The translucent display stabilized in glowing clarity, lines of text and ranking positions unfolding across its surface. Nas appeared in structured order, revealing the placents of the remaining ninety second-year students.
The reaction was imdiate and deeply human.
So students leaned forward hard enough to nearly stand.
Others searched frantically.
One boy near the middle visibly sagged with relief.
Another stared in utter disbelief.
Several whispered sharply to those beside them.
A few second-years looked smug.
A few looked crushed.
A few looked as though they were doing ntal arithtic to understand how exactly they had ended up where they had.
Mystica, standing at the pulpit, watched all of it with serene amusent.
She did not rush them.
That was not her style.
She gave them enough ti to find their nas, confirm their positions, compare them to expectation, and begin processing what the results actually ant.
On the stage behind her, the other authoritative figures remained composed.
Kaelen stood with his usual stoicism.
Regulus looked utterly unsurprised by whatever he was seeing.
Seraphina’s lips held the faintest trace of satisfaction, as though the anxiety below was one more entertaining feature of the day.
Kaine looked as if none of this could possibly interest him in the slightest, though whether that was true remained uncertain.
Magnus, for his part, had a more readable sort of quiet interest about him.
The third-years also looked on calmly, so of them no doubt searching the projection out of curiosity, noting who had climbed, who had fallen, and who among the second-years might prove troubleso or impressive in the year to co.
Eventually, once it seed clear enough students had taken in what they needed to, Mystica flicked her fingers again.
The magical screen dissolved instantly, vanishing into stray particles of light.
A wave of small murmurs threatened to rise, but the hall quieted itself almost at once when Mystica returned her full attention to the crowd.
"And now," she said, turning her gaze toward the first-year section, "it is your turn."
If the second-years had been tense before, the first-years sohow looked even worse now.
There was sothing uniquely brutal about the first ranking after enrollnt. These were not students shifting position within an already familiar structure. These were students having their place within the academy truly established for the first ti after living, fighting, and surviving beside one another long enough to understand what those positions actually ant.
The first-year section quieted so completely that the room almost seed to listen with them.
Mystica smiled.
"Just like before," she said, "we will proceed from the bottom of the top ten upward."
Then she began.
"Rank ten..."
The pause was brief.
"...Erica Roswell."
The effect was imdiate.
A visible wave of shock passed through a large portion of the first-year students.
So turned toward Erica almost instantly.
Others simply blinked.
Because that was not a na many of them had expected to hear so early within the top ten.
Erica Roswell had entered the academy ranked far below the highest tier of students. She had not even been placed within the first twenty-five when the year began. And while people had certainly noticed her progress since then—especially those who had paid attention during training and evaluation—it was still a dramatic climb.
More than dramatic.
It was the kind of climb people rembered.
For a mont Erica herself looked almost stunned, as though hearing her own na spoken aloud in that context had taken half a second to truly register. Then applause began rising around her.
It started polite.
Then strengthened.
Whatever surprise the first-years felt, many of them clearly understood what it took to rise that far.
Mystica’s voice followed with asured grace.
"Erica Roswell," she said, "your growth has not gone unnoticed. A strong rise earned through effort, adaptability, and performance under pressure."
Erica stood enough to acknowledge the recognition, still looking sowhat overwheld, before sitting again.
The tension in the first-year section only intensified after that.
If tenth place had gone to Erica...
Then what exactly did the rest of the top ten look like?
Mystica gave them no ti to dwell too long.
"Rank nine..."
Her eyes remained on the first-years.
"...Lucian Kellor."
That na drew a different reaction.
This one was familiar.
Lucian Kellor—one of Chris’s more visible companions during earlier stretches of the year, though notably less so since the students had returned to the academy about a month ago. He had once been seen clearly among that circle, but ti and events had shifted things. Even so, his strength had never really been in doubt.
So students looked surprised to see him at nine rather than higher.
But only sowhat.
Because everyone in that hall knew there were monsters in this year.
And if Lucian had dropped, then it likely said as much about the strength above him as it did about any weakness in him.
Applause followed, steady and respectful.
Lucian accepted it with contained composure.
Mystica moved on.
"Rank eight..."
There was a pause just long enough to sharpen every nerve in the first-year rows.
"...Ariana rdin."
That one earned a stronger response.
Ariana’s eyes widened slightly before warmth spread across her expression almost imdiately. She looked genuinely caught off guard for a second, then happy—brightly, sincerely happy in a way that felt completely natural to her.
The applause that t her na felt deserved.
Most of the first-years who had witnessed the sparring matches two days ago, or who had simply paid attention to her growth throughout the year, could not honestly deny that Ariana had earned her place among the top ten. Her level of mastery, her magical control, and the power she had displayed had left a real impression.
Even so second-years were watching her with fresh interest now.
Ariana glanced once toward Sheila almost reflexively, then back toward the stage as she acknowledged the recognition.
Mystica inclined her head slightly.
"Ariana rdin," she said, "recognized for magical refinent, effective control, and a performance strong enough to secure your place here."
Ariana sat back down, visibly pleased, while Sheila offered her a quiet smile.
Mystica continued.
"Rank seven..."
The hall held its breath again.
"...Maxwell Samson."
The response here was more restrained on the surface, yet there was an unmistakable recognition moving through the first-year section. Maxwell was not always the loudest presence, nor the most flashy. But among those who actually understood what they were looking at—especially among students familiar with Enhancent Magic—his capability had long been clear.
He rose with controlled calm, though the slightest stiffness in his expression suggested he had indeed been waiting for this mont with more tension than he wanted to show.
The applause was respectable, even if not especially loud.
But that did not lessen what it ant.
Among the first-years who specialized in Enhancent Magic, Maxwell stood above the others. That much was known, whether people chose to say it openly or not.
Mystica’s acknowledgnt was brief and fitting.
"Maxwell Samson," she said, "ranked through consistency, discipline, and superiority within your field."
Maxwell gave a small nod and sat again.
Dylan, a few seats away, wore a grin that clearly suggested he intended to be annoying about this later.
Mystica continued.
"Rank six..."
The tension had now beco almost unbearable in so corners of the first-year section.
"...Dylan Wellington."
That drew a much livelier reaction.
There were first-years who cheered. A few second-years too. Even so third-years reacted with knowing amusent at the ntion of the blond archer’s na.
Dylan was known across nearly the entire student body.
Not just among the first-years.
Not just within his own circles.
But across the academy itself.
He was well known for many things—his easygoing personality, his endless jokes, his complete refusal to behave with proper dignity when left unsupervised, and of course, his infuriating tendency to act like a perverted idiot whenever the opportunity presented itself.
But beneath all of that nonsense, there was another truth many students understood.
Dylan Wellington was no joke when it ca to a bow.
Within the first-year class, there was little real argunt about that.
He was the best archer in the year.
And depending on who one asked, perhaps one of the best in the academy outright if properly pushed.
Dylan himself looked delighted.
He sat up straighter with a grin that bordered on shaless pride as applause rang around him.
Maxwell looked like he regretted sitting anywhere near him.
Charlotte, from behind, seed faintly amused.
Mystica watched him with a look that suggested she was very aware of exactly what kind of student she was acknowledging.
"Dylan Wellington," she said smoothly, "recognized for outstanding ranged combat performance, adaptability, and a level of precision difficult to ignore no matter how distracting the rest of you may find him."
That drew the faintest ripple of restrained laughter through the hall.
Dylan, naturally, looked absurdly pleased with himself.
Then Mystica let the sound settle.
Her gaze passed slowly over the hall once more.
The first-years had now heard half of the top ten.
Shock still lingered from Erica’s rise.
Recognition had followed Lucian, Ariana, Maxwell, and Dylan in different asures.
But now only five nas remained.
And everyone knew what that ant.
The strongest tension of all still lay ahead.
Mystica allowed the silence to sharpen.
Then, with a faint smile and the sort of composure only she could make feel dangerous, she said,
"And now..."
She paused.
"...it is ti for the top five."
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