared speak to him. Not because he was respected, or admired.
Because they were terrified.
Aaron didn't understand it. He smiled politely, trying not to make eye contact. Did I forget to wash my robes again? Or do I smell like last night's garlic stew?
He took a seat near the edge, folding his hands awkwardly in his lap. Nova, already seated and lounging beside a crystal goblet, tilted her head toward him with mild interest.
"You're late, Professor Aetherwyn," she murmured, her tone playful.
Aaron chuckled nervously. "Sorry. Got turned around. This place is... big."
She smirked but said nothing more. Lily, meanwhile, had begun her march down the rows.
Flames trailed beneath her boots—thin ribbons of heat that didn't burn the floor, but left glowing afterimages in her wake. Her dragonblood responded to the tension in the air, curling tighter around her frame. Her expression was cold, unimpressed. She didn't tolerate mediocrity, and she certainly didn't fake encouragement.
At desk number seven, a boy sat trembling. Brown-haired, sharp-jawed, with intelligent eyes. Axel Myrravelle. A commoner who'd scored perfectly in the mock entrance tests. To everyone around him, he was the most promising candidate.
But right now?
He couldn't breathe.
He clutched the edges of his desk as if to stop himself from falling through it. Aaron's presence—whatever it was—had twisted the air into something foreign. Something wrong. His instincts screamed at him to run, to grovel, to surrender.
But he couldn't afford that.
Not now.
He's just a junior professor, Axel reminded himself. Ignore the fear. Control it. You've faced worse in your dreams. You've been destined for more.
He peeked up—and saw Aaron watching quietly, his eyes distant, almost melancholic. The calmness in that expression terrified Axel more than any snarl.
He doesn't even try to look intimidating. It's like... like I'm a mouse being studied by a god.
A bead of sweat rolled down Axel's cheek.
Then Lily's boot stopped right beside his desk.
She didn't look at him. She didn't need to. Her aura flared—hot, sudden, violent.
"Do you have a problem, student?" she asked, voice smooth and venomous.
"N-No, Professor," Axel stammered, bowing his head.
"Hm. Good."
With a turn of her heel, she continued forward.
Aaron blinked at the interaction, puzzled.
Was she... scolding that boy? He looked like he was just nervous. Poor kid. These professors are scary.
He sighed and leaned back, arms crossed.
Unaware that half the room still couldn't breathe because of him.
---
...top marks in the regional entrance qualifiers. The son of a baker, rumored to be blessed with an iron will and righteous heart.
That was the story.
But right now, Axel Myrravelle could barely breathe.
His gaze flicked up—once, just once—toward the observation deck. And there, in the shadows, he saw Aaron Aetherwyn sitting still, hands folded, eyes seemingly unfocused.
Axel's throat went dry.
That aura... it's like standing in front of a bottomless void. No. It's worse. He swallowed. He hasn't even activated his magic circle... and still, it feels like I'll die if I move too fast.
Axel looked away instantly, heart hammering. His carefully constructed persona—the brave, determined boy with a tragic backstory and secret strength—trembled under the sheer pressure of a man who hadn't spoken a word.
"Eyes forward," Lily barked, her heel slamming against the stone next to Axel's desk with a sharp clang. "Unless you'd like to forfeit your soul to the professor watching you."
Axel didn't respond. He couldn't.
Lily turned, stepping onto the small levitating platform that rose her above the rows of desks. Her voice rang out, magically amplified, reverberating through the hall like a war drum.
"This is not your local schoolhouse. This is the Mysterious Academy. The questions on these scrolls will not ask you for definitions. They will ask you for survival. For application. For innovation. If you answer like a textbook, you will fail like one."
She raised her hand—and all at once, the scrolls ignited with golden flame and unfurled.
Each scroll displayed a unique array of questions. Some theoretical. Some practical. Others seemed to read the very essence of the one staring at them.
"Begin," she said, and silence followed.
Except for the scratching of pens. The whispering of runes. And the ever-looming presence of Aaron Aetherwyn, watching quietly from above.
Except for the frantic scratching of quills.
The moment Lily Virelith gave the command, over a hundred students dropped their gazes and began writing as if their lives depended on it. Because, in their minds—it did.
The first page on most scrolls asked deceptively simple questions:
"Describe the flow of mana through the six-point internal circuit of a standard Mage."
"What are the properties of Dragontide Crystal under high fire compression?"
"You are alone, cornered, wounded. Your wand is broken. You face a Class B mana-beast. Survive."
And then, as if the scrolls themselves could sense fear, the questions began to change. For some, the ink shimmered and morphed. One student watched in horror as her scroll's question changed mid-writing to a personal trauma—a memory of watching her village burn, asking her what magic could have prevented it.
Others faced moral traps:
"To save a city, you must kill a hundred innocents. You have 10 seconds. Write your decision."
Lily watched them with arms folded, standing at the platform like a sentinel. Her eyes, sharp and crimson, never missed a twitch, a pause, a broken sweat.
And from the shadows above, Aaron watched too—though with very different eyes.
He tilted his head, confused. Why does everyone look like they're sitting on hot coals?
He leaned toward Nova. "Is this normal?"
Nova, swirling the crimson liquid in her goblet—wine, or perhaps something more arcane—smiled faintly. "They're just… motivated."
Aaron frowned. "Motivated? They look like they're about to cry."
From across the observation deck, several professors flinched just at the sound of his voice. Aaron instinctively sank into his seat. I must really smell bad today… should I have washed behind my ears?
Meanwhile, down in the hall, Axel Myrravelle sat frozen.
His scroll, unlike the others, had changed three times already. The final question was no longer academic. It now read:
> "He watches from above. You feel his eyes. What do you do?"
He blinked. What kind of question is this!? Is it about Professor Aetherwyn? Does the Academy know I'm—!?
He looked up again.
Aaron wasn't watching him. He seemed to be struggling to tuck in a loose thread from his robe sleeve.
Still, Axel's heart thundered.
I can't let him know. Not yet. I'm not ready. He's… he's a monster disguised as a fool.
---
Elsewhere in the room...
A girl with soft blue hair whispered to her scroll.
Her name was Olivia. A prodigy in healing magic, she had once been set up to be the heroine of a tale not her own—Axel's tale.
But today, her eyes flicked toward Aaron's silhouette with curiosity, not fear.
He doesn't look dangerous. But he feels… like the world stops spinning when he enters.
Behind her, two noble sons whispered in hushed tones, glancing upward.
"Is that really Professor Aetherwyn?" one asked.
"I heard he doesn't use magic circles. He doesn't need to."
"He once looked at a wyvern and it exploded."
"Shut up, that's a myth."
"I don't think so. My cousin's friend's sword instructor saw it."
---
Back on the floor, Lily began to walk again. She passed through the rows like a phantom, eyes scanning for hesitation.
Her gaze met Axel's for a moment.
She paused.
Then moved on.
Axel finally exhaled.
I need to finish. Just survive today. Then... I'll move the pieces.
---
Above all of them...
Aaron scratched his neck, puzzled. "Is it just me, or does everyone keep glancing at me?"
Nova smirked. "It's just you."
"I knew it. Garlic stew again…"
---
From across the observation deck, several professors flinched just at the sound of his voice.
Aaron, oblivious, leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "I'm starting to worry these questions are too hard…"
"Too hard?" Kaelen Raventhorn—the vice headmaster, seated beside Nova—choked on his tea. He glanced sideways, as though to confirm Aaron wasn't mocking them all.
Nova smirked without turning her head. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you're simply too lenient, Professor Aetherwyn."
Aaron frowned. "Well, if I were taking this exam, I'd probably fail." He laughed quietly. "Actually… I did fail something like this in my old life."
Nova turned to him now, expression curious. "Old life?"
"Just a saying," Aaron said quickly, waving it off.
Below, the students wrote faster.
Some trembled, soaked in cold sweat. Others gritted their teeth and pushed forward, desperate to finish before the next wave of terror came. The scrolls adapted to each individual's fears, testing not just their knowledge but the integrity of their resolve.
Axel Myrravelle sat near the front, hunched over his scroll like it was a battlefield.
He wrote with speed, discipline, and frightening clarity.
His face was pale—but not from pressure. From calculation.
So this is what the academy is really like… they're not raising mages. They're raising weapons. Survivors. His eyes flicked up once more.
Aaron still sat there, a relaxed expression on his face, lost in thought. Yet the pressure hadn't faded. If anything, it felt stronger—like gravity itself twisted around him.
If I'm to rule this world, Axel thought, that man is the wall I must one day overcome.
But his thoughts broke when Lily's voice echoed again.
"One hour remains."
Several students whimpered.
Others gasped.
And one girl fainted completely, her scroll shimmering to lock her answers as medics rushed in from the wings.
Aaron blinked. "Is… that allowed?"
Nova chuckled. "If they can't survive the theory, how will they survive the field?"
Aaron's gaze darkened slightly.
So this is the standard of the Mysterious Academy… No, it's more than that.
This is a forge. And they're being melted down to find out who turns to steel… and who shatters.
He had always thought he was here to teach.
But perhaps—for the first time—he realized he was also here to watch.
And they, to fear.