Cain stepped away from the window.
Behind him, the wide corridor of the academy slowly emptied.
An announcement was made
"All the first year students are requested to go to thier respective rooms ,your examination number will be your room number. For the direction for the rooms, please look at the academy walls . Thank you. "
Just as the announcement was made, footsteps echoed against stone as students drifted off in different directions, voices overlapping briefly before thinning into distant murmurs. Laughter rose in small bursts. Arguments sparked and died just as quickly. Somewhere down the hall, someone celebrated too loudly.
Cain did not join them.
He followed the signs carved neatly into the walls, moving deeper into the academy. The air felt cooler here, heavier somehow, as though the stone itself absorbed sound and intention alike. Long corridors stretched forward in disciplined symmetry. Doors lined both sides, identical in size and spacing, each marked with a simple number.
No decoration. No excess.
The academy did not welcome students.
It processed them.
Cain stopped before his assigned door.
The door had the number 28.
He opened it and stepped inside.
The room was modest. A single bed set against the wall, neatly made. A wooden desk positioned beneath a tall window. A wardrobe standing silent in the corner. Everything was clean, orderly, untouched.
Functional.
Cain placed his bag down beside the desk and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle. This silence was different from Greyridge's. That had been warm, familiar, shaped by routine. This silence was measured, intentional—as if the academy itself was watching, waiting to see how he would fill the space.
He did not rush.
Cain moved to the window and looked out.
The academy grounds stretched wide below, bathed in fading daylight. Students crossed stone paths in small clusters, robes fluttering lightly in the evening breeze. Some walked with confidence, heads held high. Others lingered, glancing around as though trying to memorize everything at once.
Everyone here believed they belonged.
Cain understood that belief. He also understood how fragile it was.
He turned away from the window and sat at the desk.
The wood was smooth beneath his fingers, worn by generations of students before him. Cain rested his hands flat against it and closed his eyes briefly.
The exams replayed in fragments.
The controlled glow of the mana orb.
The quiet conclusion of the sword test.
The placement into Class 1B.
Not triumph. Not relief.
Just progression.
This academy was not a reward. It was a filter. And Cain knew better than to mistake survival for acceptance.
A bell rang.
The sound carried through the academy, low and resonant, vibrating faintly through the walls. Cain opened his eyes as a clear, composed voice followed, amplified and calm.
"Attention, first-year students."
The announcement echoed evenly, without urgency.
"Tomorrow morning, all first-year students are to attend the Familiar Summoning Ceremony."
Cain listened without moving.
"The ceremony is mandatory. Attendance will be taken. Instructions will be provided on site."
A pause.
"Be prepared."
The sound faded. The academy returned to its quiet hum.
Cain remained seated.
Familiar summoning.
He had heard of it, of course. Every student did. The stories varied wildly—creatures of flame and fang, spirits bound by ancient contracts, beasts that grew alongside their summoners. Some familiars were powerful. Some were symbolic. Some were burdens.
A bond formed tomorrow would follow a student for years.
Cain leaned back slightly, gaze drifting to the window again. Outside, the reaction was immediate. Students gathered in tighter clusters now, excitement and anxiety blending into restless motion. Voices rose. Speculation spread.
Cain did not speculate.
Whatever answered him tomorrow would do so because it could.
The academy lights began to glow one by one as dusk settled. Shadows stretched across the grounds, and the stone walls darkened into deeper shades of gray. Cain watched until the last traces of daylight vanished, then stood and prepared for the night.
He lay on the bed fully clothed, hands folded loosely over his chest. The mattress was firm, unfamiliar. The ceiling above him was plain stone, unadorned.
Tomorrow would not test skill.
It would reveal connection.
Cain closed his eyes, breath steady, and let the academy's silence take him.
Far above, unseen, the academy watched and waited.
And somewhere, something else did too.
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