It was the last day before admissions.
For most applicants, that meant nerves, revisions, sleepless nights, and desperate rituals—magical and otherwise. But for Alex?
It was Tuesday.
To him, admissions weren't an obstacle. They were a formality. A checkmark. A doorway he was already halfway through while others were still looking for the keyhole.
He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, hair only marginally tamed, flipping through a holographic ledger that blinked in and out of focus depending on how much mana was in the room. He barely glanced at the welcome letter. The seal from the Academy was broken days ago. He knew what it said. He probably knew what the person who wrote it meant too, which wasn't always the same thing.
"Still using that ridiculous serif font," he muttered, skimming the formatting. "If you're going to manipulate people, at least look modern about it."
The rules list wasn't short. It never was. Ward compliance, mana conduct thresholds, acceptable familiar sizes, banned personal enchantments (again, no pocket realms during exams—third time in a row they felt the need to underline it). He scrolled through without blinking.
Then came the real part: the list of candidates.
Not the official list. Not the pamphlet-friendly one.
The real list. The one Kael helped patch together from sponsor circles, backdoor deals, and "family fast-tracking." It was a mix of legacy names, House-sponsored prodigies, and a scattering of unaffiliated talents the system hadn't figured out how to blacklist yet.
He tapped through it, slow and focused.
Vinya Relan. Underrated. Has something to prove.
Elsha Marr. Slippery. Likely underestimated by everyone else—exactly the kind he liked to back.
Lorrin Seft. Raw, unstable, determined. Possibly reckless. Still a better bet than half the prepackaged elite.
And Narek Zin. The one who talks to rocks. Also the only one who reported leyline fluctuation data without being asked. Creepy? Maybe. Valuable? Definitely.
He filed them mentally. Not recruited. Not yet. But watched.
Then came the personnel side. Who would be present? Which examiners were returning? Which House-backed observers were on the list?
He zoomed in on one particular name and frowned. Lord Relen Tyvaris.
"Of course," he muttered. "Can't have an entrance exam without a living tax form."
He made a note. Tyvaris meant House interference. House interference meant political angles. Political angles meant someone was going to cheat. Not openly, but quietly, in the way that didn't technically break the rules but absolutely bent reality.
Alex leaned back, setting the ledger to hover beside his desk, and took a sip from a still-warm mug of ginger-basil tonic.
Admissions were tomorrow.
For everyone else, it would be a test.
For him, it was data collection.
And maybe—just maybe—the start of something bigger.
_______________
The day had arrived.
The city of Arcana thrummed with anticipation, the kind that settled into the bones and buzzed beneath the skin. Admission Day wasn't just an exam—it was a festival, a spectacle, and for some, a gamble.
Banners in glowing runes danced across rooftops. Temporary mana-pathways lit the skies in pulsing colors. Even in the slums, children reenacted fake duels with makeshift wands and bubble spell scrolls. Everyone, it seemed, had a favorite to root for, a cousin applying, or at least a bet placed.
Geniuses, after all, didn't always come from noble bloodlines. Sometimes, they came from a forge-side tenement or a noodle cart behind a spell market.
At the center of it all stood the Grand Harmonium Coliseum, often nicknamed The Arcanal. It was part opera hall, part gladiator arena, and part lecture theatre on magical steroids.
The outer façade was carved from shimmering spell-infused marble that glowed subtly under sunlight. Massive statues of past champions lined the front, some depicting famous alumni mid-spellcast, others caught in mid-flight or mid-transformation. Runes pulsed in concentric circles across the outer walls, shifting color to match the flow of ambient magic.
A domed roof floated above the arena, held aloft by magnetized levitation anchors, casting a translucent shimmer like liquid crystal. Inside, the main platform could morph and reshape with layered enchantments—lava pits, gravity fields, storm simulators—all depending on the day's test. Every seat was a rune-carved array of sound and visual enhancement. Not a single angle left dull.
The coliseum's open courtyard wrapped around it in concentric circles like a bustling spiral. Here, chaos reigned—but the charming kind.
Vendors had staked claims in every open space. The air was thick with scents from all over the world—sizzling yakitori skewers next to fish tikka wraps, funnel cakes beside steaming bao buns, spice clouds from roasted chilies sharing space with mango ice dust, mochi stuffed with mana pearls, and pies filled with illusion fruit (the flavor changed depending on what the buyer was thinking about).
Hawkers shouted above the crowd. "Pixie soda, two for a mark! Guaranteed to sparkle—literally!"
Others sold more questionable wares—mana-boost patches, charm amulets allegedly blessed by forgotten gods, "study enhancers" in questionable tincture bottles.
Bookies shouted odds on different exam brackets. "Five to one the wind mage cracks under pressure!"
Informants whispered false leads for coin. "I heard the spatial challenge was replaced last minute."
Recruiters from small guilds, rogue clans, and corporate covens hovered in the crowds, eyeing anyone with too much natural flair and not enough protection.
A lean human scout in violet guild leathers cornered a sharp-eyed girl practicing sigil tracing midair. "Name?"
She blinked, wary. "Tavi."
"You shimmered your signature glyph with a one-handed trace. You looking for long-term contracts?"
"I'm... looking to pass the exam."
"Sure, sure. But afterward, how do you feel about shadow work in the Pale Reaches? Lots of snow. Excellent benefits."
"...Are you bribing me with weather?"
"I'm bribing you with snow and a signing bonus. Don't be difficult."
A moment later, two rival recruiters—one in sky-blue robes, the other wearing a guild blazer embroidered with pocket planes—began a passive-aggressive bidding war over a boy who had accidentally launched a smoke-ring through a target sigil while sneezing.
"He's raw talent."
"He's raw accident."
"Exactly. That's where the best breakthroughs come from."
Nearby, a recruiter from the Emberward Duelists waved a glowing parchment under a shy earth-elemental girl's nose.
"Join us, and we guarantee three regional tournaments by next solstice. Full wardrobe, enchanted boots, and a snack contract."
"I don't even duel," she mumbled.
"You will. We'll teach you to weaponize awkwardness. Half our team runs on passive-aggressive defense."
Two cloaked recruiters stood near a fountain tossing coins, whispering just loudly enough for passersby to overhear.
"Three talents already marked. One strong in disruption theory."
"Not yet claimed?"
"Not officially."
"Then we'll be the first to offer something with teeth."
One child, barely old enough to be considered for prep classes, held up a paper sign that read: "Hire me. My brother glows."
He did, in fact, glow. Faintly. No one was sure if it was magic or diet.
Another booth had a flashy recruiter in sunglasses and a glitter-coated robe pitching an all-purpose sponsorship to a group of confused applicants.
"We're not just a guild—we're a brand. You get robes, gear, and three guaranteed appearances on MageTok. We do alchemy AND aesthetics."
Someone coughed and muttered, "Sellout," but the recruiter just winked.
"Jealousy looks great on you. Want a card?"
It was chaos. It was opportunity. It was Arcana at its most unfiltered.
And inside the coliseum, behind thick rune-sealed gates, the real tests were being prepared.
But for now, outside, the show went on.
A gnome inventor demoed his auto-inking spellcaster quill—until it wrote profanity on a noble's robe and exploded into glitter.
Next to him, a halfling artificer was furiously arguing with a dwarven engineer about the ethical use of self-replicating broom enchantments.
"It's not stealing labor if the broom wants to clean!" the halfling shouted.
"The broom doesn't want anything—it's a broom, not a philosophy major!" the dwarf roared back, thumping his palm on the table. "You want ethics, go build a conscience crystal!"
Behind them, a goblin tech-guild rep was trying to pitch a heat-resistant, flight-enabled exosuit to a recruiter from the Eastern Wand School. "Look, it only caught fire three times during testing. That's practically stable!"
"It barbecued the test dummy."
"Technically, that was a feature."
A tiefling inventor with soot-covered goggles walked by dragging a levitating sphere filled with swirling smoke.
"What's that?" a passerby asked.
"Experimental weather generator."
"What does it do?"
The sphere vibrated ominously.
The inventor grinned. "Depends on its mood."
Magical musicians played street-side, harmonizing floating chords through amplified air glyphs. Tarot readers, potion samplers, and demo duelists drew impromptu crowds.
And in the middle of it all, a group of masked street performers performed a musical reenactment of last year's admissions, complete with dramatic slow-motion dodging, illusion-fire effects, and interpretive flame dancing.
The city was alive.
Arcana didn't do subtle. Not today.
Today, magic was loud—and the world was watching.