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Chapter 52

The morning after the results announcement, the Coliseum buzzed with a different energy—raw, loud, and unfiltered. Gone were the whispers and nervous pacing of exam week. The people here now were the ones who made it, and they wore it like a second skin.

No longer just candidates, they were the new blood of Arcana Celestalis. And their moods showed it—some were grinning like they'd just survived a monster hunt, others trying way too hard to look like this was just another Wednesday.

Every newly accepted examinee had been summoned for the official joining briefing. No more exams. No sudden magical trials. No instructors hovering overhead—well, except the ones down below the stage, still pretending they weren't eavesdropping while absolutely doing just that.

At the center stage stood Relen Tyvaris. Sharp robes, sharper stare. No dramatic entrance, no flashy aura, just pure authority radiating off him like heat off stone.

"Congratulations," he started, voice clipped and cold. "You made it. That's the last time anyone will say it."

A few students exchanged uncertain looks.

"You've entered Arcana Celestalis Sanctum. That means your names are on record—but if you think this is the finish line, let me remind you: it's the starting gate."

The smiles started slipping.

"This place is a forge. Some of you will be blades. The rest? Ash."

No applause. No cheers. Just a bunch of teenagers and young adults standing there with expressions ranging from 'motivated' to 'mildly sick.'

Relen stepped back, hands behind his back. "Welcome to Arcana. Don't fall behind."

He walked off like he hadn't just threatened to metaphorically incinerate everyone in the room.

The real fun started when the academy staff showed up. A woman with a wand-pointer and a deadpan expression took center stage.

"Alright, listen up. Here's how things work from now on. Professors are usually older, crankier, and buried in paperwork. Instructors are the ones who'll actually be on your case. You'll know them by the way they breathe down your necks in every training hall."

She flicked her pointer and a projection flared to life, showing the hierarchy of teaching staff:

Apprentice Instructor

Instructor

Senior Instructor

Head Instructor

Head of Department (HOD)

Vice Dean

Dean

"No, you can't skip ranks. Yes, they can make your life hell. Moving on. And yes, there is a form for spontaneous magical combustion. No, we won't show you where to get it."

Another assistant took over. "Knowledge Transfer begins next week. Dorms open on the 5th of next month. Be on time, or don't bother showing up."

Then came the part that made a few students visibly tense.

"Foundation Refiners have three years to show real progress. Energy Gimlets get five. No growth? You're out. No retakes. No appeals."

Some hopeful grins turned into grimaces. But not everyone was discouraged.

As they were dismissed in waves, the energy shifted again. People were already chatting, making fast friendships, comparing exam results.

"Section C was brutal, man. My dummy broke my arm and still asked if I could continue."

"Please. Section A had me solve a diplomatic crisis with three ghost kings. I haven't slept since."

"My exam chamber in D exploded. Twice. Pretty sure the instructor just shrugged."

By the display boards, groups formed fast. Students crowded around to see what department slots they'd earned access to. The better their scores, the more options appeared next to their names. The rest? They'd have to hustle for open spots.

"You going Alchemy or Technomancy?" "Depends. I hear the Alchemy track got a new Head Instructor who's a psycho genius." "I just want to avoid any section where I have to run before thinking."

Laughter, mild bragging, and hopeful scheming filled the Coliseum like smoke at a festival. No one knew what the next few years held—but they were ready to dive in headfirst.

Alex stood off to the side, letting the crowd move around him. His gaze followed the flow of students: the ones trying to plan their futures, the ones already acting like they owned the place, and the few quietly wondering what the hell they'd gotten into.

This wasn't the finish line. It was the start of something way bigger.

The exam was over.

Now, the school would try to kill them.

Alex finally made his way to one of the quieter boards—less crowd, better view. Not that he needed it. His slot access wasn't exactly subtle.

There were no blinking lights or attention-grabbing banners. No fanfare.

Just an overwhelming number of departments listed beside his name, flagged with words like "Pre-cleared", "Advisor Assigned", or "Recommendation Pending Review."

Illusion Arts. Diplomatic Strategy. Physical Enhancement. Magical Resonance. Energy Systems. Mana Veins. Even obscure departments like Emotion Weaving and Legacy Will Studies had glowing checkmarks beside them.

A few nearby students leaned in to get a look, then backed off just as quickly. Whispers followed. They always did.

No one said it aloud, but everyone knew.

Alex wasn't someone who passed a lot of exams. He was someone the Academy had already prepared a seat for.

Some stared in awe. Some in quiet resentment. Some avoided looking altogether.

'A body unshackled by limits.'

'A harmony with all energies.'

'Never to be an Emperor.'

'One day, his fate shall be severed by the hands of one blessed by the world.'

None of these titles appeared on the board. But their echoes lived in the way students shifted when he walked by. In the way the department lists adjusted before he even touched the panel. In the way instructors glanced at him not like a student, but a question they weren't ready to answer.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped back.

It wasn't a choice between departments.

It was deciding which future to irritate the least.

Because whichever one he picked, he knew it would make waves. Not just in the Academy. Outside too. The kind of waves that ripple into House halls and backroom politics. The kind that made some people lean forward… and others start sharpening blades.

And right now?

All Alex really wanted was a quiet room and maybe—maybe—a day without someone expecting him to live up to something carved into his bloodline before he was born.

He sighed and stepped away from the board.

"Guess I'll sleep on it," he muttered.

Even if he knew sleep wasn't coming.