Eldrin clapped his hands together, cutting through the mounting tension in the hall. "Now, the time has come for each of you to reveal your magical affinities." His sharp gaze flicked to Arctha once more. "Step forward when your name is called."
Arctha's pulse stuttered. Her palms were damp, and the overwhelming urge to melt into the shadows gripped her. But she couldn't. Not now. The gauntlet on her arm pulsed, as if sensing her panic.
The system's cold, unfeeling words rang in her mind:
[Mission: Do Not Be Found Out.]
[Failure: Discovery as a Witch → Trial → Execution by Fire.]
She forced herself to take a shallow breath. Blend in. Survive. Do not let them see the witch in you.
"First up," Eldrin called, "Lucian Frostveil."
A tall boy with dark hair and an air of brooding confidence rose. He strode to the glowing sigil at the hall's center. As the crystal pulsed, a cross materialized above his head, followed by a circular stone disc with a jagged crack through it.
"Lithomorph Armaments," Eldrin announced. "A formidable affinity—Lucian will serve with the knights, wielding physical mastery and martial strength."
Arctha watched, wide-eyed. Wow. A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. Prince Charming? Oh, he fits the bill perfectly.
The moment was short-lived. She caught the disapproving glares of the noble girls around her and quickly wiped the grin off her face.
Then—
"Arctha Vana Quindiesel," Eldrin declared.
Every head turned.
A weight pressed on her chest, but she forced her feet forward. The sigil beneath her glowed, magic swirling up like mist. She braced herself. Please, not black fire. Not ominous runes. Not a ghostly voice screaming 'witch.'
But—nothing.
Silence.
The magic curled hesitantly around her, flickering like a candle in the wind. The murmurs in the hall grew louder.
Eldrin's eyes narrowed.
Then, the crystal flared—purple.
[Alert: Potential Witch Detection. Activating Emergency Protocol.]
A sharp jolt of panic shot through her. She clenched her fists, struggling to keep her breath steady. The light rippled, unnervingly intense. Something was wrong.
The crystal pulsed and split—one half flickering like a dying star. Symbols emerged: a glass slipper, a floating eye, and an anvil wreathed in an ethereal flame.
A stunned silence fell over the hall.
Eldrin recovered first. "Eidolon Forge and… telekinesis." His voice faltered before regaining strength. "Eidolon Forge and telekinesis."
The hall remained unnervingly still.
A second-year cleared his throat. Nobles exchanged uneasy glances.
"Eidolon Forge?" someone muttered. "That's… unusual."
Unusual? Arctha's thoughts spiraled.
I'm not odd, I'm just a limited edition.
One of a kind… please, for the love of all things magical, don't burn me at the stake.
Then—
"Cedric Veyne," Eldrin called.
The hall shifted as a strikingly ethereal young man stepped forward. His skin was pale, flawless, like sculpted marble. Silver-white hair cascaded in soft waves. His piercing blue eyes shimmered, reflecting the light like a sky untouched by storm.
He was… breathtaking. Regal, effortless, and otherworldly.
And behind him, another identical figure moved—a twin.
Cedric placed his hand on the crystal. Instantly, the sigil responded. A knight's cross emerged—accompanied by a glass slipper.
Then, two overlapping circles formed, mirroring each other.
"Mirror's Echo - Astron."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"An Astralis!" someone whispered in awe.
He's broken. The thought echoed unspoken among the students.
As Cedric returned to his seat, Eldrin called his twin forward.
Cassian Veyne stepped up. Unlike Cedric, his hair hung loose, framing his face. He placed his hand on the crystal.
Nothing happened.
The silence was suffocating.
"…The Veyne family? They're geniuses. What happened?"
"His brother is an Astralis—a princess and a knight. But… he's nothing?"
The murmurs sharpened, laced with quiet ridicule.
Eldrin sighed. "Well, luckily for you, you're a man. No need to worry—you can always join the Expendable Legion."
Cassian lowered his gaze. The whispers grew crueler.
One by one, the test continued. But for that moment, the air reeked of disgrace.
Then—
"Broody McFurface," Eldrin muttered.
A towering man stepped forward, his hair a chaotic storm. He was built like a statue carved from stone—broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and a jawline sharp enough to crack walnuts. His presence screamed I'm here to get things done, and possibly break a few things along the way.
He pressed his hand to the sigil. A green cross glowed, followed by a Wolf's Paw Print—the mark of beastly armament.
The moment he saw it, he let out a thunderous "Ye, ye, ye!"—his voice rolling across the hall like a battle cry. He stomped back to his seat, leaving behind a mix of admiration and utter confusion.
Eldrin sighed. "Grunt McSwampington."
A lanky boy slouched forward. His features were awkward—nose slightly too large, eyes a bit too far apart. Brown hair hung dull and unkempt. His smile, when it appeared, was crooked and unsure, never quite reaching his eyes.
Arctha frowned. Something about him felt… off.
A phrase floated into her mind: Ogres are like onions. We have layers.
He placed his arm on the sigil. A green cross appeared. Then—a shattered mirror, its jagged fragments gleaming ominously. Beside it, an intricate hourglass symbol glowed faintly.
Mirror Flesh. Chrono-Rebirth.
The air thickened. The nobles stiffened.
He didn't fit. Not into their expectations. Not into their carefully constructed world.
And though no one spoke, the weight of their unease pressed down like a silent judgment.