Chapter Five: The Weight of Names and Numbers

Zarou stood in line at the eastern desk, the slip of parchment crumpled in his hand. The clerk behind the counter was taking his sweet time with the person ahead of him, leaving Zarou stuck between two bored beastfolk who were arguing about the price of mana crystals in some nearby market.

His eyes wandered, landing on a massive mural painted across the far wall — bold colours splashed across a circular diagram like some oversized classroom chart.

At the top, a title read:

The Zenith System — A Guide to Your Mana Path.

Zarou arched a brow. "They really plaster this stuff everywhere, huh?"

Curiosity — or maybe boredom — pulled him closer. His fingers traced the diagram as he skimmed.

Every individual's mana is represented by a core colour — this colour reflects their elemental affinity (the type of magic their spirit naturally aligns with).

"Core colour… sure, because you can't just say 'fire mages have red mana.' That'd be too easy."

The six elements were displayed like spokes in a wheel:

Ignis (Fire) - Crimson

Aeris (Air) - Silver

Aqua (Water) - Sapphire

Terra (Earth) - Emerald

Lux (Light) - Gold

Umbra (Shadow) - Amethyst

Brightness Stages — Measuring Power and Mastery

Next to each colour was a gradient chart, shifting from dull to nearly blinding.

Zarou squinted, reading aloud under his breath:

"Dormant — faint, unstable mana. That's your average unawakened scrub."

"Awakened — mana stabilises, spells open up."

He glanced at his own hands, where the faintest pulse of ichor light curled around his fingers. "Not me though."

"Honed — sharp control, spells get fancy."

"Prismatic — mana turns you into a walking beacon."

"Zenith — mana harmony, visible mana veins, basically a living legend."

Zarou exhaled sharply through his nose. "Right. Because the world just loves a shiny hero."

Elemental Specialisations — Your Unique Path

Each element had a small list beside it, showing off the kinds of techniques one could develop:

Ignis (Fire): Flame Shaping, Explosive Casting, Ember Forging.

Aeris (Air): Wind Blades, Sound Manipulation, Air Barriers.

Aqua (Water): Water Shaping, Ice Conjuration, Mist Illusions.

Terra (Earth): Metal Transmutation, Seismic Control, Defensive Armor.

Lux (Light): Healing Light, Solar Beams, Radiant Constructs.

Umbra (Shadow): Shadow Step, Umbral Constructs, Illusion Weaving.

Zarou's fingers lingered over Lux and Ignis — the twin threads that had defined his life even before Gazel fell.

"Solar beams and radiant constructs, huh? Guess all I ever used Lux for was keeping myself stitched together."

And Ignis? Ignis was rage. Not shaped into clever flame sculptures or fancy forged swords — just raw heat and pressure, poured straight into his chains until they moved like extensions of his will.

This list made it sound so clean. Like power was something you picked off a shelf and polished until it shined. For Zarou, power had never been neat. It had been survival, sloppy and desperate, forced into his bones before he was old enough to understand what he even was.

He took a step back from the mural, the information settling into place alongside the life he'd lived. There was the world they taught about in places like this — a world of paths and choices, of orderly awakenings and carefully nurtured talent.

And then there was his world — broken and bloody, where mana either obeyed or consumed you whole.

"Two worlds," Zarou muttered. "Guess I really don't belong to either."

The interior of Alachi's Bureau of Awakened Affairs felt smaller than Zarou expected. The walls were lined with faded charts—diagrams of the mana core system, elemental symbols etched alongside bright, exaggerated illustrations meant to inspire the next generation of magic users. The air smelled faintly of paper dust and something metallic, like the copper tang of spent mana drifting through the cracks of the building itself.

A single desk stretched across the entry hall, manned by a wiry man who looked like he'd been part of the furniture for decades. His back curved forward, spine permanently bent from years hunched over paperwork. His hair, slicked back with too much oil, clung to his scalp like wet string. It might have been brown once, but time and exhaustion had faded it to a color somewhere between rust and dishwater.

He didn't look up when Zarou stepped forward. His ink-stained fingers danced across a massive ledger, the pages so filled with scrawled names and mana rankings that the paper had yellowed under the weight of it all. A cracked pair of spectacles slid dangerously low on his nose, giving Zarou the impression that if the man sneezed too hard, they'd tumble right into his lap.

A ring of keys dangled from his belt, jingling softly with each slight movement—an oddly musical contrast to the tired, mechanical way the clerk worked. His pale grey robe, the standard uniform of lower officials, had frayed cuffs, threads loose where impatient students or anxious parents had likely tugged for attention over the years.

Zarou lingered a step too far from the desk, unsure whether to speak first or wait to be acknowledged. The man's expression didn't change, a mask of detached indifference that only comes from seeing thousands of faces pass by, none of them worth remembering.

"Step forward," the clerk finally muttered, his voice flat, as though dragged across gravel. "Name."

Zarou cleared his throat. "Zarou."

The clerk flipped a few pages forward, then a few pages back, searching for something that clearly wasn't there. His brow furrowed, though his focus never actually lifted from the book.

"No appointment, no prior registration. New arrival?"

"Yeah," Zarou said.

A pause. The clerk's gaze lifted just long enough to scan Zarou from head to toe—taking in the too-fine robe, the exhaustion etched into his face, and the edges of the chains peeking from his sleeves. The clerk made no comment. He had long since stopped asking questions that didn't have a space to be written down in his ledger.

"Element?"

Zarou hesitated, the unfamiliar question hitting harder than expected. Element. Right. This world had categories now.

"Ignis… and Lux."

The clerk's pen hovered over the page. "Dual affinity?"

Zarou nodded.

That earned him a slightly longer glance—one brow rising briefly before settling back into disinterest. "Age?"

"Fifteen."

"Papers?" the clerk asked. "Proof of previous testing or certification?"

Zarou's jaw tightened. "I don't have any."

The clerk sighed. "No papers means you'll need to undergo full evaluation before you can be issued a rank. Go through that door—Testing Hall C."

Zarou glanced toward the indicated door, where a heavy curtain separated the front office from the chamber beyond.

"And," the clerk added, "since you're registering late, you'll be evaluated alongside the Fifteen-Year Assessment Group."

"Fifteen-Year…?" Zarou started.

"It's standard," the clerk interrupted. "Every child undergoes a full practical test at fifteen to determine their current rank, brightness stage, and preliminary specialisation. Consider yourself lucky—you won't be alone."

Zarou's stomach churned at the thought of being surrounded by his own age group. Normal kids. Kids who knew this world and its rules. Kids who had grown up in it, trained for this moment.

"Great," he muttered. "Just what I wanted."

The curtain parted, and a stern-faced instructor stepped through, her dark hair braided tight and a silver rank pin gleaming on her chest. "Next group, in you go."

A cluster of boys and girls about his age shuffled forward. They were dressed far better than Zarou—polished boots, fresh robes stitched with family crests, mana crystals set into their belts like badges of honor. Some glanced at him with open curiosity, others with poorly hidden disdain at the sight of his borrowed robe and sunken eyes.

Zarou felt the chains under the fabric shift slightly, like they could sense his unease.

He followed the group into the hall.

The Testing Hall stretched wide before him, equal parts training ground and stage for humiliation. The floor shimmered faintly under the mana lights, the concentric circles carved into the stone almost humming beneath his feet. Each step forward was a reminder — this place wasn't for people like him. It was built for those who belonged. The prepared. The expected.

At the far end stood the Resonance Pillar, its core glowing faintly, waiting to be touched — to reveal everything about you with a single pulse.

Zarou folded his arms, standing slightly apart from the others. They lined up neatly, all confidence and nerves braided together. Kids his age, maybe a little younger, maybe a little older. All polished by the system. He could see it in the way they stood — backs straight, hands clenched, eyes flicking between their friends for reassurance.

I'm not like them. Never will be.

The first girl stepped forward, her sapphire hair catching the light. Aqua affinity — no surprise. As her hand met the crystal, the obelisk bloomed blue, a clean, smooth pulse flowing up its surface.

"Stage: Honed," the instructor called out, as though reading from a list of achievements. "Element: Aqua. Sub-specialisation—Mist Conjuration."

The girl beamed, stepping back to quiet applause from her friends.

Zarou exhaled through his nose.

One by one, they went. Fire users flared red, wind users silver, even an Umbra boy cloaking the pillar in a soft veil of violet mist. All so neat. All so correct.

Then his name was called.

"Zarou… no surname?"

The instructor frowned slightly, as though the absence of a family crest offended her personally.

Zarou tugged his hands from the robe's sleeves, the chains clinking faintly. He stepped forward, feeling all their eyes on him — not with curiosity, but with that same undercurrent he always felt.

Like they already knew something was wrong with him.

"Hand on the obelisk," the instructor said, voice brisk, professional. "Let's see what you've got."

Zarou's palm met the crystal.

Instantly, the pillar shuddered.

It didn't glow steady like the others. No smooth transition of colour, no clean pulse. It flickered erratically, pulses of gold and red colliding, splitting apart, and colliding again — as if even the pillar couldn't decide what he was.

Lux. Ignis. Both.

His blood knew before they told him. But seeing it — seeing it fight itself — felt different. It felt wrong.

The instructor's brow furrowed, her mouth thinning into a hard line. "Two affinities… unusual, but not unheard of."

She tapped her clipboard with the blunt end of a pen, lips pursed like she'd just tasted something sour.

"But the flow—why is it so unstable?"

Zarou said nothing. He wasn't about to explain himself to her or anyone.

The instructor muttered something under her breath, but her tone didn't hide the judgment when she spoke aloud. "Brightness Stage: Unclear. Fluctuates between Dormant and Honed."

A ripple of snickers spread through the gathered students.

He knew that laugh. The kind that says you shouldn't be here. The kind that follows people like him everywhere.

"Dual Element: Lux and Ignis," the instructor continued. "No registered specialisation."

Zarou's fingers curled slightly at his sides, but his expression didn't change.

Nothing new.

"Very well," the instructor said, snapping her clipboard shut. "Proceed to the practical assessment. Let's see what you can actually do."

The students were split into pairs, shuffled off into dueling rings etched into the floor. Zarou tugged at the borrowed robe, hiding the chains beneath loose folds of fabric. His name was called alongside another:

"Zarou… and Mervin."

Zarou glanced at his opponent—a boy with polished boots, an immaculate coat embroidered with a noble crest, and a sneer that practically stretched ear to ear.

Typical.

"A charity match, huh?" Mervin said loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Let's see if the enigma can even stand upright."

Zarou stepped into the circle without a word, the etched mana runes humming faintly beneath his feet. They reacted to everyone's presence—a soft pulse for most. But beneath Zarou, the lines flickered erratically, light struggling to choose between gold and crimson. He ignored it.

Lux only, Zarou reminded himself. No fire. No chains. Keep it clean.

The whistle blew.

Mervin stomped, mana surging through the runes at his feet. Walls of earth burst from the ground, forming a defensive barricade around him. A textbook opening for Terra users. Safe, predictable.

Zarou barely moved.

"Gonna hide there all day?" he called, voice dry.

Mervin's sneer deepened. "Try to break through, then."

A jagged rock shot toward Zarou's chest. He could've dodged. Could've shattered it with brute force. Instead, he exhaled—and light gathered around his fingertips, invisible to all but him. A ripple passed through the air itself, a subtle shimmer that warped the particles of mana between him and the projectile.

The rock wobbled mid-flight, its shape distorting like it had been thrown through water. It veered off course, skidding harmlessly to the side.

Mervin blinked. "What—?"

Zarou didn't answer. His focus sharpened, hands twitching slightly as the light around him continued to twist the ambient mana. Mervin's next attempt—a rising pillar meant to box Zarou in—crumbled halfway up, the spell collapsing under its own weight.

They train you to bend mana like clay, Zarou thought. But they never taught you the air around you can bend it back.

The crowd murmured, uncertain whether to be impressed or confused.

Mervin's frustration boiled over. He gathered more mana, aiming for a heavier attack—a hammer of stone forming in the air.

Zarou acted faster. His hand rose, fingers trembling slightly from the unfamiliar restraint. He didn't chant. He didn't form a proper glyph. He just called the light, letting it shape itself.

What erupted wasn't elegant. It wasn't smooth or refined like the spells these students had spent years perfecting under the Zenith System. It was jagged, uneven—more like a shard of broken glass than a lance. The light pulsed erratically, wild as a storm barely bottled inside his palm.

It tore forward in an instant, too fast for Mervin to react.

Before it could reach him, the floor shuddered beneath everyone's feet. A thick wall of earth surged upward between them, summoned by the instructor herself. Her hand was already raised, fingers splayed wide in a precise gesture, her mana flowing seamlessly into the defensive barrier.

The lance struck the wall—and for half a second, light and earth struggled against each other, flickering back and forth like two mismatched gears grinding to fit.

Then, just as quickly as it had formed, the lance shattered.

Golden motes scattered like falling sparks, the light harmless by the time it reached the floor.

Zarou's hand dropped to his side, fingers still trembling from the rawness of the spell. His breath came in quick bursts, his pulse thundering in his ears.

"Enough!" the instructor's voice rang out, sharp and clear, cutting through the heavy silence.

Mervin stumbled back, wide-eyed and pale beneath his arrogance. The instructor's gaze locked onto Zarou, but for once, there was no outright disapproval—only narrowed eyes and quiet calculation.

"What was that?" she asked, her voice lower, more controlled now.

Zarou didn't answer right away. He could still feel the tingling in his fingertips, the way his mana had tried to surge past his limits, wild and primal as ever.

He forced his voice steady. "A spell."

"That wasn't a spell," she said. "That was… something else."

He shrugged. "It worked."

Her brow furrowed, but she said no more, just scribbled something onto her clipboard. Zarou could feel the weight of everyone's stares digging into his back—the noble kids whispering, the others watching with a mixture of awe, confusion, and suspicion.

He stepped back out of the circle, shoulders tense, jaw tight.

Too much, he thought. Pulled too hard. But at least now they'll underestimate me for being reckless instead of dangerous.

He exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tension coiled beneath his skin.

The light may have shattered harmlessly—but for that brief moment, when his mana surged unchecked, the air itself had hummed with the same wild energy that had once burned across ancient battlefields.

Zarou stepped back from the circle, shaking his hand as though to rid it of lingering sparks. The instructor's gaze followed him, scribbling more notes on her clipboard, but she didn't call him back or scold him outright. That was almost more unsettling than being reprimanded.

He could still feel the whisper of his mana—Lux, wild and erratic, like a caged flame throwing sparks against its prison walls.

The next pair were already stepping into the ring, but Zarou wasn't paying attention. He wandered to the side, toward a cluster of students who had already finished their assessments. They were standing in a loose trio, all of them watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.

The first was a dwarf, stocky and broad, with a thick braid down his back that looked more like a weapon than a hairstyle. His arms were folded across his chest, sleeves rolled up to show forearms covered in rune tattoos that flickered faintly with mana. His boots, heavy and reinforced, had already left scuff marks in the arena floor.

The dwarf spoke first, voice like gravel in a tumbler."Not bad. Little sloppy, but you shut up that emerald peacock pretty quick." He grinned wide enough to show a chipped tooth.

"Name's Don. Terra, if you couldn't guess."

Zarou barely opened his mouth to respond before the second voice cut in—a little too loud, a little too eager.

"And I'm Artis!" The wolf-boy nearly bounced into place beside Don, his silver hair wild and messy, his ears twitching constantly like they had a mind of their own. He was smaller than Zarou, but only just, his lithe frame covered in a patched cloak that looked like it had been salvaged from half a dozen different wardrobes.

His tail wagged slightly, as though it couldn't decide if Zarou was a new friend or some threat that needed sniffing out.

"Aeris, by the way. My specialty's movement magic, so if you ever need someone to run distraction—" He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm your guy."

Zarou blinked, taking half a step back from the sheer enthusiasm radiating off him.

"Charming," a third voice said, smooth and measured.

The last of the trio was an elf girl—taller than any of them, her long silver hair perfectly combed, each strand falling like a curtain over her shoulders. Her mana was subtle, almost imperceptible compared to the others, but it made the air around her feel unnaturally still. Her robes were pristine, a soft green embroidered with delicate filigree that caught the light.

"Seraliph," she said simply, dipping her head in a brief but graceful nod.

"Lux. Healing and barriers."

Zarou's brow lifted slightly.

"Another Lux user?"

Her lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Don't expect us to have much in common."

Don elbowed her lightly.

Zarou stepped back from the circle, shaking his hand as though to rid it of lingering sparks. The instructor's gaze followed him for a moment longer than it had with the others, but no reprimand came. That was almost worse.

He could still feel the whisper of his mana—Lux, wild and erratic, like a caged flame throwing sparks against its prison walls.

Near the far side of the hall, a small cluster of students lingered, none of them involved in the current sparring rounds. Zarou could feel their eyes on him even before he got close. They stood loose and relaxed, but he recognized the kind of stance that meant we've already decided to talk to you.

The first to speak was a dwarf, stocky and broad, with arms like stone pillars and a braid so thick it could probably be used as a weapon. His forearms were marked with small runic tattoos—Terra alignment, Zarou guessed—and they pulsed faintly in time with his breathing.

"That was interesting," the dwarf said, voice low and rumbling, like boulders grinding together. "Don, by the way. That was your first match here, right?"

Zarou gave a slow nod, unsure if he should say more.

"Yeah, figured." Don grinned, showing a chipped tooth. "Most people flinch when Mervin pulls that stone trick. You didn't even blink. What's with that?"

Before Zarou could answer, the second voice cut in—higher, faster, almost too eager.

"And I'm Artis!" The wolf-boy practically bounced into view, his silver hair messy, ears flicking back and forth like they couldn't decide if Zarou was a friend or a threat. His tail wagged once before he caught himself and forced it still. "Aeris user. Movement specialist." He gave a mock bow, exaggerated and theatrical. "But mostly, I just run my mouth."

Zarou blinked, taking half a step back from the sheer energy radiating off him.

"Apologies in advance," a quieter voice added. "He doesn't have an off switch."

The speaker was a tall elf girl, easily the tallest of the group, with silver hair so smooth it almost reflected the light from the Resonance Pillar. Her robes were immaculate, a pale green trimmed in silver filigree, and her mana—Lux, Zarou could feel it—was the opposite of his: calm, refined, and steady.

"Seraliph," she said, dipping her head briefly in greeting.

Zarou's brow lifted slightly."Another Lux user?"

"Not like you," Seraliph replied, her tone dry. "Mine behaves."

Don snorted, and Artis grinned wide enough to flash his canines.

"Anyway," Don said, cutting through the banter. "That thing with Mervin—you got more control than you let on, huh?"

Zarou shrugged. "I've fought before. It's not that special."

"Yeah, well…" Don rolled his shoulders. "You might wanna get used to people paying attention. Most of us just throw around what our tutors drilled into us. That…" He gestured vaguely toward the sparring ring. "That was different."

Zarou's instinct was to deflect, to push them back with a sharp word or cold silence. But after everything this morning—after Oliana, after Anna, after the kobold boy—it felt… exhausting.

"Where are you from, anyway?" Artis asked, tail twitching again. "Don't think I've seen you around the dorms."

Zarou exhaled softly."Nowhere worth remembering."

The answer was too blunt, and the silence that followed was awkward. Artis scratched the back of his head. Seraliph arched a brow but didn't press. Don, to his credit, just shrugged.

"Fair enough," the dwarf said. "But if you're aiming to keep your head down, you're doing a terrible job."

Zarou gave a small, humorless smile. "It's a talent."

"Look," Don added, his tone shifting slightly. "This place… Alachi, the Tower, all of it—it's a meat grinder. You come in thinking you know who you are, and the next thing you know, you're someone else entirely. So… maybe stick close to someone who's already had their turn getting chewed up. Saves you some trouble."

Zarou shifted his weight, the chains under his robe brushing against his skin."I'm used to being alone."

"Yeah, well," Don said with a lopsided grin. "Being used to something doesn't make it smart."

Artis chimed in, his grin all teeth. "Besides, we're fun." He elbowed Seraliph. "Right, Sera?"

Seraliph sighed, her expression flat. "You're exhausting."

"And you love it," Artis shot back.

Zarou couldn't help it—the corner of his mouth twitched upward, just for a second.

"Alright," he said softly. "Zarou. No house, no title. Just… Zarou."

"Perfect," Don said, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble.

"Welcome to the show."

Zarou's expression flickered, unsure whether to scowl or laugh."What show?"

Don grinned. "The one where we all pretend we know what we're doing."

Artis laughed so hard he almost choked. Even Seraliph's lips quirked into something resembling amusement.

For a moment, Zarou stood there, caught between instinct and something unfamiliar—a warmth he couldn't quite name. They weren't friends, not yet. But they weren't enemies either. Just a trio of curious strangers who, for reasons he didn't understand, seemed willing to talk to him like he was just another kid.

It was unsettling.

But not entirely unwelcome.

"Alright," Zarou said at last. "Lead the way… wherever we're going."

Don gave a thumbs up. "Training yard's that way. You're up for more practicals tomorrow. But for now, we've got a break. Food?"

Zarou's stomach grumbled loudly enough to answer for him.

Artis grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. "Perfect. First meal's on the new guy."

"What?" Zarou blinked. "That's not how this works."

"Too late," Don said, already walking. "You lost the vote."

Seraliph shook her head, already drifting after them.

Zarou exhaled through his nose, falling into step behind them.

He wasn't sure what this was, but for now, he'd follow.