Obei blinked at the glowing alert on his bracelet.
POST-ORIENTATION
ASSESSMENT LOCATION: TRAINING GROUNDS
TIME: 10 MINUTES
A soft chorus of identical chimes rang out across the courtyard.
He glanced around.
Other students were checking their bracelets too—some startled, some annoyed, a few already moving with the confident stride of people who'd known this was coming. Even the two heirs near the fountain paused to look at their notifications.
The boy clicked his tongue. "Assessment already? Tch. They're not wasting time."
The girl barely reacted. She just turned, posture straight as a blade, and began walking toward the eastern path without a word. He hurried to fall in step beside her.
Obei rose from the bench, adjusting his backpack and slipping into the stream of students converging in the same direction. At least now he had somewhere to go.
The path wound behind the main academic buildings, the sound of chatter growing louder as more first-years merged into the flow. Gravel crunched underfoot. A few nervous laughs flickered through the group. Someone muttered about hoping it wasn't combat-related. Someone else muttered that it definitely was.
Obei kept to the edge of the group, following quietly, absorbing every detail.
The training grounds came into view like a sudden shift in atmosphere.
A broad expanse of reinforced platforms, shock-absorbing mats, open-air arenas, and towering structures he couldn't identify it was all surrounded by tall fencing laced with faintly glowing runes. Instructors in sleek uniforms stood in different areas, clipboards in hand, eyes sharp.
Students began naturally forming into rows as they entered, a ripple effect of order. Obei mimicked them quickly, slipping into a spot near the back row. The boy with the embroidered crest ended up a few rows ahead; the phoenix-brooched girl stood two rows over, hands clasped calmly behind her back.
An instructor stepped forward with the crisp authority of someone who didn't tolerate delays, raising a hand for silence.
"Line up. Eyes front. Hands at your sides." Her voice cut through the chatter instantly.
Obei straightened, shoulders tense.
The instructor let the silence hang not for long, but long enough to make every student feel the weight of it. Her eyes swept over the rows, sharp and evaluative, as if she were already judging dozens of things none of them knew they were displaying.
Finally, she spoke. "Welcome to your Post-Orientation Assessment. This will determine your baseline ranking, training track, and starting placement in the Initiative's internal system."
A few students swallowed hard. Someone in the front row whispered, "Ranking? Already?"
The instructor didn't acknowledge it.
"You will listen. You will follow instructions. And you will not attempt to use your abilities unless told to do so. Some of you have yet to understand your powers. Some of you are too overconfident. Some of you" her eyes flicked briefly toward the wealthy boy "have yet to be corrected."
The student straightened his shoulders, expression tightening.
Obei remained still, forcing his breathing into a steady rhythm. His fingers twitched at his side. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that he noticed.
The instructor continued, stepping aside as a set of reinforced panels along the wall began to hum and slide open.
From within, several floating drones drifted out—spherical, silver, with faint blue light pulsing in lines across their surface. They arranged themselves in the air above the students like silent, mechanical birds.
Gasps rippled through the rows.
"These assessment units," the instructor said, "will conduct a full scan of your bodies, vitals, reflex responses, and Narrative imprint signatures."
She clasped her hands behind her back.
"There will be no pain. There will be no contact. We are simply checking for physical status, and proof of your Narrative imprint signature."
One of the students in the front row raised his hand, his eyes were like daggers staring straight forward.
"Mr... Alexander?" she questioned.
"Yes Ma'am, up to this point I haven't heard of this Narrative imprint signature. Could you please elaborate." His voice wasn't loud but loud enough to be heard by everyone.
Others looked towards the instructor sharing the same question.
She sighed, "Although the headmaster should have been the one to inform you, I'll take it upon myself to inform you. Narrative imprint Signatures are the very mutations that took effect in your body. A heart, lung, arm, leg, eye. Its the very thing that has changed your human anatomy."
Before anyone else could question further she stepped away.
Another instructor—tall, narrow-framed, wearing thin rectangular glasses—stepped forward with a tablet in hand.
"When your name is called," he said, "you will step to the marked circle in front of you. Stand still. Do not speak. Do not move. The drones will handle the rest."
He glanced at the tablet.
"First student Albrecht, Marius." The wealthy boy's chin lifted.
He strolled out with the confidence of someone who'd been told his whole life he was exceptional. He stepped into the circular zone it was etched with faintly glowing lines.
folding his hands neatly behind his back. Marius stepped into the glowing circle, posture immaculate, chin tilted just slightly skyward, as if the very platform should be honored to hold his weight.
The drones responded immediately.
Three of them drifted in, aligning into a perfect triangular formation around him. Lines of blue light traced across his body in synchronized sweeps, beginning at the crown of his head and descending slowly toward his feet.
Obei felt the tension rippling through the rows. This was the first real glimpse any of them would get of what a Narrative imprint actually looked like under analysis.
A soft hum built in the air.
Then... FWIP—!
A sudden spike of bright light burst from Marius's chest, like a flare igniting for half a heartbeat before dimming into a controlled, pulsing glow. visible energy radiated outward in thin geometric patterns, like an intricate mandala unfolding beneath his skin.
Students gasped.
The glasses-wearing instructor's brows rose.
"Very impressive" He murmured.
Even the stern female instructor gave a small, approving tilt of her head.
The tablet chimed sharply.
"Albrecht, Marius," the second instructor announced, voice carrying. "Your Narrative imprint displays a dense and active core. Energy Signature at…" He glanced down again, lips twitching into something close to surprise. "Forty-six percent."
"That places you," the instructor continued, "nearing the midpoint toward Rank Two."
A few students turned instinctively toward Marius. He didn't turn. He didn't smile. But pride radiated off him like heat.
The female instructor added crisply, "your imprint is strong. Proceed to the primary advancement group."
Marius stepped out of the circle with a smoothness bordering on smug. He met no one's eyes, but he didn't need to. Everyone had seen.
"Next," the glasses-wearing instructor called, "Arden, Selise."
The girl with the phoenix brooch stepped forward with quiet confidence. No theatrics, no arrogance, just precision in every movement.
She entered the circle.
The drones glided toward her.
Where Marius's signature flared violently before stabilizing, hers rose slowly, cleanly, like watching ink spread.
Then the pulsing light appeared this time along her spine, branching outward like stylized wings of golden-blue energy that fluttered just once before settling into a smooth halo around her.
It was beautifully controlled. The entire formation of students collectively leaned in.
The scan ended with a low harmonious tone.
The instructor checked the tablet.
"Arden, Selise… Energy Signature at fifty-three percent."
Marius stiffened.
The instructor lifted his voice so all could hear:
"Your imprint is remarkably stable. Already past the halfway threshold toward Rank Two, with no signs of strain or impurity. Excellent control. Excellent suppression. You will join the elite advancement track."
Marius's jaw flexed. Not enough to be obvious… but Obei saw it.