The grand hall of the academy's historical division was unlike the other examination rooms. There were no arcane sigils, no alchemical workbenches, no combat dummies or training grounds. Instead, the room was filled with books—towering shelves of ancient texts, records, and accounts spanning centuries of history.
At the center, an elevated circular platform served as the debate floor. Around it, professors and scholars sat in a semi-circle, their robes adorned with the insignias of different historical disciplines—political history, military strategy, cultural anthropology, and more.
This was The Great Debate, the final test for history students.
Unlike written exams, this test was alive. It was a battle of logic, rhetoric, and interpretation.
Each student would face one of the professors in a one-on-one debate, tasked with defending or dismantling an argument about historical events, political ideologies, or philosophical theories.
The catch?
The students didn't get to choose their stance.
They would be assigned a position randomly, forcing them to argue perspectives they may disagree with, testing their ability to detach personal beliefs from academic reasoning.
The tension in the room was palpable.
Some students relished the challenge, eager to prove their intellectual prowess. Others were visibly uncomfortable, realizing they might be forced to defend ideas they despised.
And then, it was Garrick's turn.
The young historian stepped forward, his broad frame carrying an air of quiet confidence. He had spent the past weeks debating with senior historians, refining his arguments and questioning everything he had once taken for granted.
But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.
His topic:
"The Collapse of the Veil Dominion was an inevitable consequence of its own governance, rather than external intervention."
Garrick felt a flicker of unease.
He disagreed with this stance.
The Veil Dominion, an empire that had ruled vast territories for over a century, had collapsed after a series of external invasions and coordinated rebellions—at least, that was the commonly accepted account.
He personally believed that without those external forces, the Dominion could have survived through reform.
But now, he was forced to argue the opposite.
His opponent was Professor Aldren, one of the most respected (and feared) historians in the academy. A sharp-minded man with an uncanny ability to dismantle weak arguments with surgical precision.
The debate began.
Aldren struck first.
"State your position, Garrick. If you are to argue that the Dominion's collapse was inevitable, you must prove that no amount of external influence could have changed its fate."
Garrick took a slow breath.
He restructured his approach.
He couldn't rely on his personal beliefs. Instead, he had to find the cracks—to argue not for what he thought was true, but for what could be logically defended.
"The Dominion's fall was written in its foundation," he began, voice steady. "Its governance, while effective in expansion, relied on centralized control that could not sustain itself. The seeds of decay were already sown long before the first external invasion."
Aldren's sharp eyes flickered with interest.
"And yet, it stood for over a century. A system doomed to fail would not last that long, would it?"
Garrick didn't falter.
"Stability and sustainability are not the same," he countered. "A failing structure can persist as long as external conditions remain favorable. But the Dominion had already weakened itself through internal inefficiencies—corrupt bureaucracies, stagnating reforms, and an overreliance on forced labor. When pressure finally came, it did not create collapse—it only accelerated what was already happening."
Murmurs rippled through the audience.
Aldren smirked slightly, as if enjoying the challenge.
"Then tell me, Garrick—if external invasions had never occurred, would the Dominion still have fallen?"
This was the trap.
If Garrick said yes, he would have to prove without a doubt that internal problems alone would have been enough.
If he said no, his argument would collapse.
He adjusted his stance.
"It would have persisted a little longer, but not indefinitely. A structure burdened by its own weight can only hold until the next internal crisis. The invasions were merely a catalyst, not the cause. Even without them, the Dominion was already past its peak."
Aldren's gaze sharpened. He couldn't disprove the logic.
The debate continued—attacks and counterattacks, arguments dissected and reshaped.
But Garrick held firm.
By the end, the judges deliberated for only a moment before giving their verdict.
He had won.
A brief moment of silence followed before applause broke out.
Despite his personal disagreement, he had successfully argued the opposite stance with logical precision—and that, more than anything, was what the exam had sought to test.
But not everyone was satisfied.
As Garrick stepped down, he overheard whispers.
"This exam is rigged."
"They only reward arguments that fit their views."
"Some perspectives were clearly favored over others."
It wasn't the first time such concerns had been raised.
Some students believed the academy subtly guided history's narrative, favoring certain interpretations while discouraging others. Others saw it as natural—after all, history was never just about facts. It was about how those facts were presented and understood.
But the academy remained silent.
The debate was over. The winners had been chosen. And for now, that was all that mattered.
As Garrick left the hall, one of the senior scholars approached him, holding out a small, intricately carved totem.
"Take this," the scholar said. "The History Totem. A mark of distinction."
Garrick's eyes widened slightly.
This artifact was rare—few ever received it. Those who did were granted access to restricted texts, records deemed too dangerous or controversial for the general student body.
"Use it well," the scholar added. "Truth is not just about knowing history—it's about knowing which parts were left out."
Garrick accepted it, his mind racing.
The Great Debate had been a test of skill.
But now, he had access to something far greater.
The hidden truths of history.