The examination hall smelled like polished stone, old sweat, and ambition trying to convince itself it was destiny.
A terrible combination.
Ambition made students loud. Fear made them polite. Nobility somehow made them both at once.
Three hundred first-years stood beneath the eastern arch of the Spire of Trials while academy attendants moved through the crowd with crystal tablets and faces scrubbed clean of opinion. White banners hung from the balconies overhead, each one carrying Astral Zenith's crest: a tower piercing a star, arrogant enough to look honest about itself.
At the center of the hall, five assessment circles had been carved into black marble. One for Aether resonance. One for physical foundation. One for tactical reaction. One for combat form. One for route—no.
Not route.
Officially, it was called character aptitude.
Cute.
The academy had dressed fate in a uniform and called it assessment.
