The Dao Academy stood at the center of Whisperfall City like a monument to power.
A massive white complex of reinforced alloy and tempered glass, its pinnacles curved upward like blades piercing the sky. Energy arrays hummed faintly along its outer walls, thin lines of light flowing like veins beneath marble skin. Above the main dome floated a rotating ring of condensed Dao energy—proof of mastery over laws most humans barely understood.
This was not a school.
It was a symbol of power.
A gate.
Within these walls, the awakened were trained. The exceptional were elevated. And the chosen were recruited by The Company—the most powerful corporate-military entity on Earth.
Those selected became Eternals. Protectors of mankind. Heroes broadcast across continents.
Even those who failed to become Eternals would leave this place branded with prestige. Academy graduates became executives, strategists, researchers, enforcement officers. Power followed the name.
That was why Hu Ban walked taller these days. Enrollment alone made him untouchable.
---
Today, the Academy gates were open.
Crowds gathered in waves. Parents in formal suits. Proud children glowing faintly with newly awakened Dao signatures. Reporters hovering nearby with floating cameras. Security drones scanning every individual for instability.
Today was Assessment Day.
The day potential was awakened.
Or banished.
---
Ren stood at the bottom of the Academy's wide staircase.
For a moment, he just looked up.
The building felt impossibly large. Impossibly distant.
His clothes were still damp from the puddle. Mud had dried along his sleeves despite Aunt Mimi's efforts. Oil stains darkened the edges of his jacket. And the smell—he noticed it now. It clung to him.
He stepped forward anyway.
The closer he got, the more conversations quieted. Eyes shifted. Wrinkles formed in noses. Whispers followed.
"Why is someone like that here?"
"Is he homeless?"
"Assessment is for awakened youths, not beggars."
A woman dressed in polished silk covered her mouth with a perfumed handkerchief. "What is this? Does the Academy not screen applicants anymore?"
Another woman beside her replied calmly, though her gaze was sharp. "The Academy is impartial. If even a beggar awakens a Dao, they accept them. If the Academy accepts a beggar, even the beggar can rise and become a dragon overnight."
She paused, then added with a faint smile, "But dragons do not hatch from mud."
Soft laughter.
Ren kept walking.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
"Tch." A teenage boy in clean Academy preparatory attire scoffed loudly. "Look at him. Fifteen? Sixteen? If he hasn't awakened by now, he's probably here for his second failure."
"Must be a Null."
"Smells like one too."
More laughter. Someone pinched their nose exaggeratedly as Ren passed.
"Move further away, beggar. You reek."
Ren didn't react. Didn't look at them. Didn't defend himself.
He had heard worse.
Words were lighter than wind. And wind didn't hurt as much as emptiness.
Inside his stomach, the hunger shifted. Not violently. Just… aware.
The closer he got to the Academy entrance, the heavier the air felt. Like dozens—no, hundreds—of Dao signatures brushing against something inside him.
It stirred.
Then quieted.
---
The reception hall was vast.
White floors polished to mirror sheen. Tall pillars carved with symbols representing known Dao paths—Fire, Wind, Metal, Ocean, Earth, Gravity. Digital panels floated midair, displaying applicant numbers.
"Registration here," a mechanical voice announced periodically.
Ren joined the queue.
It was long. Orderly. Bright.
And he was the only one who looked like he had crawled out of a drainage canal.
He felt every stare. Every judgment.
But he stood still.
If he left now, he would always have doubts about himself.
When it was finally his turn, a receptionist glanced up. Her eyes flicked to his clothes. Then to his face. Then to the computer.
"Name?"
"Ren."
She typed.
"Age?"
"Fifteen."
She paused slightly at that. A late awakener?
A faint tapping sound echoed as she processed his ID chip. Her expression neutralized into professionalism.
"You are here for final awakening confirmation."
Not a question. A statement.
Ren nodded.
She slid a thin metallic tag across the counter. "Number Seventeen."
The number glowed faint blue in his palm. It felt colder than it should.
"Proceed to Arena Three," she said without looking at him again. "Wait for your call."
Ren stepped away.
Arena Three.
He walked down a wide corridor lined with glass panels. Inside each chamber, students trained. Flames spiraled in controlled arcs. Winds compressed into visible blades. Metal floated midair under invisible force.
Daos.
Power.
Everywhere.
The hunger inside him reacted again. Sharper this time. Like something smelling a feast.
Ren pressed his palm lightly against his abdomen. "…Not now."
He reached the entrance to Arena Three.
Massive circular doors slid open silently.
Inside—a testing arena large enough to hold a stadium crowd. Spectator seats rising in tiers. Evaluation platforms arranged in the center. Instructors in formal Academy robes standing like judges.
Other candidates waited nervously. Some covered with aura. Some whispered prayers. Some stood confidently.
Ren walked to the back.
His tag flickered. 17.
Above the arena, a digital board displayed: CURRENT NUMBER: 12
Ren took a slow breath.
Five more before him.
He looked around. So many candidates. So many destinies about to be made.
And him—standing here in dried mud.
Possibly for the last time.
---
Number 13 flashed across the hovering screen.
Ren's eyes narrowed slightly.
A thin boy stepped onto the arena platform. His shoulders were stiff, jaw clenched like he was walking toward a verdict rather than a test.
The examiner approached without ceremony. A metallic bracer—sleek, matte black, etched with faint runic circuits—was strapped onto the boy's wrist. A translucent screen unfolded from the device, scanning pulses of light traveling up his arm, across his spine, into his skull.
Silence.
A single dull tone echoed.
The examiner's voice was flat.
"Number 13. Derek."
A pause.
"No Dao detected."
A longer pause.
"Classification: Null."
The word dropped like a stone.
A ripple moved through the arena. Some students stiffened, their knuckles whitening. Some whispered. Some laughed.
A Null.
In 2035, that meant ordinary. No power. No access to the Academy. No protection. In a world where monsters prowled beyond city shields and Dao decided your future, being Null was a slow social death.
Derek lowered his head and stepped off the stage. No one looked him in the eye.
"Number 14."
A taller youth jogged up, trying to look confident. The same device. The same silence.
Then—a pulse of green light flared.
The scanner chimed sharply.
The examiner's eyes flicked across the reading.
"Number 14. Amota."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Awakened Dao: Beast."
A small murmur of excitement.
"Affinity: 66 percent."
The screen brightened.
"C Grade."
A beat.
"Congratulations. Proceed to the secondary arena for Academy enrollment."
Applause burst out.
Amota let out a breath he'd clearly been holding. His hands trembled—not from fear, but exhilaration. Sixty-six percent wasn't elite, but it meant combat potential. It meant joining the Academy. It meant stepping onto the path of Eternals.
He bowed slightly and hurried toward the next arena gate, where instructors in black coats waited.
The testing continued.
Numbers 15… 16… Minor awakenings. Low affinities. Some cheers. Some sighs.
Then—
"Number 16."
A small figure walked forward.
She couldn't have been older than twelve.
Her dark blue hair flowed softly over her shoulders, catching light like polished silk. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, but her features were sharp in a way that hinted at future brilliance. It was the kind of face that, given a few years, could overturn kingdoms.
Yet it wasn't her beauty that silenced the crowd.
It was her eyes.
Calm. Steady. Far too mature for her age.
The examiner placed the device on her wrist. Routine. Casual.
Then—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound grew louder. Faster.
The device vibrated violently, runes blazing electric blue.
The examiner's pupils shrank.
The scanning panel flashed crimson before stabilizing into a blinding silver display.
Gasps erupted.
The examiner swallowed. His voice trembled.
"Number 16… Bai Xiyu."
The name alone stirred movement in the stands.
"Awakened Dao… Thunder."
An elderly instructor in the front row exhaled slowly. "The Dao of Thunder stands above most elements—its wielders command raw destructive power as fierce as thunder itself, and move with speed that rivals lightning."
The examiner continued, his voice almost breaking, "Affinity… ninety-three percent."
Silence.
Then he almost shouted—"S Grade!"
The arena exploded.
"What?! Ninety-three percent?!"
"S Class?!"
"That's Demi-God tier!"
Another voice yelled, "Another god has been born!"
"Do you even know what S Grade means? Those are called Demi-Gods!"
"Insane! We witnessed it live!"
Someone in the back gasped, "Bai? Bai Xiyu? Is she from the Bai Family?"
"The Bai Family? One of the top three elite families in the country?"
"Yes! It's her! The precious granddaughter of Bai Wang!"
"Bai Wang? The General who slaughtered entire monster hordes during the Southern Breach?!"
"That Bai Wang?!"
"That's an Eternal bloodline!"
The air itself seemed charged, faint sparks dancing around the girl's fingertips as if responding to the collective awe.
Yet Bai Xiyu did not smile.
She simply looked forward. Unmoved. As if ninety-three percent was expected. As if this was merely the first step.
The examiner took a steadying breath, forcing composure back onto his face. His hands were still shaking.
He bowed slightly—an unconscious gesture of respect.
"Please proceed to the secondary arena."
She nodded once and walked forward. The crowd parted instinctively.
Another examiner stepped up to replace the stunned one.
The screen flickered again.
"Number 17."
The test continued.
But everyone knew—the atmosphere had changed.
A Demi-God had just awakened.
---
The cheers for Bai Xiyu still echoed through the arena.
Ren stood frozen among the crowd, heart pounding.
Ninety-three percent. Thunder Dao. Demi-God.
For a moment, he had forgotten he was even here.
Then—
"Next! Number 17!"
The shout cut through the noise like a blade.
Ren's stomach dropped.
That was him.
His legs felt heavy as iron as he stepped forward. The candidate before him had just shaken the entire arena. Following a Demi-God was the worst possible timing. Expectations were high. Emotions were raw. Comparisons inevitable.
Every step toward the platform felt longer than the last.
His palms were damp. His thoughts spiraled.
If I awaken something… anything… Aunt Mimi won't have to struggle anymore.
If I get into the Academy… I can protect her.
He stepped onto the arena.
The cheers had died down, replaced by mild curiosity. No one expected lightning twice in one day.
In front of him stood an examiner in a white coat, thin-framed glasses resting neatly on his nose. Unlike the previous examiner, this one looked calm—almost detached.
"Are you ready, Ren?" the man asked evenly.
Ren lifted his head. His throat was dry.
"Yes, sir."
The device clasped onto his wrist.
Cold metal.
The runes activated.
Light pulsed up his arm.
The arena quieted.
Ren shut his eyes.
Please.
A faint hum.
The scanning panel flickered once. Twice.
Then—
A flat tone.
No glow. No resonance.
The examiner glanced at the screen, expression unreadable.
He spoke clearly, voice amplified across the arena.
"Number 17. Ren."
A pause that felt eternal.
"No Dao detected."
Ren's heart stopped.
"Classification: Null."
The word echoed louder than any cheer before it.
A few people sighed. Some shook their heads. A couple of muted chuckles from the back rows.
Ren didn't hear most of it.
Inside his mind, something shattered.
Null.
That meant no more Academy. No more path to becoming an Eternal. No chance to stand against monsters. No way to rise above the life he and Aunt Mimi were trapped in.
He had never dared to dream too high.
But he had hoped.
Even a D Grade. Even a weak Dao.
Something. Anything.
His fingers curled into fists.
For a second, he waited. For the device to glitch. For it to beep again. For a miracle.
Nothing came.
The examiner unclipped the device.
"You may leave the stage."
Professional and indifferent—that was how the examiner spoke to Ren.
Ren nodded stiffly. His legs moved on their own as he stepped down from the platform. The world felt distant, like he was walking underwater.
Each step away from the arena felt heavier than the one before.
Behind him, the examiner adjusted his glasses.
And for the briefest moment—
A faint smirk curved at the corner of his lips.
So subtle it was nearly invisible. So controlled it was perfect.
No one in the roaring arena noticed.
No one—
But Ren felt it for a second—the ominous feeling crawling up his spine.
To be continued.