Ready For The Academy

Eden

Some time had passed since Eden received the acceptance letter. The days that followed had been relentless, his routine dictated by an almost obsessive need to push himself further.

Every morning, before the sun fully rose, he was already awake—his breath steady, his body coiled with anticipation as he trained. At first, the changes in his physique were subtle. A slight increase in speed. A fraction more endurance. But with each passing day, he could feel it. His body was adapting, becoming something far beyond what it once was. Stronger. Faster. More resilient.

The strength wasn't just physical. His instincts sharpened, his reactions growing unnervingly precise. At times, his movements felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else—someone who had fought countless battles, each more grueling than the last. The realization struck him during one of his sparring sessions with his father.

The courtyard was quiet except for the rhythmic sounds of their feet shifting against the dirt. His father, a seasoned fighter, moved with controlled precision, his strikes deliberate, each one a test. Yet, to Eden, they felt predictable. Not in the way an amateur might read an obvious attack, but as if he had already fought this battle a thousand times before.

His hands reacted before his mind could process. A subtle shift of weight. A parry that felt too refined for someone of his age. His body anticipated feints, countered attacks with the kind of fluidity that came only from deep, ingrained experience.

And that's when it truly sank in.

"This… isn't just knowledge. It's something more."

The legacy he had inherited wasn't just a technique—it was a lifetime of battle-hardened instincts woven into his very being. He had gained the experiences of its creator, not merely as memories, but as reflexes, as muscle memory so deeply ingrained that he felt as though he had lived those fights.

His father stepped back, lowering his stance. "You're different," he murmured, his sharp eyes scanning Eden with something between wariness and pride.

Eden simply nodded, tightening the wraps around his hands. He could feel it too.

Beyond physical combat, his control over mana had grown. The once fleeting flicker of Time Sight had stretched, lasting longer with each session. He trained relentlessly, pushing his reserves to their limits, testing the boundaries of his perception.

At first, the strain was unbearable. His vision blurred, his mind reeled from the sheer exhaustion of sustaining the ability. But he adapted. His mana pool deepened, and now, he could hold Time Sight for over a minute before exhaustion set in.

A minute seemed short on paper, but in battle, it was an eternity.

He could see the shifts in movement, the slight tells in a person's posture before they struck. He could anticipate patterns, predict attacks before they landed. It was intoxicating.

Yet, he knew he was far from ready.

There was more to uncover—deeper layers to his newfound abilities, hidden potential waiting to be unraveled.

And soon, at the academy, he would no longer be training in isolation. He would face others, those who had been raised in the world of the Awakened, those who had honed their talents under the best instructors.

He decided to examine his abilities, a habit that had become second nature to him.

Awakened Ability: Time Sight (Divine)

Passive Ability: Instinct 67/250

His eyes lingered on the second ability. Instinct. It was still locked, but he was getting closer—67 out of 250. Progress was slow, yet undeniable.

Instinct. The word itself carried weight. He could only imagine what it would feel like once it fully awakened. Would it heighten his perception beyond even Time Sight? Would it allow his body to react before his mind even processed danger?

He clenched his fists, the anticipation buzzing under his skin

Eden continued practicing, activating Time Sight as he moved through his progressions. His swings were precise, his footwork fluid, each motion blending seamlessly into the next. Then—

A presence.

Not in the present, but within his Time Sight. A flicker of something just beyond the now. His instincts flared, and without hesitation, he stopped his swing mid-motion, turning on his heel.

Standing in the doorway to the backyard, beside his father, was someone he instantly recognized.

Overflowing with fire mana, its presence crackling like an untamed blaze, stood Raella Saint. One of the proctors who had interviewed him.

Raella

With all the professors having chosen their disciples, the academy proceeded to fill the remaining class slots through random assignment. The preparations for the semester were now in full swing.

Raella had just returned from her week-long vacation, a brief respite before the inevitable mountain of work waiting for her. Now, seated at her desk, she sighed, flipping through the neatly stacked papers before her. Reports, student profiles, schedules—she already missed her time off.

"Should've taken two weeks instead," she muttered under her breath.

She rubbed her temples before setting her sights on the first task at hand—uniforms.

As the professor of Class 1, it was her responsibility to ensure that every student received their tailored uniform before the semester began. Most students would have their measurements taken at the academy, but for her chosen five, she preferred a more personal approach.

One by one, she visited them, overseeing the tailoring process while informing them of the significance of being chosen. Each visit was met with various reactions—Ceris was indifferent yet respectful, Nyxen delighted, Idris mildly arrogant, and Seraphine polite but reserved.

Then, at last, only one name remained on her list—Eden de Sylvain.

His home was by far the furthest from hers, resting in the uneasy balance between the wealthier districts and the more impoverished areas. The house itself was modest—not small, but certainly not large. The paint on the walls was slightly faded, and the fence, while sturdy, bore signs of age. It was the kind of home that had been well-maintained over the years, not out of luxury, but out of necessity.

She double-checked the address, ensuring she was at the right place, then approached the front door.

With a firm knock, she waited.

A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with a striking resemblance to Eden. His features were sharp yet softened by time, his hair dark with a few strands of silver peeking through. More than anything, his expression carried a certain weight—the quiet weariness of someone who had seen too much yet endured, a sight that was way too common for her liking.

The moment his gaze met hers, she felt the shift in atmosphere. His posture stiffened, his eyes widening slightly—not in fear, but in recognition. It wasn't every day that someone as powerful as her came knocking on his door.

"Professor Saint?" he asked, his voice measured.

"Indeed," she confirmed, offering a small nod. "I've come regarding Eden's uniform fitting. May I come in?"

For a moment, he remained silent, studying her. Then, as if realizing he had been lingering too long, he stepped aside.

"Of course. Please, come in."

The interior was simple, yet inviting. The scent of warm tea and faintly burned wood lingered in the air. There were no extravagant decorations, only practical furnishings—a sturdy table, a well-worn couch, framed photographs lined neatly on a shelf. Each item spoke of a household that valued function over form, yet despite its simplicity, it held an undeniable warmth.

He led her towards the backyard.

Through the screen door, she caught sight of Eden.

He was practicing—a fluid sequence of movements, his blade slicing through the air with precise control. His stance was unshakable, his footwork light yet purposeful. Each strike followed a rhythm, not just a showcase of strength but a seamless blend of finesse and lethality.

Watching him, she was reminded of battle-hardened warriors, those who had spent decades honing their craft.

For someone so young…

Her fingers twitched at her side.

He was better than his records suggested—far better.

They approached the doorway, and just as she reached to slide it open—

Eden stopped.

His blade halted mid-swing, his body turning toward them half a second before she had even touched the door.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

He sensed us?

As she opened the door, a cool breeze drifted through the backyard, rustling the leaves of a large tree standing in the corner of the yard. The fence surrounding the space was wooden, tall enough to provide privacy yet aged with time, its paint peeling in some areas. Though modest, the yard was well-kept, a place of quiet respite.

Eden remained still, facing their direction as if waiting for something.

Had he heard the door open? No, she was certain it was more than that.

His father called out to him, breaking the brief silence.

Eden turned his head slightly before responding, then, sheathed his sword. Without hesitation, he made his way inside.

Inside the House

Seated at the table, Raella went over the necessary details—the uniform fitting process, where to send his measurements, his assigned dormitory and room number, what to expect on the first day of the semester, and more.

Eden listened attentively, nodding at the appropriate moments but otherwise remaining silent.

Unlike the other students she had visited, he didn't ask many questions. Most students would've bombarded her with inquiries, eager to know every detail, yet Eden simply absorbed the information without interruption.

It was only when she reached into her coat pocket and placed a small golden button on the table that he finally broke his silence.

He picked it up, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

"What's this for?" he asked.

Raella leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her knuckles. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.

"Something for the chosen," she said vaguely.

Eden frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied with the cryptic answer. But before he could press further, she stood up.

"You'll understand soon enough," she said. "For now, just make sure it's placed on the right clavicle of your uniform before the semester starts."

Though he still seemed unconvinced, he nodded.

With that, her visit was complete.