Chapter 13 — The Structure of Power
The lecture hall smelled faintly of mana ink and polished stone.
Unlike the combat arena, this hall was ancient—pillars carved with layered runes depicting races long extinct, blessings etched into reliefs that pulsed faintly when mana passed nearby. Students filled the tiered seating, their conversations subdued, restrained by the oppressive quiet that only centuries of authority could cultivate.
Kairo sat near the middle.
Not the front.
Not the back.
An intentional position.
Around him, students whispered.
"That was a second-year."
"Leonhart Vale doesn't lose face like that."
"He didn't even activate his blessing…"
"Was that pressure?"
"No—pressure has shape. That was—"
Kairo ignored them.
CIEL did not.
[Social Aggression Index rising.]
[Probability of indirect challenge within next 72 hours: 63%.]
The doors at the front opened without sound.
A tall Eldryn woman entered.
She did not walk—she glided, her feet never quite touching the floor. Her skin bore faint golden tracery like veins of living light, eyes pale and ageless. Long hair the color of frost was bound in a scholar's braid.
Several students stiffened immediately.
"Eldryn," someone whispered.
"High lineage…"
"A real one, not diluted."
She raised one slender hand.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
"I am Archivist Selvaria," she said, her voice layered—one tone speaking, another echoing behind it. "You will address me as Professor."
She turned, and the air itself rearranged, forming a massive, rotating sigil behind her.
"This course," Selvaria continued, "is Foundations of Power. If you fail it, you will not survive your first dungeon. If you misunderstand it, you will die before graduation."
No dramatics.
Just fact.
"Power," she said, "is not strength."
The sigil shifted.
"Power is structure."
The sigil fractured into symbols—ranks, races, flowing diagrams.
"Your world operates on layered systems. You do not possess one power—you exist at the intersection of many."
She gestured, and text burned into the air.
---
Blessing Classification
Grades:
Minor
High
Royal
Ancestral
Origin
"Minor blessings," Selvaria said, "are common. Enhanced senses. Basic elements. Physical reinforcement."
A projection showed a Human soldier reinforcing muscle fibers.
"High blessings introduce specialization."
A Beastkin hunter moving at impossible speed.
"Royal blessings," she continued, "alter rules within a limited scope."
A Drakari noble exerting pressure that forced others to kneel.
"Ancestral blessings bind you to history."
An Eldryn figure standing inside a domain of frozen time.
"And Origin blessings," Selvaria finished softly, "are not given."
The hall felt colder.
"They exist. And those who touch them… are never the same."
Her gaze swept the room.
For a fraction of a second—
It stopped on Kairo.
Not accusation.
Not curiosity.
Recognition.
CIEL responded instantly.
[Warning: Observation from High-Origin Entity.]
[No hostile intent detected.]
Selvaria turned away.
"Now," she continued, "races."
The sigil reformed.
---
The Eight Races
"Humans," she said. "Adaptive. Fragile. Dangerous."
Images shifted—humans learning magic, technology, tactics faster than others.
"They evolve through learning."
"Spectrals," Selvaria said next.
The hall darkened.
Semi-ethereal figures appeared—elongated silhouettes with glowing sigils instead of faces.
"They exist between thought and matter. Illusions are not lies to them—they are environments."
Several students swallowed.
"Drakari."
Scaled warriors with blazing cores appeared.
"Authority made flesh. Their presence alone bends weaker wills."
"Beastkin."
Feral grace. Muscle. Bloodlines.
"They awaken late—but violently."
"Machinari."
Metallic figures with glowing chest cores.
"Fusion of spellcraft and technology. Artificial blessings."
"Noctyri."
Shadows thickened.
"Contracts. Silence. Debt."
Some students shifted uncomfortably.
"And Eldryn."
The hall brightened painfully.
"Concept-bound beings. Rare. Ancient. Dangerous."
Selvaria let the projection fade.
"You will encounter all of these in your academy life. In classes. In politics. In dungeons."
She paused.
"And some of you will attempt to steal from them."
Gasps.
"That," Selvaria said calmly, "is not forbidden."
The room froze.
"It is simply… difficult."
Eyes flicked instinctively toward Kairo.
He felt it.
He did not react.
Inside, CIEL processed rapidly.
[Stealing blessings acknowledged by faculty.]
[Risk tolerance of institution: High.]
[Implication: Controlled chaos environment.]
Selvaria clasped her hands behind her back.
"Hierarchy," she continued, "will form whether you like it or not."
The sigil split again—students arranged by rank, influence, lineage.
"Power attracts power. Fear attracts predators."
She looked directly at the noble section.
"And indifference attracts attention."
Several heads turned.
Kairo met none of their gazes.
The bell rang.
Not a chime.
A pulse.
"Next session," Selvaria said, "you will be tested on this knowledge."
She smiled faintly.
"In practice."
As students filed out, conversations erupted.
"That slum kid—did you feel that earlier?"
"He didn't move and Vale nearly collapsed."
"That wasn't a blessing."
"Then what was it?"
A young noblewoman with silver hair lingered near the doorway, watching Kairo leave.
Her name was Aurelia Fencrest.
And for the first time since entering the academy—
She felt threatened.
---