Chapter 2: The Entrance Exam
Aethelgard Academy hung in the sky like a jagged crown of silver and glass, suspended by massive mana-turbines that hummed with the collective power of a thousand enslaved leylines. To the commoners below, it was a beacon of hope; to Ken Vaelstron, it was a high-tech slaughterhouse designed to separate the "useful" from the "waste."
Ken stepped off the royal shuttle, his shoulders slumped and his eyes half-closed as if the simple act of standing was a monumental burden. He was flanked by his half-brother, Dorian, who looked like a statue carved from gold and ego. Dorian's mana-aura was loud—a bright, shimmering shield that practically screamed for attention.
"Try not to fall on your face today, Ken," Dorian sneered, not bothering to look back. "The Empress doesn't want the Vaelstron name dragged through the dirt just because you're too lazy to circulate your core."
Ken didn't answer. He let out a long, theatrical yawn and adjusted his rumpled uniform. Beneath the mask of boredom, however, his mind was a cold, high-speed processor. He was scanning the security perimeters, noting the placement of every mana-sensor and automated turret. He had spent the morning reviewing the schematics Selene had smuggled to him before departure. His half-sister had been clear: the Academy wasn't just a school; it was a trap.
Twelve Rank-A sensors on the primary gate. Three thermal-spectrographs, Ken noted. Selene was right. They've upgraded the grid since the last semester. They aren't just looking for talented students; they're looking for anomalies.
The Testing Hall was a cavernous dome of polished obsidian. In the center stood the Atmos-12, a monolithic pillar of black crystal that served as the Dominion's ultimate judge. It was more than a machine; it was a forensic tool. When a student touched it, the pillar probed their biological core, measuring mana-density, output, and potential.
"Line up!" a Proctor barked. He was a veteran with a prosthetic arm that hissed with steam. "Place your hand on the Atmos. If you score below a 2.0, you are assigned to the Bronze Wing. 4.0 for Silver. 7.0 for Gold. Anything higher... well, we haven't seen an 'S' rank in three years."
Ken watched as the nobles went first.
Among them was Isabella Thorne, the daughter of General Marcus Thorne. She was a vision of disciplined power, her silver-white hair tied back in a sharp military braid. Her reputation as a prodigy preceded her; she was the girl who had survived the Palace fire years ago alongside Ken. They hadn't spoken since that night, but the memory was burned into her mind. While the palace staff had been in a state of chaotic panic, she had glimpsed Ken in the smoke—not trembling or crying like a "weak" child, but standing with a terrifying, unnatural stillness as if the flames themselves were afraid to touch him. It was that single, haunting image of his composure amidst the destruction that made her certain his current "lazy" persona was nothing more than an elaborate mask.
She stepped forward and placed her hand on the crystal. The Atmos-12 roared, the internal core spinning until it glowed a brilliant, steady blue.
SCORE: 9.2
The hall erupted in hushed whispers. A 9.2 was nearly unheard of for a first-year. Isabella stepped back, her face calm, but her eyes immediately scanned the crowd, landing on Ken with a look of genuine concern. She remembered him from the palace—the boy who seemed to have no fire in him at all, yet she knew better.
"Vaelstron, Ken!" the Proctor shouted.
The snickering began instantly. The "Zero Prince." The boy who napped through history and tripped over his own shadow. Ken shuffled forward, his boots scuffing against the pristine floor. He reached out and placed his hand on the cold obsidian. Immediately, he felt the machine's "tentacles"—microscopic needles of mana—diving into his chest.
Ken didn't fight the machine. He opened a "pocket" in his Null-Core. He created a controlled vacuum, a tiny black hole that sucked the machine's probing energy into a localized dead-zone. To the Atmos-12, it didn't feel like a powerful core; it felt like a hollow shell. It felt like... nothing.
The pillar groaned. The lights inside flickered a sickly, dim grey, struggling to find any data to report.
SCORE: 0.8
The laughter was deafening. Even the Proctor looked away in embarrassment. A 0.8 was practically a death sentence in the social hierarchy of the Academy. It meant Ken had less mana than a common street-lamp.
"Bronze Wing," the Proctor muttered, marking Ken's file with a red 'X'. "Move along. Next!"
Ken walked away, his face blank and unbothered. He could feel Isabella's gaze burning into his back—pity from others, but from her, it was suspicion. She saw the 0.8, but her mind flashed back to the boy in the fire who didn't flinch. She knew he was hiding something. He could feel Dorian's disgust—shame. But as he walked toward the elevators that led to the dark, industrial sub-levels of the Bronze Wing, a small, cold smile touched his lips.
Score: 0.8. Success. Selene, the ghost is in the system.
He had achieved the perfect invisibility. No one would watch the "0.8" failure. No one would suspect the boy who couldn't light a candle of being the Phantom. As the elevator doors closed, cutting off the light of the Gold Wing, Ken's eyes sharpened. The three silver rings of the Eye of Truth flickered for a millisecond. He looked at the elevator's control panel and saw the hidden maintenance logs.
The hunt for the relics had officially begun. The Academy thought they were taking in a prince. They were actually letting in a virus.
End of Chapter 2.