"Next student…" he paused, squinting. "Ah. Voss, Celine."
He scanned the rows.
"…Voss? Celine Voss?" He spoke once more.
Obei saw her lift a hand just a little then step forward. She didn't push through the other students rather she slipped between gaps so naturally she seemed to flow rather than walk. It took an entire four seconds for the instructor to realize she was already standing directly in front of him.
He jerked slightly in surprise.
"Oh. You're—ah—yes. Good. In the circle, please."
Celine stepped into the glowing zone, hands clasped loosely in front of her. She didn't fidget. Didn't posture. She just… stood.
The drones drifted toward her. And then the air changed.
Not dramatically no flare, no hum, no spike of light. Instead, the space around her grew dense, like gravity itself leaned inward. The drones' lights flickered once.
A thin ribbon of pale violet light unfurled from her left shoulder, snaking down her arm like a quiet pulse. Another shimmered near her ribs. Another faintly at her neck. Dozens, maybe more micro-signatures rather than a single concentrated flare.
Her imprint was spectacularly different then the previous two. It was beautiful in fact.
the drone formation rigid and perfect for the previous scans began subtly shifting, adjusting angles, as if they needed more readings just to keep up.
When the scan finished, the tone that sounded was lower.
The instructor cleared his throat.
"Voss, Celine… Energy Signature at... "The instructor exhaled. "...sixty-one percent."
The courtyard went dead quiet.
The instructor continued, voice leveling out into professionalism but not quite masking his surprise.
"Your imprint is unusually complex. High-density micro-signatures layered across multiple anatomical points." He swallowed.
The female instructor stepped forward, now she didn't hide her reaction.
"That is the highest first-year baseline we've recorded this cycle," she said plainly. "Exceptional talent."
Celine blinked once. Just once. She didn't smile.
She simply stepped out of the circle, moving aside as if the result were nothing more than a routine temperature check.
But the rows broke into whispers.
"Sixty-one? That's Crazy.""She beat Selise by eight... eight!""Is she some kind of wealthy heir as well?"
Names continued down the list.
Each time a student stepped forward, the drones swept in, performed their scan, and displayed a brief flare or pulse of energy. None came close to the first three.
"Johannes, Mira. Energy Signature: nine percent."
"Kaelstrom, Ryen. Energy Signature: twelve percent."
"Donnor, Elise. Signature: seven percent."
"North, Halden. Signature: four percent."
Most scans were brief flickers a single flare along an arm or a faint ripple at the torso. Nothing intricate. Nothing impressive. Just simple, undeveloped marks that dimmed as quickly as they appeared.
Three percent, Five, Eleven. The average hovered low enough that the instructors stopped reacting entirely, merely nodding students aside with efficient disinterest.
Obei stood in silence, watching.
He didn't understand it. Not the percentage, not the flares, Not the quiet disappointment on students' faces when their number was called.
But from what he gathered:
Energy signatures were equivalent to progress toward the next Narrative Rank. At least, that's what the instructors implied.
Rank Two. Rank One. Unranked. None of it clicked.
If the "signature" was the mutation itself… Then what did increasing the number actually mean?
He had no idea.
And every time another student stepped off the platform with a single, lonely flare glowing on their scan, he felt the pressure build like a slow squeeze around his chest.
He felt his turn was going to be sooner then he expected.
"Rheinhart, Livia."
The instructor continued.
A girl with sharp eyes and braided copper hair stepped forward. Her scan produced a clean, bright flare across her sternum simple, but strong.
"Energy Signature: fifteen percent," the instructor announced. A respectable murmur rolled through the rows.
"Above average," the female instructor added, marking something on her clipboard. "Good potential."
Livia stepped aside with a relieved, almost proud smile.
"Next Torren, Hale."
A tall boy with bandaged wrists strode into the circle. The drones barely finished aligning before a heavy pulse of orange-red energy rippled down his right arm like molten metal cooling.
The instructor nodded.
"Energy Signature: twenty-six percent."
A few impressed whistles and soft exclamations followed.
"Solid footing toward Rank Two," the female instructor said, giving Hale a curt nod. "Keep up the hard work."
He stepped back into the line, chest raised slightly but not arrogantly. For a moment, the assessment grounds carried a rising hum of anticipation—like maybe the cohort wasn't entirely average after all.
Then the instructor checked the tablet again.
"Next student…" He adjusted his glasses. "Draven, Obei."
Obei felt the breath leave him in a thin, quiet exhale.
He stepped forward.
The circle glowed beneath him.
The drones approached.
Three aligned. Then they paused, lights pulsing faintly as if checking their instructions. A soft scan washed over him cool, impersonal, mechanical.
No flare appeared not even ripple, no spark, Nothing.
The drones finished their sweep in record time.
A single dull beep chimed from the tablet.
The instructor blinked.
"…Draven, Obei." He hesitated, then read the result flatly. "Energy Signature: zero percent."
A wave of snickers broke instantly. They weren't subtle not even hidden. Sharp, poorly-stifled laughter spreading in pockets around the courtyard.
"Zero?""Does that mean he doesn't even have one?""Is that possible?"
The instructor snapped his head up.
"Enough."
The courtyard snapped quiet, a few lingering whispers smothering themselves.
He stepped forward, eyes cold behind his glasses.
"Draven has awakened less than twenty-four hours ago. His imprint has had no catalysts to consume. A zero percent baseline is expected."
A few students shifted awkwardly. But the instructor wasn't finished.
"As for the rest of you who find this amusing…" He tapped the edge of the tablet sharply.
"Two percent. Four percent. Ten percent." He swept his gaze across several rows. "That is what most of you scored."
Silence.
He lowered the tablet slightly, tone cutting. "Two to ten percent is pathetic. Trees show more promising energy signatures than that."
A few students reddened. One looked away entirely.
The instructor continued, voice crisp as frost:
"Mocking someone whose imprint has barely formed only highlights how fragile your own progress truly is."
Obei stood still in the circle, eyes forward, expression unreadable.
The instructor stepped back. "Draven. Join the general development track."
Obei exhaled slowly, stepping out of the circle. The snickers were gone now, replaced by an uneasy quiet that felt almost heavier.
He walked back into the rows, head low enough to avoid gazes but not bowed. His score was nothing. But he knew that it wasn't permanent.