The massive gates of Étheria Central Academy closed behind the candidates.
The excitement that had filled the courtyard only minutes earlier slowly faded as the arena came into view.
One hundred and fifty candidates stood before it.
Some were visibly nervous.
Others wore looks of quiet confidence.
A few were already sizing up the students around them, searching for their future opponents.
Arven stood among them with Elyan, staring up at the enormous arena.
“So this is where the tournament will take place…” Elyan smiled.
“Looks like it.” Arven glanced at him.
“You don’t seem nervous.” Elyan shrugged.
“Why would I be?” Arven laughed.
“You’ve been waiting for this day just like me.” “Exactly.” Elyan’s gaze drifted toward the academy.
“And I’m not planning on losing.” Before Arven could answer, a powerful magical bell rang out across the academy.
Boooooong!
The conversations died instantly.
The Director stepped onto the main platform.
Behind him stood the academy’s Great Mages — Kael, Selene, and Darian among them.
Kael’s eyes moved slowly across the one hundred and fifty candidates: a new generation, born five years after Raizen’s departure.
The Director raised his hand.
“Candidates.” Every eye turned toward him.
“Today, one hundred and fifty young mages have gathered to attempt entry into Étheria Central Academy.” He paused.
“However, not everyone standing here will become a student.” The atmosphere grew heavier.
“The entrance examination will consist of three stages.” He raised one finger.
“First, the written examination.” A second finger.
“Second, the magical power test.” He raised a third.
“And finally…
the selection tournament.” Excitement rippled through the crowd.
Arven’s eyes brightened; beside him, Elyan smiled.
“Each candidate will participate in two tournament battles,” the Director continued, and a murmur passed through the crowd.
“Your first battle will determine whether you’re capable of surviving the competition.
Your second will determine whether you possess the potential required to become a student of this academy.” His gaze swept over them.
“Your opponent will be chosen by the academy.
No candidate will choose their own.” His expression hardened.
“And remember: victory does not mean killing your opponent.
The academy will immediately halt any battle that grows too dangerous.” He lowered his hand.
“Those who fail both battles will be eliminated.
Those who succeed will continue.” A fresh wave of nerves swept through the candidates.
Arven turned to Elyan.
“Two battles.” Elyan nodded.
“Then we’d better win both.” The Written Examination The candidates were led into a huge examination hall, where one hundred and fifty desks had been arranged in neat rows.
Arven took his seat; Elyan sat several desks away.
An examiner placed a sheet of paper on every desk.
“You have one hour.” He looked around the room.
“No talking.
No magic.
No cheating.” He turned the paper face-up.
“Begin.” The room fell silent.
Arven turned over his sheet.
Name the five great countries of Étheria.
He wrote without hesitation: Valthera.
Drakoria.
Zeraphia.
Celesthane.
Abyssara.
He moved on.
The questions covered magical theory, ancient history, magical creatures, and the different races of Étheria.
One caught his attention: What was the name of the great war that occurred three thousand years ago?
The War of Glory, he wrote — the war of the Golden Age, when humans, dragons, elves, angels, and demons had clashed in a conflict that reshaped the history of the world.
He kept working, calm and steady; he’d studied for this exam for years.
Across the room, though, Elyan was staring at his own paper with an increasingly grim expression.
“Why are there so many questions?” he whispered.
The examiner’s head snapped toward him.
“Silence.” Elyan ducked his head.
“Sorry.” Arven bit back a smile.
An hour later, the examiner raised his hand.
“Stop writing.” The candidates set down their pens.
The first stage was over.
The Magical Power Test The candidates were brought into another chamber, where a huge crystal floated at the center, ringed by ancient runes.
“This crystal will measure your magical energy and your control,” the examiner explained.
One candidate after another stepped forward.
Some produced only weak flickers; others triggered bursts of light.
“Elyan Draven.” Arven glanced at his friend.
Elyan rose.
“So that’s my turn.” “Good luck, Elyan.” “Thanks.” He walked to the crystal.
The room quieted as he placed his hand against it.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then— Boom!
A powerful wave of magical energy exploded from the crystal.
Several candidates staggered backward as it flared bright.
The examiner’s eyes widened.
“Excellent control.” Elyan pulled his hand back and looked over at Arven with a grin.
Arven gave him a thumbs-up.
“Not bad.” “Of course,” Elyan laughed.
Neither of them knew what he carried.
Elyan’s grandfather had descended from a legendary warrior who had lived three thousand years before — the Hero of the Golden Age, the greatest swordsman of his era, a man whose mastery of the blade had become nearly impossible to reproduce.
Elyan was the Hero’s heir.
And without knowing it yet, he was becoming this generation’s new Hero.
“Arven Valerius.” Arven walked to the crystal and placed his hand against it.
Nothing happened.
Whispers broke out among the candidates.
“Is that all?” “Maybe his power is weak.” Arven frowned and held his hand steady.
Then— Tick.
The crystal trembled.
For a fraction of a second, everything around him seemed to slow — a single mote of dust hung frozen in the air — before time snapped back to normal.
The crystal pulsed once, strangely, and the examiner stared at it in silence.
Arven pulled his hand away.
“What happened?” The examiner didn’t answer.
Among the Great Mages, Kael’s eyes narrowed.
He’d felt something — something strange, something tied to time itself — gone before he could grasp it.
“Interesting…” The Director’s gaze lingered on Arven a moment longer.
“Next.” Arven returned to the candidates.
“That was strange,” Elyan said.
“I know.” “Do you know what you did?” “No.” Elyan smiled.
“Then we’ll find out eventually.” The Selection Tournament The candidates were brought into the main arena, where a massive magical barrier now surrounded the battlefield.
The Director stood above them.
“The first two stages are complete,” he said.
“Now begins the final stage: the tournament.” One hundred and fifty candidates.
Each would fight two battles.
Only those who proved themselves in both would have a chance to enter the academy.
The display above the arena flared to life.
Names began to appear.
MATCH ONE: ELYAN DRAVEN VS.
MARCUS VALEN Elyan’s expression turned serious as he read the board.
“Looks like you’re first,” Arven said.
“I’ll be back.” Elyan stepped into the arena.
His opponent approached, a large sword slung over one shoulder.
“You don’t look very strong,” Marcus said.
Elyan didn’t answer.
The examiner raised his hand.
“Begin!” Marcus charged immediately, bringing his sword down with tremendous force.
Clang!
Elyan blocked, the impact driving him back a step.
The crowd reacted.
Marcus grinned.
“You’re stronger than you look.” Elyan studied his sword, then shifted his stance.
His expression settled into something calm — and the air around him seemed to change with it.
Arven caught it at once.
That stance…
Elyan took one step, then another.
Marcus lunged again; Elyan slipped past the strike, his blade sliding by without touching him.
Marcus spun around.
“What—” Elyan was already behind him, the edge of his sword stopped a few centimeters from Marcus’s neck.
The examiner’s hand shot up.
“Victory!” The crowd erupted.
Elyan lowered his blade as Marcus stared at him, stunned.
“How…?” “You were too slow,” Elyan said, and walked away.
“You’re enjoying this,” Arven laughed as his friend returned.
“Maybe a little.” The Sword of the Hero From the Great Mage platform, Kael watched Elyan with quiet intensity.
“That swordsmanship…” “What is it?” Selene asked.
Kael said nothing at first.
He’d seen countless sword techniques in his life, but there was something different here — Elyan’s movements weren’t simply fast.
They were precise.
Perfectly controlled.
Darian crossed his arms.
“That boy has unusual talent.” “Very unusual,” Kael agreed.
Elyan rejoined Arven below.
“One down.” “One more.” “Exactly.” Above them, the display changed again, and again, as the tournament wore on.
Some candidates won; others were eliminated; the level of the battles kept climbing.
Arven watched every match closely, memorizing movements, magic types, sword techniques, weaknesses — not just watching, but studying.
Then the arena fell quiet as a new name appeared.
MATCH TWELVE: ARVEN VALERIUS VS.
RYLAN VOSS Arven stared at the board.
“Your turn,” Elyan said.
Arven rose slowly and looked toward the arena, his heart picking up speed.
He’d waited years for this moment.
As he walked forward, Kael’s eyes followed him; the Director stayed silent.
“Candidates ready?” the examiner called.
Arven drew his sword.
Across from him, Rylan raised a hand, and magical energy began gathering around it.
The examiner’s hand fell.
“Begin!” Rylan attacked at once.
Arven blocked.
Clang!
The impact echoed across the arena.
The battle had begun — and for the first time, Arven Valerius was about to show the world what he could do.
To Be Continued…