The road stretched far beyond anything Cain had ever known—rolling grasslands, scattered pine clusters, and thin veils of morning mist that clung to the earth as if reluctant to rise. The carriage wheels hummed over packed soil, steady and rhythmic, and sunlight spilled through the window in long, gentle beams.
Cain watched quietly.
Every tree, every ridge, every fork in the road—he observed them all.
Varr leaned against the carriage wall. "We'll reach the capital before noon."
Cain gave a small nod without turning away from the landscape. The horizon felt different from Greyridge. Broader. Moving. Filled with paths he had never traveled.
Two more hours passed before the capital finally appeared.
It did not rise suddenly from the earth.
It approached like a slow, unfolding truth.
Tall stone walls emerged first—massive and imposing, easily four times the height of any building in Greyridge. Flags hung from narrow towers, each one bearing the deep-blue crest of Arvalon's royal emblem. Guard patrols walked the battlements with sharp, controlled steps.
Cain shifted forward slightly, studying the formation.
The carriage joined a long line of travelers waiting at the gate. Merchants with heavily wrapped carts. Scholars carrying cases filled with scrolls. Families leading excited or anxious children. The city drew people of every shape and tone.
A guard approached once they reached the front.
"Purpose of entry?"
Varr stepped down and presented his seal. "Priest Varr of Greyridge. Escorting one examinee to the Royal Magic Academy."
The guard examined the seal, then glanced at Cain. "Proceed."
The carriage rolled forward.
Inside the walls, the city blossomed into motion. Stone streets stretched in arcs and intersections, polished smooth from decades of use. Buildings towered above the crowd—tiled roofs, wide balconies, hanging lanterns. Vendors called from stalls filled with fruits, fabrics, and steaming food. Smells of baked bread, roasted meats, ink, metal, and spices blended into a constant, vibrant pulse.
Cain observed everything.
Every pattern.
Every path.
They continued toward the quieter district where roads widened and noise softened. The air felt different here—cleaner, structured, edged with discipline.
"We're close," Varr murmured.
Then the academy came into view.
A sprawling estate, built like a grand mansion rather than a fortress. Three-storied wings extended outward to form multiple courtyards. Arched windows lined each floor. Stone columns framed the entrance staircase, each carved with ancient symbols that reflected gently under the sun. Students in deep navy robes walked across the courtyards with steady, purposeful steps.
Cain studied the structure. The reinforced edges. The thick walls. The high vantage points. This place had history and intention woven into every stone.
They approached the entrance hall separate from the main building—a wide, elegant structure with polished stone floors and silver lanterns suspended in neat rows. Inside, multiple reception counters stretched across the hall, each staffed by clerks in silver-trimmed uniforms. Applicants queued quietly, paperwork and coins in hand.
Varr motioned for Cain to join the line.
Applicants whispered nervously around them.
"Did you hear? Some nobles bring private tutors just for this exam."
"My cousin failed the mana control test last year…"
"Do you think they judge appearance too?"
Cain listened without reaction.
When their turn arrived, a young clerk raised her eyes.
"Name?"
"Cain Arkwright."
"Purpose?"
"Entrance examination."
She documented the information swiftly. "Two silver coins for the exam fee."
Varr paid without hesitation.
The clerk retrieved a neatly folded navy robe with silver trim along the collar and sleeves. The academy crest—an open book beneath a small star—was stitched onto the chest. On top of the robe, she placed a polished wooden badge engraved with a number.
"Exam number:26 . Wear the robe for all assessments. Your schedule is inside."
Cain accepted the items.
Once outside the hall, applicants gathered under the shade of the courtyard trees, trying on their robes or comparing numbers. Cain folded his robe carefully over his arm.
"Come," Varr said. "You should eat."
They crossed into a quieter street lined with inns. Varr chose one known for hosting academy travelers—its sign painted with a quill and lantern. The innkeeper welcomed them with a warm nod.
Inside, the scent of stew, herbs, and freshly baked bread drifted through the air. They took a seat near a window overlooking the street.
Varr ordered two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread.
Cain ate with quiet precision. The broth was thick and warm, filled with vegetables and tender meat. The bread was soft, steam rising each time he tore off a piece.
Varr watched him for a moment before speaking. "Tomorrow begins the first stage."
Cain waited.
"The magic aptitude assessment," Varr continued. "Three separate tests."
Cain listened attentively.
"The first is mana control. You'll place your hand on a control orb. They evaluate how cleanly your mana flows. Too sharp, too unstable, too bright—it lowers your score."
" So, Stability matters most," Cain said.
"Yes." Varr nodded. "That skill is more important than raw power."
He set down his cup and leaned back.
"The second day tests your combat fundamentals. Wooden swords only. They watch your balance, posture, reaction time, and understanding of distance. You don't have to defeat anyone—only demonstrate technique and discipline."
Cain mentally reviewed Leon's footwork: pivoting weight, controlled steps, avoiding overextension.
"And last," Varr said, "the affinity test. You touch a transparent stone. It glows the element you harmonize with—red for fire, blue for water, green for wind, brown for earth. Some rare individuals have more than two but it is common for an individual to have more than one."
Cain lowered his gaze slightly. He already felt which attunements stirred beneath his skin.
"After those," Varr said, "comes the written exam. History, ethics, strategy, magical theory. That determines your class placement."
The inn filled slowly as more applicants entered. Some whispered anxiously over their meals. Others practiced breathing exercises or flipped through notebooks. Outside, the academy towers stood silent and steady, their windows catching the afternoon light.
After eating, Varr checked them into a room upstairs—a small but tidy space with two beds, a desk, and a brass lantern. Cain placed his robe neatly over the chair and sat at the edge of the bed.
Through the window, he could see faint silhouettes of examinees gathering near the academy gates, talking, laughing nervously, or pacing as if preparing for battle.
Cain watched quietly.
He lifted the robe again, feeling the weight of the fabric. It wasn't heavy, but it carried meaning. A doorway into a world that demanded more than instinct. A world that valued order, structure, technique.
Tomorrow, he would enter that world.
He folded the robe once more and let the night settle around him.
Sleep came slowly—steady, measured, without fear or excitement.
Only readiness.
The academy waited.
And Cain would step into it without hesitation.
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