The black angel's energy—Alden still didn't know its name—was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It was not just power; it was a presence. The moment the First Circle had formed within his mind, everything changed. His grasp of the world sharpened, as though the fog of ignorance had lifted. What once required hours of study now came to him in flashes of understanding. Alchemic formulas that had seemed complex now unraveled like threads in his mind. Sword forms flowed more naturally, and his grasp of aether manipulation increased in strength and subtlety.
But while his mystical and martial abilities soared, Alden made the conscious choice to direct his focus elsewhere—academics. The first exam would be theory-based, and though his body and spirit had evolved, he knew that his mind had to keep pace.
Days flew by in study and meditation, each moment an intense blend of concentration and nervous anticipation. Finally, the day came: December 12th, Year 217. The preliminary excitement had matured into determination. The exams were to begin the next day, but Alden had made up his mind to reach the city a day early—partly to get used to the environment again, and partly to settle his nerves. He'd only visited Bloodridge once before, during the Awakening Ceremony, and that too under his mentor's guidance. This time, however, he would travel alone.
With only a few changes of clothes, a pouch of dried fruits, and a small water gourd, Alden set out early that morning. The sky was painted in soft greys and purples, the dawn still stretching its limbs across the hills. His village sat nestled between forested mountains and long meadows, but as the hours passed and the terrain shifted, the surroundings became more and more foreign.
He rode in a carriage for the most part, its wooden wheels thudding against cobbled roads and gravel paths. Around noon, he passed through smaller towns already buzzing with hopeful applicants. Boys and girls around his age carried packs and weapons, their eyes filled with either terror or dreams.
By late afternoon, the towers of Bloodridge City loomed on the horizon—crimson spires shimmering under the setting sun, casting long shadows over the outer wards. The city's name was no accident; its buildings had a reddish hue, thanks to the region's unique iron-rich stone.
Alden made his way directly to the old inn where he had stayed last time with his mentor. It sat tucked behind a narrow alley, its sign swaying in the cool breeze. The moment he entered, a wave of familiarity washed over him—the same creaky floorboards, the same strong smell of oil and fried eggs.
But things had changed.
"You said four copper coins before," Alden remarked, holding a small pouch tightly. "Now it says eight."
The innkeeper, a stout man with bushy sideburns and a sleeveless wool vest, scoffed. "Boy, you must be new to the economics of an exam week. Every damn room in the city is booked solid. I've had twenty lads ask for a room just today. It's eight coins or no bed—simple as that."
Alden hesitated. Eight coppers was a significant chunk of what little coin he carried. But lodging was essential. Gritting his teeth, he handed over the coins and took the key. The room was simple, but clean. After stashing his pack under the bed and securing his belt pouch, Alden stepped back into the city.
Evening had settled in by then, and the streets were awash in warm glows—paper lanterns of green, red, and orange hung from wooden arches and store signs. Steam rose from food stalls, the air alive with the sizzle of oil, the aroma of sweet bread, roasted meat, and spiced soups. Music drifted in from a tavern somewhere, the melody soft and melancholy.
Alden found himself enchanted again. Though this was his second visit, the city's grandeur still struck him. Unlike the quietness of his village, Bloodridge pulsed with energy. He bought a handful of honey cakes and a fried vegetable skewer, keeping some coins back for tomorrow. He also purchased a sticky syrup fruit for Furious, his companion wolf-spirit who remained dormant for now in his aether core.
As he walked through the merchant district, he noticed dozens of young faces like his own—some nervous, others overconfident, a few clearly from noble families judging by their silks and retainers.
Then, a small crowd gathered near the main square caught his attention. People were murmuring, craning their necks for a better look. Alden moved closer, curious.
In the center of the commotion stood a boy, tall and commanding. His features were noble, almost unnaturally perfect—jet-black hair, icy blue eyes, and a strong jawline. He wore a dark crimson overcoat lined with gold trim, and on his wrist, an aether band—one of the advanced models Alden had only read about.
The whispers around him confirmed his identity: Veydan Bloodridge, the son of the city's duke.
Alden observed from a distance, trying to assess him. His movements were precise, confident. There was strength in the way he held himself, as though combat was as natural as breathing. But what struck Alden the most was his eyes—empty, devoid of curiosity or joy, as though he'd seen too much or cared too little.
Then Veydan looked directly at him.
Their eyes locked for a moment—Alden's full of intensity, Veydan's vacant like a calm sea under moonlight.
Alden looked away quickly and turned toward the inn. He had no reason to provoke the son of a duke, not tonight of all nights.
Once back in his room, he tried to sleep, but excitement gnawed at him. He lay awake, mind racing with thoughts of the exam, the people he saw, the possible challenges ahead. Eventually, exhaustion took hold.
Still before dawn, Alden woke.
He bathed in the inn's public bathhouse, enjoying the rare solitude. The water was warm, and the silence comforting. About thirty minutes in, the innkeeper walked in, raising a brow.
"Didn't expect anyone else up this early," the man grunted.
"I wake up early. Helps me focus," Alden replied.
"Smart lad," the innkeeper said. "I'll whip up some breakfast before you go."
By the time Alden returned from changing, the scent of fried rice and eggs greeted him in the dining area. A bowl of vegetable soup steamed on the table. He ate gratefully, thanked the innkeeper, and left for the examination center.
The building stood across from the Awakening Temple, its black gates now open to a sea of hopefuls. A massive crowd had already formed by the time Alden arrived, young applicants from every corner of the continent. The murmurs were deafening. Banners with group numbers waved in the wind.
At 8:00 a.m., a tall man with short-cut silver hair stepped onto the podium.
"I am Guide Kael," he said, his voice firm and clear. "From today, your examinations begin."
He continued to lay out the structure of the trials: three exams over three days.
Day One: Written paper—testing general knowledge and theory.
Day Two: Aether combat against monsters in a simulated world.
Day Three: Weapon-based combat without aether.
Only the top four would be admitted into the Royal Academy of Ironhold—the dream of every serious aspirant.
Alden's name appeared on the display:Roll Number: 347Class: Division D
He moved to join the line for Division D.
The exam was about to begin.