The hall fell into a deeper silence than before.
It was no longer the ordinary quiet of students listening because they were expected to. This was the kind of silence born from sharpened anticipation. By now the first-year class had already heard ranks ten through six, and that alone had stirred enough surprise, tension, and speculation to keep every mind in Beacon Hall fully awake.
Now only five nas remained.
And almost everyone knew that the atmosphere had changed.
Because these were not just excellent students.
These were the monsters of the year.
All across the first-year section, shoulders were tighter, eyes more focused, and breathing just a little more controlled than usual. Even those who had nothing to gain anymore from the rankings—the second-years and especially the third-years—remained attentive. A few among the older students had already begun guessing the order in their heads. Others had their own expectations based on what they had observed during the evaluations, the training sessions, and the sparring matches.
Among the first-years, most already had certain nas in mind.
Nas that had beco impossible to ignore no matter how much so people may have wanted to.
Sheila Granger.
Charlotte Raven.
Chris Rature.
Asher Hawthorne.
Liam Hunter.
The only real question now was not whether they belonged in the top five.
It was how exactly they would be ordered.
Mystica stood at the pulpit and watched the entire hall with that sa composed, faintly amused expression. Her violet eyes moved slowly across the sea of students, and it was painfully obvious she could feel exactly how tuned in they all were now.
The nervousness.
The curiosity.
The resistance.
The certainty.
The denial.
All of it.
For a few long seconds, she said nothing at all.
And in doing so, she made the silence heavier.
Then, just when the tension had been stretched enough to make it bite, Mystica finally spoke.
"Rank five."
Her voice glided across the hall like silk drawn over a blade.
"...Charlotte Raven."
The reaction was imdiate.
Not explosive.
Not chaotic.
But sharply noticeable.
A visible stir went through much of the first-year section, and even so second-years exchanged glances. The surprise did not co from the fact that Charlotte had made the top five. That part was expected. There was no serious argunt to be made against her belonging among the strongest students of the year.
The surprise ca from the number itself.
Five.
That was what threw people.
Charlotte Raven had entered the academy with an already formidable reputation among her peers. She had been ranked within the upper echelon from the start, and her presence alone had never really allowed anyone to forget her. To most boys in the first-year class, and even to so among the second-years, Charlotte was the kind of girl who existed half as fantasy and half as frustration. Beautiful in an almost dangerous way, seductive without even trying, and perfectly aware of how much influence her looks had over the weak-minded.
Many boys dread of dating her.
So wanted her attention.
Others had been stupid enough to let themselves get manipulated by nothing more than a smile and a few carefully chosen words.
That part of Charlotte was well known.
But there was another part of her the academy understood just as clearly.
She was strong.
Absurdly so.
Even when she acted lazy. Even when she looked bored. Even when she moved like she couldn’t be bothered to exert herself unless absolutely necessary, there was always a lingering awareness among those around her that Charlotte Raven was a monster in her own right.
Which was exactly why rank five felt lower than many had expected.
From several areas of the hall, the reaction was almost identical.
Really? Fifth?
So students frowned faintly.
Others looked thoughtful rather than shocked, already trying to rationalize the result.
A few quickly concluded that Charlotte’s tendency to slack off—particularly during the combat evaluations—had likely cost her a higher placent. She had undeniably perford well during the survival phases. In fact, many believed she had dominated those trials far more thoroughly than most people realized.
But combat was still part of the evaluation, and effort mattered.
Then again, so wondered whether perhaps her placent in the group trial had not been as overwhelming as expected.
Whatever the reason, the conclusion was still the sa.
Even if fifth seed a little lower than many had guessed, it did not an the ranking was weak.
It simply ant that the students above her were likely even more deserving.
Charlotte herself, seated among the first-years, did not look particularly bothered.
If anything, she looked almost mildly entertained.
A small, knowing curve tugged at her lips as applause began to ripple through the hall. It was a strong enough response, though not as loud as it might have been had she landed in the top three.
Mystica inclined her head slightly.
"Charlotte Raven," she said smoothly, "recognized for exceptional capability, overwhelming natural talent, and performance more than sufficient to secure your place among the strongest of your year... even despite a certain visible lack of enthusiasm when effort beca optional."
That line earned the faintest restrained ripple through the hall.
Charlotte’s smile deepened slightly, but she offered no protest.
She rose just enough to acknowledge the recognition, then sat down again with graceful calm, looking entirely too relaxed for soone who had just been publicly called out and praised in the sa breath.
Mystica waited for the applause to die.
Then she continued.
"Rank four."
The first-year section tightened again.
"...Chris Rature."
That caused a different kind of reaction.
This ti the surprise was sharper.
Not because Chris did not belong in the top five—he very obviously did—but because for so, rank four felt too low, while for others, it still sohow felt too high.
Chris Rature, prince of Tempest, had never been a student people could view neutrally.
He was too visible for that.
Too proud.
Too arrogant.
Too openly convinced of his own superiority.
Even among those who acknowledged his strength, few actually liked him. There were many in the first-year class who had long since grown tired of his attitude, his need to assert himself, and the way he carried his princely status like a second weapon at his side.
But disliking him did not erase the truth.
Chris was powerful.
Remarkably powerful.
When it ca to the control and application of his lightning affinity, very few in the first-year class could honestly compare. His myst was destructive, fast, aggressive, and precise enough to make him a genuine threat even to students older than him.
So while so in the hall visibly thought fourth was still too generous, others—particularly those who supported him, admired him, or foolishly saw him as a kind of leader—looked genuinely unsettled by the result.
Because Chris had entered the academy ranked second.
And now he had dropped to fourth.
That was no small thing.
So of his supporters looked as though they couldn’t quite process it. They knew he had lost his spar against Asher. Everyone did. Not only had he lost—he had been knocked out cold. That humiliation had spread through the first-years like wildfire.
Still, Mystica herself had already clarified that the combat spars alone had not decided the rankings.
The three-day evaluation as a whole had.
And yet here Chris was.
Fourth.
Which ant that the academy, after taking all factors into account, had decided there were three students above him.
The realization sat badly with more than a few people.
Chris, for his part, concealed his reaction well.
He rose with princely composure, though the faint tightness in his jaw suggested he was far from pleased. His face remained controlled, and he accepted the acknowledgnt with the air of soone who knew better than to make his displeasure obvious in public.
Mystica’s voice remained elegant and official.
"Chris Rature," she said, "recognized for outstanding combat capability, refined control over lightning myst, and continued superiority over the majority of your year."
A small pause followed.
"Though perhaps not quite as superior as so once assud."
That line was so smoothly delivered it almost took a second to land.
When it did, a faint ripple moved through parts of the hall.
Chris’s expression did not visibly break, but he clearly heard the edge in it.
He sat back down with asured calm.
Then Mystica moved on.
"Rank three."
Now the anticipation in the hall had beco almost suffocating.
"...Asher Hawthorne."
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