In the crowd above, Sylra leaned forward, still watching her go.
“That was… an unexpected outco.”
She turned to the brothers. “I thought Deyar would crush her without problems.”
“Yeah, sa,” Elliot nodded, still frowning. “He was seriously trying.”
Towan crossed his arms, quiet.
(How weird…)
(She also predicted my movents… back when we danced.)
He didn’t say anything aloud. But sothing itched in his mory now. The subtle way she’d matched his rhythm. Always one step ahead—without looking like she was trying.
Across the balcony, Len hadn’t moved.
Her fan was snapped shut, clenched so tight in her hand that her knuckles had gone pale.
Her voice was low, ice sliding over every syllable.
“She didn’t even fight. She cheated her way through that match.”
No one responded.
Not because they agreed—but because no one wanted to get in Len’s way right now.
Kaelin, anwhile, had already begun dismissing students and ordering the arena cleared for post-match evaluation.
As the crowd began to thin, Sera disappeared down the hallway, her steps light, her posture unassuming.
But her smirk—just for a second—flickered back into place.
And was gone.
The light in the evaluation chamber was soft, filtered through a do of Essentia-imbued glass that muted outside sound. Around the round stone table sat seven instructors, each with their own pile of parchnt, crystal slates, and half-drunk cups of sothing vaguely herbal.
Kaelin leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Well. That was fun.”
Professor Khalvar didn’t look up from his stack. “You and I have different definitions of fun.”
The light in the evaluation chamber was dim, filtered through the Essentia-glass do above. The seven instructors sat around a round stone table, scrolls and crystal slates scattered before them like the aftermath of a storm. The air slled faintly of cold tea and ink.
Kaelin leaned back in her chair, boots kicked up. “Well. That was fun.”
Stolen story; please report.
Khalvar didn’t look up. “You and I have different definitions of ‘fun.’”
Professor Veiss, Head of Theory, tapped a stylus against a glowing slate. “The theoretical results are still compiling, but we already have so... anomalies.”
She slid one parchnt toward the center. “Rellie. Top marks across philosophy, flow theory, and advanced intent principles. Nearly perfect.”
Professor Myrren adjusted her spectacles. “The girl who can’t use Essentia?”
Veiss nodded. “Can’t use it. Understands it better than most people who do. Her breakdown of channel versus flow made reconsider a few things.”
Kaelin grinned. “Give her a combat score of zero, balance the average.”
“She didn’t attempt combat,” Khalvar said flatly. “Which was the correct decision.”
Kaelin flipped another scroll open.
“Next. Towan.”
A few instructors leaned forward.
“Raw,” said Deylas, the combat evaluator. “Wild. But precise. That redirect mid-flow? That’s not beginner material.”
“Not a single Essentia flare,” Veiss added. “He answered the theory questions like he was spitballing taphors. But they landed.”
Kaelin smiled. “You liked the koi line, admit it.”
“No, I didn’t,” Veiss lied.
Khalvar folded his arms. “His control suggests training before the Academy. Deep training.”
A beat of silence.
“He’s wearing a limiter,” Myrren observed. “I noticed the delay in pulse draw. Eryndar’s doing?”
Kaelin’s fingers tapped the table, unreadable.
“Elliot,” Veiss called next.
Khalvar’s expression darkened slightly. “Lightning-level speed, without the elent. He’d be called soone with Improper form by any lightning master—yet he’s as efficient as one.”
“His exam answers were a mix of different schools of thought,” Kaelin noted. “Like soone who reads a lot, but doesn’t know who wrote what.”
Deylas added, “He broke Len Verestra’s defense without even flaring. That says sothing.”
“Len was holding back,” Khalvar muttered.
“Len was furious,” Kaelin corrected. “Still is.”
“Speaking of…” Veiss slid the next scroll forward. “Len Verestra.”
“Perfect posture. Clean control. Excellent use of structured water sigils,” Khalvar recited. “But predictable.”
“Rigid,” Deylas said. “Her style is refined, but brittle. Against improvisers, she stalls.”
“She’s made excellent progress in just a year,” Veiss defended.
“I agree,” said Myrren. “But she’s mimicking forms beyond her level. Too complex for her own benefit.”
Kaelin smirked. “She’ll figure that out. Eventually.”
Khalvar glanced sideways. “What about Deyar?”
“His theory answers were decent,” Veiss said, flipping through his scroll. “Conservative, but sound.”
“Combat-wise,” Myrren added, “his control shows dedication. Understands his elent well. Probably top tier in this group—if you ignore results.”
Khalvar reached the final scroll.
“Which brings us to Sera Vellmont.”
The room stilled.
Kaelin raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t show any attack skills.”
“She passed practical by evasion,” Khalvar admitted. “Perfect timing. Perfect spacing. No Essentia signature.”
“Could be so awareness-based Essentia,” Veiss muttered, frowning. “But if so, it’s subtle. Her footwork looked clumsy—but it worked perfectly.”
“She let Deyar build an arena,” Deylas said. “Encouraged it. And still didn’t get hit.”
Myrren narrowed her eyes. “That kind of movent doesn’t co from formal training. She might have a really sharp intuition”
Kaelin said nothing. She leaned back in her chair and watched the ceiling.
“I’m not sure,” she said softly.
Khalvar cleared his throat. “Final rankings will be posted tomorrow.”
Veiss folded her hands. “And recomndations?”
Kaelin’s smirk returned.
“Let’s watch them a little longer. I think the real test just started.”
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