The highest title:Archon

Lucas Grant's office was shrouded in a dense atmosphere, lit only by the faint glow of the holographic panel in front of him. His face, worn down by hours of rejection, reflected a mixture of frustration and resignation as he spoke with his manager over a video call.

On the other end, the manager, a middle-aged man, had beads of sweat running down his forehead. His expression was a mix of discomfort and uncertainty.

"Lucas, it's not that your book is bad," the manager said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "In fact, several of my contacts agree it's excellent. But… it seems someone with a lot of power in the city has set their sights on you."

The silence that followed was heavy. Lucas frowned.

"Someone powerful? What are you talking about?"

The manager let out a resigned sigh.

"I don't have names, just... hints. Some guilds might be willing to work with you, but they already know about your situation. They could try to take advantage of it, offering ridiculous contracts. The other option would be to look for a guild in another region, but that could take time."

Lucas nodded grimly.

"I'll discuss it with Nora."

He ended the call and turned to look at his wife.

From the doorway, his wife had already been listening to the conversation, calm but with worry hidden behind a determined gaze.

"We can't afford to wait too long," she said, her voice steady but firm. "We don't have enough savings for that."

Lucas could only nod in resignation as they continued weighing their options. Just then, a knock on the door interrupted their thoughts. They exchanged puzzled looks; at this hour, their children should have been asleep.

Lucas stood and opened the door. There stood Damian, his expression unusually serious.

"Can I come in?" the young man asked, his voice low and steady.

"Of course, son," Lucas replied, letting him in.

Damian didn't waste any time.

"I think I know who's behind all this."

Surprise appeared on his parents' faces.

"Who?" Nora asked, stepping forward.

"The Lorrick family," Damian said bluntly.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you think that?"

"I know you don't have enemies—you probably can't even suspect anyone—but I do. Samuel Lorrick," Damian explained calmly. "I was the only one who openly opposed him, and we're on very bad terms. You know the reputation of that family..."

Nora frowned.

"Did you confront him because of something he did?"

Damian nodded, his gaze unwavering.

"I couldn't stay silent about his actions. Pretending ignorance was never an option."

For a moment, the tension lingered until a small, proud smile appeared on Nora's face.

"You did the right thing," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We're not a family that kneels before injustice."

Lucas, though still concerned, nodded in agreement.

"You're right, but we have to be realistic... The Lorricks have enormous influence in this city. It would be easy for them to use their connections to shut doors for us. However, outside of Veltrum, their power fades. Globally, they're nobody. I'll look for opportunities elsewhere. Our political system protects everyone equally; even they have limits."

Damian nodded slowly, crossing his arms.

"Let me handle this," he said with a firmness that made his parents exchange uncertain glances. "I'm close to securing support much stronger than the Lorrick family. We just need to wait for the results of my second exam."

His words filled the air with unshakable certainty. It wasn't arrogance but cold, calculated confidence—as if he already knew he was going to win.

Lucas sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"If you have a plan, son, we trust you." His voice carried a tone of resignation but also a glimmer of hope.

Nora gave him a warm, proud smile.

"You're taking charge of this... You're more mature than I thought, Damian."

The atmosphere, heavy with concern just moments before, lightened slightly.

"But who's this support?" Lucas asked, now more relaxed, as if the problems had briefly faded away.

Damian allowed a small smile to form.

"Bera Callister."

The silence that followed was almost comical. Both parents stared at him, eyes wide.

"The director of Solís Academy?!" they exclaimed in unison. "How... How did you manage to get the attention of someone like her?"

Damian, arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe.

"Let's just say... my work speaks for itself."

Now understanding just how influential Bera was, their surprise didn't seem strange to him—it was as if he had just told them a living legend had decided to bet on him.

"Well, I'm going to sleep," he said, turning toward his room. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Before leaving the room, he sent both short films to their panels.

"Oh, by the way, there's the reason Bera Callister is interested in me. Don't show it to anyone. Good night."

His parents, full of curiosity, activated their panels. The images began to play, illuminating the room with soft flashes.

As Damian walked away, a spark of irony flickered in his mind.

"Those guilds that shut their doors on us... They have no idea what's coming."

"Firewatch won't just be a success. The shock it'll cause will be much bigger than what Kiwi achieved. I wonder how many of those leaders will be able to resist my ideas."

The night moved on with unusual calm, but for the first time, Lucas and Nora felt something beyond pride—a silent certainty that their son wasn't just talented…

He was a prodigy.

They exchanged a look, no words necessary. They knew that, no matter what happened, their duty now was to support him until the very end.

---

When Damian arrived at Solís Academy, he couldn't help but pause for a moment to take in the atmosphere. The place, usually imposing with its modern and minimalist architecture, now felt like a festival in full transformation.

The halls were full of workers setting up food stalls, stages, and capsule rooms. The holographic ads were still off, but it was clear they would soon flood the area with lights and colors. Although everything was closed to the public, the bustle hinted at the imminent start of the Year-End Festival.

"I guess this place will be completely transformed by tomorrow," Damian thought, observing the bright decorations beginning to cover the walls.

It was already midday on Monday, and although students weren't required to attend yet, the campus was open to those who wanted to get a head start.

Without wasting time, Damian made his way to the rooftop of one of the main buildings. There, under the shade of a tree carefully planted in a small elevated garden, he saw her.

Clara was sitting on a bench, her gaze lost on the horizon. As Damian approached, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes; clearly, she hadn't slept well.

"Hey," he greeted, his tone casual but sincere.

She lifted her head and gave him a small, forced smile.

"Hi, Damian."

He sat beside her, leaving a small space between them.

"Didn't sleep at all last night?" he asked bluntly.

"Not much..." she replied, lowering her gaze.

Silence settled for a moment until Clara sighed.

"Sorry I didn't come on Friday. I would've liked to try the game."

Damian shook his head, his voice soft but firm.

"You don't need to apologize. What matters is that you're here now. Besides, there wasn't much work—I even left early that day."

The conversation seemed to flow naturally, but there was a tension in the air, something Clara seemed to want to say but didn't know how to start. Finally, it was Damian who broke the silence, his tone more serious.

"My parents... lost their jobs last week. Someone seems to have set their sights on my family."

Clara looked at him, surprised.

"What? Was it Samuel?" she asked hesitantly.

"Most likely."

She hesitated for a second, biting her lower lip before speaking.

"Something weird happened at my house too."

Damian frowned, paying close attention to every word.

"My mom's a housewife, and my dad… well, he's a composer," she began in a low voice. "He's independent, has no ties to any guild, but he was starting to gain some recognition online."

The bitterness in her voice became clear as she continued:

"The day before, an alleged unknown creative appeared, accusing him of having stolen his work. Out of nowhere, a storm broke out on social media. People started attacking him without any real proof. And as if that weren't enough, his participation in a film project was canceled… without giving him the chance to defend himself."

Damian had already suspected it. Everything fit together too perfectly—or rather, too badly.

"What I don't understand," Clara frowned, her voice low and full of frustration, "is why there were so many reporters outside my house. My dad isn't famous enough for something like that to happen. They harassed us all day… I couldn't step outside for a second."

"And after that?" Damian asked calmly, though inside, irritation simmered slowly.

"The next day, everything disappeared just like that." Clara seemed upset. "The copyright system worked quickly, as always. His agent presented solid evidence, and the guy who accused him apologized publicly… but now my father's out of a job." She sensed the depressing mood, so she tried to ease the tension. "But don't worry, we have savings, so it's not an urgent situation."

Damian nodded seriously. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind it all.

"I'm sorry, Clara. This happened because of me. Provoking Samuel Lorrick ended up affecting your family." His voice was low.

"Don't say that!" Clara's response was as quick as it was unexpected. Her eyes shone with fury. "You were the only one who helped me and stood up to that guy. And I supported you the same way—no one forced me. Don't ever think this is your fault."

Damian looked at her, surprised by her sudden determination. After a few seconds, he sighed and nodded.

"Thank you… I hadn't seen it that way."

Silence fell between them. It wasn't uncomfortable; rather, it seemed like the tension had eased. Damian, with his analytical mind, began connecting the pieces.

It wasn't just my parents… they also tried to isolate me from any support. They knew Clara was the only help I had to finish the project on time.

"They wanted to leave me without help." His voice sounded more like a thought than something meant for Clara. "Most students barely finish their projects by Saturday—and that's in groups of three or four. Some don't even manage without using Sunday. They bet that without you, I'd fall behind or fail."

Clara looked at him, surprised by how clearly he saw the bigger picture. Before she could say anything, Damian added:

"Don't worry. I'll take care of the Lorricks. They'll pay for messing with you."

She lowered her gaze, a bit embarrassed.

"Are you sure? They're influential, Damian. I don't want you ending up with more enemies because of this."

He shook his head with unbreakable confidence.

"This isn't just about us. This is bigger than simple revenge. If I don't stop them now, they'll keep getting in our way." He gave her a small, confident smile. "Besides, do you really think they can beat me?"

Clara let out a short, sincere laugh. The slight tremor in her hands disappeared. She looked up with more determination than before, clenching her fist tightly.

"No, they won't. Firewatch is going to shake this industry. And I'm sure you're nowhere near your limit."

The distant sound of bells marked one in the afternoon. They stayed there, under the shade of the tree, as the tension slowly faded. The conversation grew lighter, and smiles came more easily.

They knew that later, the results of the second exam would be available, and they were eager to see how their work would be received.

---

In the director's office, Monica entered calmly. Bera Callister watched her in silence and, with a slight gesture, motioned for her to sit.

"I called you because you participated in Damian Grant's exam," the director said bluntly. "I want to know what it was like working with him. I heard he hired you as an actress."

The question took Monica by surprise. It wasn't common for the director to summon her just to ask about a student.

"Actually, it wasn't acting in the traditional sense," Monica replied, keeping a neutral expression. "Damian only needed my voice, not my full performance."

The director nodded, intrigued but showing no visible reaction.

"Just your voice? Explain."

"I didn't really see the experience he was creating," Monica clarified, a bit uncomfortable. "I recorded several lines in a separate room—that was it. Still, it was an… interesting job. Damian was direct, he knew exactly what he needed. No doubts, no unnecessary changes, no problems. He's professional, much more than other students who seem lost or blame me when they don't get what they imagined."

Bera listened silently, not revealing what she thought.

As Monica kept sharing everything she could about working on the project, Bera could sense the respect Monica had for Damian.

"Thank you for coming, you may leave."

Monica stood up, gave a brief nod, and left the office.

The director stood, ready to leave. She had finished the festival-related work, and the review of the exams had been ongoing since early that morning. The invited leaders would probably finish evaluating all the projects on time.

She headed to the review room. She wanted to see the students' performances firsthand, especially Damian Grant's.

Upon entering, she noticed several professors and industry leaders watching a large screen with focused attention. Such concentration wasn't common.

"What's happening?" she asked firmly.

Professor Meredith immediately approached, greeting her respectfully. The other leaders and professors followed suit, a reflexive sign of deference.

"Director Callister," she said quietly, "as you ordered, Damian Grant's project hasn't been reviewed yet. We were waiting for you."

Bera nodded, satisfied. She wanted to witness the project with her own eyes.

"How many projects are left?" she asked.

"Just one more round," Meredith replied, handing her a list showing who had passed and who hadn't.

Before she could look at it in detail, a man approached. It was Luca Patel, one of the most respected leaders in virtual experiences.

"Director Callister," he greeted with a smile, "Some of these projects have been impressive. Samuel Lorrick presented a technically flawless piece, and Celine Marwick showed great mastery of storytelling… But the most outstanding experience so far is Aileen Vernett's."

"What did Aileen do?" Bera asked with interest.

"Her project is unique," Luca replied. "The experience takes place in a rocky environment, like a deep, enclosed canyon. The user takes on the role of a trapped explorer, and the mission is to escape. You have to climb walls, cross unstable bridges, and overcome obstacles—but it's not just about physical skill. Every action must be synchronized with specific melodies."

Bera looked at him, intrigued.

"Melodies?"

"Yes. Each obstacle has a rhythmic pattern. For example, when climbing, you have to follow a specific beat to maintain balance. If you sync with the melody, the environment reacts positively: correct paths light up, temporary platforms appear, or even the surroundings change color to guide the user. It's not just a physical challenge—it's also sensory. It's immersive, innovative… and frankly, I'm surprised."

The director nodded, crossing her arms while watching the screen more attentively.

"Impressive…" she murmured. Then, without looking away, she asked, "How much longer until the final round of projects?"

Meredith spoke up.

"It looks like this round is about to end. Please, take a seat—I'll get you something to drink."

A small smile formed on Bera's lips.

"Good. Then we'll wait. I want to see this for myself."

The leaders continued watching the screen, trying to learn from the project. The capsules hummed softly, a constant sound filling the room as a reminder of the ongoing experiences. As the minutes passed, the leaders assigned to these projects began emerging from the capsules one by one—some with thoughtful expressions, others visibly excited.

Virtual experiences rarely lasted more than an hour; that was the industry standard, except for special cases like concerts or extended events.

One of the leaders, who had just exited the capsule after experiencing Aileen Vernett's project, was clearly enthusiastic. Several others immediately gathered around, their eyes full of curiosity.

"Well?" asked one of them, a dark-haired man with slicked-back hair, his tone mixing genuine intrigue with a hint of expectation.

The leader, still adjusting his jacket, let out a brief laugh.

"Incredible. The synchronization between the rhythm and the atmosphere..." He shook his head, impressed. "That feeling of climbing a canyon, with every movement tied to a melody that flows with the environment... It's hard to achieve that level of immersion without it feeling forced."

Another leader nodded.

"That's not easy to pull off. If the timing isn't perfectly adjusted, the entire experience falls apart."

As the murmurs of admiration continued, Professor Meredith stepped forward, beginning to organize the next leaders for the final four remaining projects.

"The capsules are ready," she announced clearly. "I'll call the evaluators for the upcoming experiences."

However, just as she was about to name the leader who would evaluate Damian Grant's project, a voice stopped her.

"Wait."

The room fell silent instantly. Bera Callister had stood up, her presence imposing an involuntary pause across the room. Her eyes shifted toward a dimly lit corner.

There, almost invisible to most, sat an older man with long, disheveled hair, wearing loose clothes that clashed with the formality of the event. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes, and in his hand, he casually held a drink, sipping through a straw.

"Archon Callister, could you take care of reviewing this project?" Bera asked in her usual serious and composed tone, though a slight note of firmness, noticeable only to those closest to her, crept into her voice.

The old man choked on his drink, coughing slightly before letting out a chuckle.

"How could a daughter have so little mercy on her old father?" he replied in a relaxed tone, clearly enjoying the moment. "You barely invite me to a festival, and you're already putting me to work."

The leaders looked away, knowing better than to get involved in this family interaction. No one in that room would dare interrupt or joke with them. Archon wasn't just a title—it was the highest recognition in the creative world, reserved for those who had mastered multiple disciplines over a lifetime. His mere presence was enough to command respect, even if his playful demeanor suggested otherwise.

Bera didn't lose her composure.

"We're working, Father. I just need to ask you this small favor," she said, her patience well-controlled, though a faint hint of annoyance slipped into her voice.

The old man peered over his sunglasses, clearly amused.

"Hmm... I wonder what you're up to," he said, narrowing his eyes as if trying to guess the real reason behind the request.

The director didn't respond, but her expression was enough for him to understand that something personally significant was at stake. Finally, the old man sighed, giving in with a tired smile.

"Fine, I'll do it. But if this project turns out to be a waste of time, tomorrow we'll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together," he said, a playful glint in his eye. "I want to spend more time with my busy daughter."

For a second, the silence in the room grew even denser. The director, maintaining her unshakable facade, accepted with a slight nod.

"If that's what you want, I accept."

"Perfect!" said the old man as he stood up, stretching his arms as if he'd been sitting too long. "Let's see what's so interesting about this project."

As he made his way to the assigned capsule, the murmurs in the room returned, though more discreet this time. The leaders knew that if anyone could evaluate a project from every possible creative angle, it was Archon Callister. But they also knew he was extremely demanding—if something didn't impress him, even if it was a decent project, he would dismiss it without hesitation.

Damian's true test was about to begin.