The day of my escape was nearing.
The Institution had been my home for nearly fifteen years.
Accustomation had grown over time, though it was never truly a place one could call home.
Acting the part of a puppet for a few more days should've held no consequence. Yet, the tension lingered beneath the surface, stubborn and restless.
I woke instinctively. I hadn't needed the facility-wide alarm in years.
My body had adapted fully to life within these walls—so had my senses.
First came breakfast.
If you overlooked certain things, one might even say we lived well here.
We were well fed, well taught, and given every resource necessary for our development.
The Institution was not of limited mind.
It did not rely on hunger or deprivation to shape us—such methods served nothing.
Nourishment was essential to growth. The Institution understood this.
On the way to breakfast, I saw my friend, Eleanor.
She greeted me, and we sat down without a word.
Her eyes kept flicking toward the ground, knuckles whitening. The exam was coming—and Eleanor felt it more sharply than most.
Towering at 6'1", nearly 200 pounds, and saturated with mana, Eleanor was one of the most promising heirs of the lineage of Zonara—a bloodline known for its sheer force and enormous contributions to the history of the Varean Empire.
And yet, her anxiety leaked through so plainly that even the little grump from House Angelus noticed.
"Eleanor," Calixtus said lightly, a mocking edge beneath his smile. "You're not actually worried about the exam, are you?"
He grinned, then turned to me.
"I'm assuming the great Kaelen is, as ever, unfazed?"
"You assume right, Calixtus," I replied.
I had no interest in giving him attention, but the façade had to be maintained—at least until the exam.
Instructor Justinian entered, casting us a sharp, driven gaze.
"Finish your meals," he said. "Training has been moved earlier."
A break in routine. Quite uncommon in here. It was not without reason.
After breakfast, all sixteen of us assembled in the training grounds. Instructor Justinian began speaking immediately.
"Today, you'll engage in one-on-one duels. You will not hold back. Equip yourselves and begin warming up."
As usual, there was no lengthy explanation. There never was. We were not here to question the Instructor's decisions.
Still, it wasn't difficult to deduce the reason.
This was a final evaluation. A last-minute display for the noble houses to observe before the special exam.
They were likely already watching.
Their families were probably in the observation room behind the glass, monitoring their movements, taking notes.
They left them here to elevate their standing—nothing more.
And now, they'll watch what their investment has become.
Not that I disagreed with their decision.
If this experiment succeeds, it will produce an heir capable of defeating a warrior from the Final Legion and outwitting a strategist from the Chamber of Oracles.
After we finished warming up, Instructor announced the first duel.
Castinus Acropolita and Lukas Diogenus.
Castinus carried a Seed of Earth, an elemental affinity inherited through blood, now branching into Steel—much harder and deadlier. Lukas, by contrast, wielded fire.
The two walked to their designated positions.
Lukas turned to the observation glass and bowed—presuming, of course, that his House was watching.
The same House he'd finally meet in a year, if he performed well.
A sharp command from Instructor Justinian cut through the air.
The duel had begun.
Lukas drew his sword, set it alight, and lunged forward without hesitation.
Castinus dodged to the left, hardening his shin mid-motion, and followed with a sweeping low kick.
Lukas attempted to check it, but that was a mistake.
Steel-enhanced momentum could not be blocked so easily.
The impact sent him off balance, sweeping his legs from under him.
He caught himself on one hand, flipped backward, and created distance.
"He should use his range," I muttered. "Close combat against an Acropolita isn't wise."
Aretha, of House Meloda, scoffed beside me.
"Trying to show off in front of his family. Tsk. I thought that kind of mindset was something the Institution trained out of us."
The fight resumed.
Castinus gave him no time to recover.
He surged forward, arm transmuting into a sharpened blade of steel, and began a relentless barrage of slashes.
Lukas, pressed hard, realized he couldn't hold the line.
With his free hand, he cast a phoenix flare—light bursting outward, momentarily blinding Castinus.
Lukas didn't waste the opening.
The marks of a phoenix lit up across his face, glowing with that distinct branching pattern. His mana output surged instantly.
He gathered flame in his palm—compressing, condensing—until it roared into a dense sphere of burning power.
Then he launched it.
It struck, and the ground shook beneath the force of the explosion.
Without waiting, through the smoke, a lance of steel shot forward and grazed Lukas across the cheek.
Castinus could feel his opponent's footing through his Seed of Origin. He launched another lance in succession—fast, precise.
But this time, Lukas was ready. He dodged cleanly, then summoned the wings of a phoenix—burning feathers erupting outward.
Hundreds of fire-tipped projectiles tore through the haze, clearing the smoke and hammering Castinus with relentless speed.
He covered his weak points in steel, but there were limits. The impact wore him down.
He had to close the distance. At range, he was losing.
As the onslaught of feathers began to fade, Castinus shifted—dropping his armor of steel to gain speed.
He lunged through the residual smoke.
Lukas saw his moment.
He swung his blade toward Castinus' midsection.
But before the strike could land, a figure was suddenly between them.
Instructor Justinian.
He caught Castinus by the head with one hand.
With the other, he stopped Lukas' sword—pinching the blade between two fingers.
The speed was unreal.
The air around them hadn't even settled.
Justinian turned his head slightly.
"Lukas, of House Diogenus, is the winner of the duel."
Justinian stepped back, releasing Castinus without a word.
Lukas gave a short nod, blade still at his side, before turning and walking back to the rest of us.
Castinus remained kneeling for a moment, steel creeping back beneath his skin.
His eyes never lifted.
Instructor Justinian scanned the group, expression unreadable.
"Next."
He called out the names for the next duel.
Sophie, of House Ingerina and Kaelen of House—"
He paused.
A beat of silence.
"Kaelen of the Empire," he corrected, his voice steady but marked.
As I stepped forward, Aretha spoke from behind me—her voice light, but pointed.
"Don't be too rough with her, Kaelen. House Ingerina's pride bruises easily."
House Ingerina had chosen mastery over deviation.
While most lineages branched outward, they refined inward—perfecting the flow of water until it became something else entirely.
Their art was built around movement. Every motion deliberate. Every technique elegant.
This became Seramacy—the shaping of mana through fluid precision. Contradicting as it sounds.
Sophie knew what this meant. I was sure of it.
Even though she was prideful, there was no way for her to beat me. Losing to someone without an affinity would be humiliating.
Unacceptable. Inexcusable. Especially for someone of noble birth.
But this wasn't just anyone without an affinity.
It was me.
And she was going to lose.
We assumed our positions.
As soon as the signal was given, I blitzed through the air, appearing before her.
My left hook was already in motion.
I wasn't probing. I wasn't testing her defenses.
I was aiming to end it.
Sophie's eyes widened, but her body responded with instinctive grace.
Her palm swept through the space between us in a perfect arc, leaving behind a thin ribbon of glowing blue mana—waterwoven and taut.
My fist struck the ribbon mid-swing.
The pressure broke slightly, but not before the redirection carried the momentum off-course.
She used my own strike to pivot—fluid, precise—and countered with a sweeping step that flowed into a low, twisting kick.
I blocked with my forearm and slid back two steps, grounding myself.
Interesting.
Most would have fallen from that.
She was certainly one of the hardest matchups for me.
Not because she was stronger—but because I lacked diversity.
My style was direct.
Controlled.
Singular.
Hers was fluid, adaptive, reactive.
Had the difference in our abilities been anything less, that might've mattered.
It didn't.
I moved again—faster this time—and drove a side kick into her ribs.
The impact echoed through the arena.
She was sent flying across the floor, crashing hard.
I had channeled a terrifying amount of mana into that strike.
Her ribs were broken.
And yet—she stood.
There was pride in her posture.
A stubborn, deliberate refusal to falter.
She raised her guard with elegance, chin high.
But I could see the drop in her right side.
Subtle. Painful. Exploitable.
I closed the distance.
My fists moved like rhythm, each strike feeding into the next. She redirected with grace, countered with trained precision.
Her movements were beautiful—an artist's choreography beneath pressure.
And yet—
I signaled an attack from the left.
Her attention shifted.
I used that shift. Spun—heel arcing through the air—and drove a back kick into her already-broken ribs.
She collapsed instantly.
She hit the ground and stayed there, clutching her side.
Not daring to scream.
Her House was watching.
Instructor Justinian didn't move.
He knew I had measured the strike—just enough to incapacitate. No more.
He stepped forward, gaze unmoved.
"Sophie, of House Ingerina, is unable to continue."
A pause.
"Kaelen of the Empire is the victor."