Thirty-four days.
Caius stared at the notification until Kaelan’s hand on his shoulder tightened, pulling him back into the present moment, back into the crowded Academy courtyard where students in various House colors streamed past them toward the orientation hall, utterly unaware that a countdown toward genre-defining catastrophe had just started ticking somewhere in the cosmic fabric of their world.
“Caius,” Isolde said quietly, her sharp eyes reading the shock plastered across his face with obvious concern.
“What did you just see.”
“A countdown,” Caius said numbly.
“Thirty-four days until the bloodline fully awakens. Not months. Weeks.”
Isolde’s expression hardened into something grim and calculating.
“Then we no longer have the luxury of a gradual approach.”
“We don’t have the luxury of much of anything,” Caius muttered, forcing himself to breathe through the mounting panic.
Thirty-four days to somehow reach every heroine destined for the game’s opening act, to somehow build enough strength to survive whatever confrontation eventually followed, to somehow navigate a Council observer who happened to be the exact target he needed to save, all while the reincarnated God of Light apparently already suspected something was different about him.
“You should attend orientation,” Kaelan said, his voice carrying unusual gentleness given the circumstances.
“Whatever’s coming, you’ll need every resource this Academy provides. Standing here paralyzed accomplishes nothing.”
He was right, infuriatingly practical as always, and Caius forced his legs to carry him toward the orientation hall alongside the rest of the incoming cohort, Isolde falling into step beside him with the kind of protective proximity that suggested their earlier provisional truce had solidified into something slightly more genuine over the course of the day’s revelations.
The orientation hall was a cavernous chamber beneath one of the Academy’s central spires, its vaulted ceiling painted with an elaborate mural depicting the Thirteen Major Gods in various poses of divine judgment.
Hundreds of incoming students filled the tiered seating, sorted loosely by House affiliation and expected magical aptitude, and Caius found himself seated near the back alongside several other minor noble scions whose families apparently lacked the political weight to secure prominent placement.
A stern-faced instructor in Academy administrative robes took the central podium as the hall settled into relative quiet, her voice carrying easily through some manner of amplification enchantment woven into the chamber’s architecture.
“Welcome, incoming cohort, to the Divine Academy’s ninety-third enrollment term,” she announced.
“Before your formal placement evaluations begin, I remind you all that the Academy operates under strict meritocratic principle. Regardless of bloodline or noble standing, your position within this institution’s hierarchy will be determined entirely by demonstrated Blessed capability and academic performance.”
A ripple of murmured skepticism ran through portions of the crowd, apparently a common enough sentiment that even Caius, brand new to this entire system, could recognize the instructor’s statement as more aspirational ideal than lived reality.
“Placement evaluations will occur this afternoon in the combat arena,” the instructor continued.
“Each student will demonstrate their current Blessed capabilities before a panel of Academy instructors, who will determine appropriate class assignments and mentor pairings based on individual aptitude.” Her eyes swept across the assembled cohort with clinical thoroughness.
“I remind you that public evaluation carries considerable weight in this institution’s social hierarchy. Perform accordingly.” Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Caius’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
A public demonstration of his current combat capability, in front of the entire incoming cohort, including presumably Ellric Lumaris and whatever other heroines and rivals populated the game’s opening chapters, felt like exactly the wrong kind of attention to court given his desperate need to remain unremarkable while he actually figured out a coherent strategy.
“You’re worried about the evaluation,” Isolde observed quietly beside him, reading his tension with unsettling accuracy.
“I have a whip made of ash and a passive smoke concealment skill,” Caius said dryly.
“Against students who’ve spent their entire lives training with elemental magic capable of leveling courtyards. I’m not exactly worried about failing to impress. I’m worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
“Then perform adequately, not exceptionally,” Isolde advised.
“Enough to avoid being dismissed as genuinely useless, not enough to draw unnecessary scrutiny.” She paused.
“Though given everything that transpired this morning, I suspect a degree of scrutiny is already unavoidable regardless of how you perform.”
She wasn’t wrong.
By the time the assembled cohort filed out toward the Academy’s massive combat arena an hour later, Caius could already feel the weight of curious, evaluating stares following him through the crowd, whispered fragments of conversation carrying just loudly enough for him to catch words like Enforcer and evaluation and Heretic drifting through the assembled students.
The combat arena itself was an enormous open amphitheater, tiered seating rising in concentric rings around a wide circular floor marked with faded scorch patterns from countless previous evaluations.
A panel of six instructors sat at the arena’s edge, and Caius spotted Seraphina seated slightly apart from the main student seating, her pale eyes tracking his arrival with obvious, deliberate attention.
Ellric sat several rows behind her, surrounded by a cluster of noble students who all seemed to orbit him with the same easy, magnetic gravity Caius remembered from the courtyard, and his golden eyes found Caius almost immediately, tracking his progress toward the evaluation floor with unhurried, patient interest.
Evaluations proceeded in alphabetical order by House name, and Caius watched with growing unease as student after student demonstrated increasingly impressive Blessed capabilities.
A young man from House Corvain summoned a swirling vortex of shadow capable of blinding an entire section of the arena.
A girl from House Emberlyn conjured a wall of solid flame that scorched permanent black marks into the arena floor.
By the time the evaluations reached House Draxos, Caius had thoroughly internalized exactly how unremarkable his own capabilities were going to appear by comparison.
“Caius Draxos,” the lead instructor called, her voice carrying flat, professional neutrality across the arena.
“Step forward.”
Caius forced himself onto the evaluation floor, acutely aware of hundreds of curious eyes tracking his every movement, and summoned Ember Lash, the familiar cinder whip crackling to life in his palm.
A quiet murmur rippled through the assembled crowd, and Caius caught fragments of dismissive whispers, an Ash contract and a weapon skill instead of proper elemental magic, drifting down from the tiered seating with barely concealed contempt. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Demonstrate your capabilities against the evaluation constructs,” the lead instructor said, gesturing toward three animated training dummies that rose from hidden mechanisms in the arena floor, their crude wooden forms already shifting into aggressive combat stances.
Caius engaged the first construct with practiced technique, three days of Var’s brutal instruction translating into clean, efficient strikes that dispatched the wooden dummy with considerably more grace than his raw stats alone should have allowed.
The second construct fell almost as quickly, Cinder Step carrying him around its clumsy swing before Ember Lash caught it across its wooden torso.
The third construct, larger and considerably more coordinated than the first two, came at him with genuine aggressive intent, and Caius felt a familiar surge of adrenaline as he threw himself into the exchange, deflecting a heavy strike with his whip before countering with a rapid combination that Var had drilled into muscle memory across their exhausting training sessions.
[Notification: Ash Affinity has increased to Level 8]
The construct finally collapsed under a final decisive strike, and Caius stepped back, breathing hard, sweat beading along his hairline despite the arena’s cool afternoon air.
The lead instructor studied him for a long moment, exchanging a brief, unreadable glance with her fellow panel members before speaking.
“Combat technique considerably above expectation for an Ash-blessed candidate. Raw elemental output remains modest, but demonstrated tactical proficiency merits provisional placement into the intermediate combat cohort, pending further evaluation.”
It wasn’t the humiliating dismissal Caius had braced himself for, but it wasn’t glowing praise either, a careful, deliberately measured assessment that seemed calculated to avoid drawing further attention to whatever unusual circumstances already surrounded his enrollment.
As Caius made his way back toward the student seating, he caught Seraphina’s pale eyes tracking him with renewed, focused interest, something calculating shifting behind her composed expression.
Ellric’s gaze remained fixed on him as well, and this time, the warm, magnetic smile had faded entirely into something far more contemplative.
Before Caius could reach his seat, a sharp, resonant chime echoed through the arena, and the assembled cohort’s murmured conversation died instantly as every instructor on the panel rose simultaneously to their feet, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality into something considerably more alarmed.
“All students, remain seated,” the lead instructor announced, her voice suddenly carrying an edge of barely controlled tension.
“The Academy’s outer wards have just registered an unauthorized Heretical intrusion within the capital city limits.”
A wave of alarmed murmurs swept through the assembled cohort, and Caius felt his blood run cold as a fresh notification flickered into existence behind his eyes, confirming his worst, immediate suspicion.
[Warning: Heretical Signature Detected. Classification: Choir of Cinders.]
[Warning: Signature Proximity: Divine Academy – Central District.]
The Choir hadn’t given up after their failed ambush in the mountain pass.
They’d simply followed him all the way to the capital.