After stepping off the Skyrail, Nova followed the morning crowd down the terminal’s main elevator and onto the street. Ten minutes of walking through the bustle of the eastern district brought him to the gates of Thornhaven First Combat Academy — a campus that swallowed nearly a thousand acres of pri city real estate and still sohow felt like it needed more space.
He’d walked through these gates hundreds of tis. Today felt different.
The senior year classroom was already buzzing when Nova arrived. Students in academy uniforms clustered in groups, everyone’s nerves bleeding into their conversations.
"My stomach’s doing backflips," a girl with auburn braids told her friends, wringing her hands.
"You and both."
"Stay positive — I bet at least one of us awakens a mage-class talent."
"Honestly I’d settle for healer. Stable inco, always in demand."
Across the room, the boys were handling their nerves differently.
"So Kessler — feeling confident?" A lanky boy grinned at his friend.
Kessler — perpetually greasy hair, permanently unearned self-assurance — wiped his nose and nodded. "Obviously. S-rank talent. Just watch."
The laughter that followed was imdiate and rciless.
"S-rank! I’ll legally change my na to Kessler’s Dog if that happens."
"You’d be lucky to scrape E-rank with those stats."
Kessler’s face went crimson and the argunt started.
Nova was still watching the chaos when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"So? Feeling good about the awakening?"
Cade Fenrir — amber eyes bright, grinning like today was a holiday — fell into step beside him. His best friend since their first year, Cade had the rare ability to be genuinely cheerful without it being annoying. Most of the ti.
"Not particularly," Nova said.
"Liar. You’ve got that face."
"What face."
"The confident one. The one that makes people think you know sothing they don’t."
Nova didn’t respond to that. They reached his usual seat and found it occupied.
Seraphine Vex had claid his desk as a napping spot, her dark hair in twin buns, her expression completely peaceful. She was one of the top three students in their entire class — her combat assessnt scores were the kind that made instructors go quiet when they read them aloud — and right now she was sleeping like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Nova stared at her for a mont, then took her empty seat nearby without a word.
Cade imdiately dragged a chair over, leaning in with the energy of soone who had been saving this conversation.
"I’m telling you. She likes you."
"She’s sleeping at my desk."
"Exactly my point. Out of every desk in this room she chose yours. That’s not an accident, that’s a statent."
"It’s a desk, Cade."
"And if your awakening goes badly today — which it won’t, but hypothetically — you should seriously consider becoming a trophy husband. Sera’s family is loaded. You’d never have to train again."
Nova opened his mouth to respond when a shout from the windows cut through every conversation in the room at once.
"The teleportation array — it’s on the field!"
The class surged toward the glass like a single organism. Nova stood and looked.
On the training field below — large enough to hold tens of thousands of people — an enormous formation had materialized overnight. Intricate geotric patterns covered the ground in lines of softly pulsing light, shifting through colors that had no clean na. Even from this height, it humd with sothing that wasn’t quite sound.
"That’s the Primordial Awakening Array," soone said, pressed against the glass. "Stand on it and it transports you to the Origin Temple for the ceremonies."
"I heard it reads your potential first. Strong aptitudes get sent into trial dungeons before the awakening. Score high enough and you get bonus rewards."
"And if you fail the trial?"
A beat of silence.
"Job awakening denied. You stay civilian class."
The air in the room got heavier.
Instructor Selene Mordain arrived minutes later and herded everyone toward the athletic grounds with the efficient energy of soone who had done this many tis and had no patience for dawdling. The senior classes assembled in designated sections across the field — a sea of nervous faces in navy and silver uniforms.
"What profession are you hoping for?" soone asked as they filed into formation.
"Assassin. Moving like a shadow, stealth kills — nothing cooler."
"I’d take any support class. Fight aningfully without standing in front of the monsters."
"Warrior. Classic."
"Archer’s in high demand right now. Range and job security."
Nova listened without contributing. His eyes moved across the field, asuring the crowd, counting the instructors positioned around the array’s periter. Tier 3 to Tier 4 by the look of them — capable and experienced, placed there to handle anything the ceremonies might throw up.
Then Cade’s elbow caught him in the ribs.
"Elite Class."
Nova looked.
They entered from the eastern corridor with a bearing that was difficult to articulate but impossible to miss. Where ordinary students moved in nervous clusters, the Elite Class walked like they already knew how the day would end. The crowd parted without being asked, a reflex more than a choice. Five in particular drew every eye — three young n and two young won who seed to compress the air around them just by being present.
"Aldric Wintercrown," soone murmured nearby. "Top of Elite Class. His family’s produced Tier 7 warriors for three generations. He’s already on the verge of Tier 1 before his job awakening."
"Cassius Shadowbane. Rowan Ashford — his father runs the Ashford Conglorate."
"And the Twin Goddesses."
Nova’s gaze settled on the two young won at the edge of the group. The first — Lyris Ashenvale — had violet hair and matching eyes that seed to collect light rather than simply reflect it. She was scanning the assembled crowd with a small, playful smile, like she found the whole thing mildly entertaining. Tall, effortlessly composed, the kind of presence that made a room recalibrate.
The second — Kaelith Frostborn — was her opposite in almost every way. Raven hair that fell to her thighs, piercing blue eyes, features so symtrical they looked designed. She wasn’t scanning the crowd. She was looking through it, her expression fixed in sothing between boredom and disdain. A glacier that had learned to walk.
"Those two standing together should be illegal," Cade muttered.
Before he could continue, the atmosphere on the field changed.
It didn’t happen with a sound or a visible sign. One mont students were talking, shuffling, adjusting their uniforms. The next, every voice died at exactly the sa instant — cut off as cleanly as a blade through rope.
Above the center of the field, space itself split open.
Not a dramatic tear or an explosion of light. Just a quiet, clean rupture in the air — a seam appearing in reality — and through it stepped two figures. The headmaster, Gareth Ironveil, and behind him the Vice Principal, a silver-haired man whose Tier 6 presence alone would have commanded the field on any other day.
Today, standing next to Gareth, he was background.
The pressure arrived a half-second after they landed.
It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t sound. It was weight — a profound, sourceless gravity that pressed down on every person present from every direction simultaneously. Nova felt it hit his shoulders first, then his knees, then sothing deeper, like the pressure was bypassing his body and pushing directly on whatever was underneath it. His legs bent without his permission. Around him, ordinary students crumpled — so dropping to one knee, others to both, a few letting out involuntary sounds of distress, their faces pale and strained. A girl two rows ahead had both hands on the ground, trembling.
The Elite Class students fared better. Aldric Wintercrown stood with visible effort, jaw locked, shoulders rigid. Lyris had lost her playful smile. Even Kaelith’s expression had shifted slightly — the disdain replaced by sothing more focused, her feet planted wide, her composure costing her sothing real.
Nova bent. One knee nearly touched the ground before he caught himself.
He pushed back. It was like pushing against sothing that had no surface — the pressure was everywhere and nowhere, with nothing to brace against. His muscles scread. His vision blurred at the edges.
And then, from sowhere he couldn’t locate — sowhere that felt older than his body, older than this life — sothing stirred.
It didn’t push back against the pressure. It simply existed alongside it, quiet and unmoved, like a stone at the bottom of a river that the current had never managed to shift. Nova didn’t know what it was. He’d felt echoes of it in his dreams — in the fragnts of void and crushed dinsions and endless traveling that had followed him since childhood. It lasted only a second before it faded back to wherever it ca from.
But it was enough. He straightened.
Not fully. His legs still shook. But he was upright.
The instructors and teachers stationed around the field stood completely unaffected — Tier 3 through Tier 6, every one of them absorbing the pressure the way a wall absorbs a breeze. A few had their arms folded. One was reviewing notes.
Gareth hadn’t moved. Hadn’t adjusted his posture. Hadn’t so much as glanced at the students kneeling across the field. The pressure radiating from him was passive — the ambient consequence of existing at his level, not a deliberate act.
That was less than one percent of his aura.
Nova understood that in his bones. A Tier 7 warrior could level a continent in a single attack. With ti and intent, reduce a cluster of continents to rubble. The man standing on that platform was a force of nature wearing a headmaster’s uniform, and he wasn’t even trying.
Gareth let the mont breathe. Then the pressure eased — not vanishing, but pulling back to sothing that rely made the air feel thick rather than crushing. Students straightened slowly, so wiping sweat from their faces, a few exchanging wide-eyed looks.
When Gareth spoke, he needed no amplification.
"You have spent three years within these walls." His voice carried across the entire field without effort, each word landing with a weight that had nothing to do with volu. "Three years learning what this world is. Three years preparing for today."
Complete silence.
"Your origin talent awakening and job awakening ceremonies begin now. Today your futures take shape."
He paused.
"A powerful talent gives you an advantage. That is true and I won’t pretend otherwise. But a common talent or a basic profession has never stopped a determined warrior from becoming soone worth rembering. History has proved that more tis than I can count."
"Whatever manifests in you today — accept it. Then decide what you’re going to do about it."
His hand rose.
"Activate the Primordial Awakening Array."
The formation detonated.
Light shot upward in a pillar that punched through the sky, so bright it bleached the surrounding buildings white for a full second. The geotric patterns across the field blazed in sequence, each line igniting the next in a cascade that moved faster than the eye could follow. The hum that had been barely audible before beca sothing felt in the chest, in the teeth.
Then it was over.
The field was empty. Every student was gone.
The Vice Principal stroked his silver beard. "I wonder how many rare professions and talent will manifest this year."
"The Elite Class prodigies have strong odds," the Dean of Academic Affairs offered.
Gareth shook his head slightly. "We’ll see."
Nova opened his eyes to silence.
The Origin Temple.
He stood alone in a chamber that made no architectural sense. Pillars of what looked like compressed starlight rose on either side of him, disappearing into a ceiling he couldn’t find. Statues of figures he didn’t recognize lined the approach ahead — their stone faces simultaneously serene and violent, as though carved in the mont between deciding sothing and doing it. The floor was smooth and dark and reflected the light from everywhere at once.
At the far end, floating above a platform with no visible support, hung a crystal roughly the size of a small house.
Inside it, galaxies moved.
Nova looked at it for a long mont. Then he walked forward.
So this is where it happens.
He climbed the steps to the platform, reached out, and pressed his fingers against the crystal’s surface.
It blazed instantly.
[Welco, Human of Planet Aetheris, to the Origin Temple]
[Initiating origin talent selection protocol...]
Warmth spread through his chest and down his arm. Sothing gathered in his palm — a small flicker of fla. Weak, orange, barely the size of a candle.
[Ding! Congratulations on manifesting: E-Rank Origin Talent — Emberwood Fla]
Nova stared at the fla in his palm.
The ranking went F, E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, SSS. He was one step above the bottom.
"E-rank," he said quietly.
The word sat in the air. He’d prepared himself for this possibility. Told himself it wouldn’t break him. That he’d train harder, comprehend deeper, find another way.
He still felt it land.
Then the crystal exploded.
Not with heat or force — with light. A detonation of color so complete it stopped being sothing he was seeing and beca sothing he was standing inside. Colors that had no nas washed over him in waves, and the temperature in the chamber changed entirely, and sowhere deep in his chest the small orange fla flickered once before sothing vast and ancient and entirely different swallowed it whole.
[DING! Congratulations on manifesting: Primordial Origin Exclusive Talent — UNLIMITED AMPLIFICATION!]
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