The projection above the dais flickered, threads of glyphs folding inward until they reformed into a new lattice—tiered, structured, deliberate. Columns of pale-blue light stretched upward, each one etched with names waiting to be filled.

Archmage Selenne extended her hand toward it, her voice smooth, crisp, absolute.

"Within these walls, as I am Magister, so too will you bear rank. Not merely as students, but as competitors. This is how we measure you. How we track your growth. How we decide what doors open for you—and which remain shut."

The first tier flared, letters etching themselves into the air.

"Initiates. All of you begin here. This is your foundation. You are given full access to lectures, basic cultivation chambers, and the standard dueling grounds. It is the ground floor of the Academy. Do not mistake it for comfort—it is only where you begin."

A second tier glowed above it, lines branching like steps upward.

"Adepts. Those who show distinction—whether in spellwork, blade, research, or contribution—ascend here. Adepts earn extended hours in cultivation chambers, priority in the libraries, and greater allowance for sanctioned duels."

The third tier shimmered brighter, glyphs elongating into a wider span.

"Ascendants. Few will reach this tier quickly. These students have proven not only individual strength, but the ability to apply it in the crucible of contest. Ascendants are granted access to advanced chambers, private dueling arenas, and the mentorship of senior faculty. Their names are recorded publicly; their progress becomes the standard others measure themselves against."

Finally, the uppermost line blazed white-gold, sharp as carved glass.

"Paragons. This is the highest tier a student may hold. Rare. Singular. Those who stand here are not merely students—they are pillars. To be Paragon is to be given nearly free access to resources, to have a voice in shaping even the trials of others. But it is not a gift, and it is never permanent. Fail to defend your place, and it will be taken."

The projection stilled, tiers glowing faintly like a ladder built of fire and air.

Selenne's hand lowered, her voice cutting through the awe and unease.

"These ranks are fluid. You may climb them—or fall from them—based on what you earn. The measure of that earning is simple."

The glyphs shifted once more, lines reforming into neat columns marked with sigils for coin, book, and blade.

"Credits."

The word itself carried weight, as though it had been carved into the stones of the Academy long before her voice spoke it.

"You gain credits through lectures, through performance in sanctioned duels, through contribution to research, and through service to your division. They are the currency of progress. With them, you may claim time in cultivation chambers, request access to higher-ranked texts, or secure guidance from a Magister. Lose them, and doors close."

Her eyes swept the tiers, unblinking.

"Lectures will form your foundation. Attendance is not optional. Performance within them—examinations, demonstrations, projects—will shape your record. Beyond them, you will duel. You will test your limits in sanctioned arenas. And you will contribute to the Academy itself, whether through service, discovery, or leadership. All are measured. All are weighted."

The columns of sigils shifted again, spreading outward until they resembled a ledger carved of light. Rows upon rows appeared, blank spaces waiting for names, each line divided by glowing markers—coin, book, blade—each pulsing faintly as if alive.

Selenne lifted her hand and the projection magnified, revealing neat figures that flickered like embers.

"Credits," she said, tone sharpened into precision, "are not given equally. They are earned in measure."

The glowing ledger steadied, columns sharpening until they looked almost carved into the morning air. Numbers began to etch themselves beside the blank rows, neat and deliberate.

"Attendance of a lecture," Selenne said, her voice carrying with clinical weight, "—one credit. Completion of a standard examination—three. Distinction upon that same examination—five."

The coin glyph pulsed, tally marks stacking upward in steady rhythm.

Her hand shifted, and the blade column flared. "A sanctioned duel: two credits for participation. Five for victory. Ten if the opponent outranks you."

The whispers rippled sharper this time, excitement threading with unease.

"And research….."

*****

The murmurs hadn't fully died before Selenne raised her hand again.

Silence followed. Not because she demanded it. Because the room remembered what it meant to disobey quiet command.

Her gaze lingered at the top of the projection, where the last rows of the ledger still pulsed—half-formed, waiting.

A faint flick of her fingers. The projection collapsed into a sphere of starlight, compact and hovering just above her palm like a waiting promise—or a warning. She turned, let her eyes sweep the assembled students once more, and then let the orb spiral back into her sleeve.

"I mentioned this yesterday," she said, voice crisp again, "but it seems many of you still do not grasp what is beginning tomorrow."

The hall went still.

"The Freshmen Examination Period begins at dawn."

A pulse traveled through the crowd—not shock, but the collective tightening of breath. Some had been waiting for this. Others had hoped it wouldn't come so soon.

"Do not misunderstand," Selenne continued. "You will not be tested every day of the coming week. Our instructors are not that idle."

A few startled chuckles died quickly.

"The week is divided," she went on, "because there are quite a lot of students here. Because the tests must be rotated, administered, graded, cross-compared, and verified. And because there are trials that cannot be rushed."

The dais projection reformed, this time into a flat grid—etched with symbols, timings, and names of divisions. Elara could see the structure bloom like a map—each day framed not as a list, but as a gauntlet.

"Each of you will be tested across multiple disciplines," Selenne said. "Mana control. Cultivation rhythm. Physical aptitude. Weapon skill. Magical execution. And of course—"

The projection shifted, the glyphs rearranging into more cerebral forms—quills, scrolls, tomes sealed in wax.

"—Theory."

She stepped down from the dais now, her cloak trailing like twilight smoke across the polished stone. "History. Arcane taxonomy. Classical formations. Literary comprehension. You may think these are lesser trials. That they matter less than flame or steel. You would be wrong."

She passed the front row, her eyes not lingering on any one student for too long—just enough to let them feel seen.

"In this Academy, there is no such thing as an unimportant subject. Your magic is built on the bones of the ones who failed to understand what came before. And your strength means nothing if it is not repeatable, measurable, recordable. You will be tested on all of it."

Her boots clicked softly as she passed, each step measured. "You will not be examined all at once. Each student will receive a rotation schedule by evening. You will be expected to be on time. You will be watched. You will be judged."

Another flick of her hand, and the schedule grid magnified briefly.

"You will have at least one rest day," she added, without pause. "Use it wisely. Recovery is not a luxury; it is part of your cultivation. If you overextend in the physical trials and collapse during the mana calibration test, you will fail. If you slack in theory and stumble through your lecture review, you will fall behind. If you perform poorly in three or more categories—"

The projection turned red, a clean, clinical flare.

"—you will be placed on probation."

That word landed like a blade across stone.

Selenne stopped, turning once more to face them from the center of the room. Her violet eyes swept over them—not cold, not cruel. Just honest. In the way only a woman who had broken the rules and still risen could be.

"Probation means your credits are frozen. Your lectures become mandatory. You lose access to duel registration, chamber reservations, and research postings. You will be marked. And you will remain marked until you climb your way out."

She let that sit in the silence like a stone dropped into deep water.

Then—

"For those who rank highest…"

The red glow dissolved into a soft gold, illuminating the upper tiers of the projection. One word etched itself above the others:

"Recommendations."

"These are rare," Selenne said, voice softening ever so slightly. "But for those who achieve distinction—true distinction—you may be offered recommendations. For mentorship. For division placement. For pre-selection into internal expeditions or research tasks."

She turned fully now, arms behind her back.

"I will not say good luck. That would imply chance has anything to do with it."

The projection vanished.

Her voice, however, remained.

"Prove yourselves."

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