February 10.
"So this is where Celestara High is," I looked at the massive school building ahead of me.
"Let's go in," Big Sis nudged me.
There were quite a handful of students who were taking the entrance exam like me.
"Here's the auditorium," She guided me to a room and continued, "Do your best! I'll be outside rooting for you!"
"Yes, thanks,"
And she gave me a final hug before I entered the hall.
"What's this?"
"Why can't we enter?"
Murmurs filled the atmosphere.
A huge black veil separated the students in the auditorium from the entrance to the next exam.
I see, the exam started the minute we entered the auditorium. The veil separates those with cores that are yellow and above. My core has been stuck at deep orange for the longest period of time since working, but I should be able to pass this test. Only those better than average can pass this test. Celestara High wants to filter out all the Master Celesteblades and High Celestians.
Right now, I just need to suppress my astral core to the light yellow stage so that I can pass this test without drawing any attention.
Step step step.
The crowd of students parted to reveal a proud elf second son of a noble stride forward with all confidence.
"Move! I'm going to show all you peasants just how cowardly you all are!!" He sneered.
"BONK!!!"
The veil threw the second son backwards.
"Deep red core detected. Access denied."
"Ughh!!!!" The second son wailed. "Do you know who I am?!!" He screamed at the veil. "If my father gets to know about this, you all are dead!!!!"
"Is that so?" A screen lowered down in front of the veil. A lady in her 40s smirked at him. Is that her? Principal Celestine Vaelora? The one that Matron got in touch with to allow me to attend Celestara High, even though I didn't attend Middle school? She sure was a weird one. She asked Matron to still let me attend the school even if my cover is blown.
So that Project Atlas won't be able to find me that easily, over the past month, we moved to a different location, closer to both our school and Ella's school. I dyed Ella's and my signature white hair black to avoid attracting more attention. For this investigation of Project Atlas, I even sacrificed my dignity to put on makeup to look plainer. But my blindfold had to stay put. I still couldn't control my eyes well enough yet.
"Then, let's see what your Father thinks," She taunted.
Her face on the screen was immediately replaced by Count Hollowmere.
"Father!" The second son immediately got onto his knees.
Count Hollowmere's face darkened as he stared at his son.
"You are no son of mine. No son of mine ever uses my name for their own benefit!!! Go, and never show your face to me or anyone in this room ever again." His words were sharp and clear. "Never call me Father again. You are useless and a disappointment."
"NOOOOO!!!" The second son collapsed to the ground, tears gushing down his cheeks as he screamed, "FATHER NOOOOO!!!!!!!!"
A pair of guards immediately dragged him out of the room after Count Hollowmere got off the line.
Murmurs filled the room once more.
"Even a deep red core is rejected?"
"What am I going to do?"
"Most of our cores are red!"
"There goes that proud second son of Count Hollowmere,"
Most people's cores are red?
"That's…disappointing," Stella peeked out of my pocket and sighed.
"Yeah," I agreed and patted her head.
"Is my speculation correct?" I asked her.
"Yep," she nodded. "But you'd need at least a mid-yellow core to pass the other tests. So if your core is light yellow, you would be eliminated sooner or later."
"How about the others' cores? What colour are they? I want to fit in with them."
"I'm not sure…I can't do that, you know?"
"Sorry…"
"All those who would like to withdraw, you may do so now," Principal Celestine spoke through the speakers as the huge doors behind us opened.
More than half the people originally in the hall left the room.
Now, there were…
I roughly scanned the room…
My eyes landed on a familiar figure in the room.
Snow?
She was staring at me, her brows furrowed.
She must have sensed my 'eyes' scanning the crowd earlier. These special eyes sure do come in handy.
Snow gave me one final glance before nudging someone beside her.
"Looks like she doesn't recognise me," I breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Of course she doesn't recognise you, you look so different now!" Stella reassured me. "The only way she could've recognised you is by your voice, which might have changed a lot since the last time you saw her. She must have been just cautious of your watchful eyes."
"Yeah…?"
Wait, isn't the girl she nudged, Arielle Fontaine?
Why are they, of all places, here???
"Don't worry, Papa! She won't recognise your now black hair and covered eyes!" Stella grinned.
"But she might recognise my voice,"
"She might, but would probably doubt herself."
True.
True.
I adjusted my blindfold slightly and exhaled, steadying the slow burn in my chest as the veil continued to reject student after student without mercy. The proud second son's screams still echoed faintly in the hall, his humiliation settling over the crowd like a warning none of us could ignore. Celestara High wasn't filtering for strength alone — it was filtering for something far more specific.
The veil shimmered again as another candidate stepped forward, only to be hurled back with a flat announcement of rejection that made the remaining students visibly pale. Most of the room carried red cores, which in any other academy would be celebrated, yet here they were treated as excess noise. Stella shifted in my pocket, her tiny fingers pressing against me as if reminding me not to make a mistake.
I slowed my breathing and compressed my Astralis core carefully, forcing the deep orange radiance inward until it dulled into a controlled light yellow glow. It felt like squeezing a star into a glass bottle, painful and unnatural, but I kept my expression blank behind the blindfold. If Celestara wanted yellow and above, then yellow they would see — nothing more.
Step by step, I approached the veil, aware of Snow's presence somewhere behind me and Arielle's quiet tension beside her. The air near the barrier felt colder, sharper, as though it possessed intent rather than magic. For a fleeting second, something brushed against my core, probing its surface layers like invisible fingers searching for cracks.
"Mid-yellow core detected," the veil declared after a pause that stretched longer than it should have. The silence in the room thickened, several students clearly expecting me to be thrown back like the others. "Access granted."
A ripple of disbelief followed me as I stepped through, but I didn't allow myself to react or glance back. The corridor beyond swallowed me in dim blue light, its walls engraved with faint astral patterns that pulsed gently in response to the remaining candidates passing through. One by one, those permitted gathered in a massive domed chamber lined with evenly spaced desks beneath a ceiling etched in shifting constellations.
A crystalline pillar stood at the front, humming with restrained energy that made my skin prickle despite the suppression on my core. When a screen descended, and Principal Celestine Vaelora's face appeared, the atmosphere tightened immediately as if the entire room had been pulled onto a single thread. She rested her chin lazily against her hand, eyes gleaming with unmistakable amusement.
"Welcome to Day One of Celestara High's entrance examination," she said smoothly, her voice echoing from every direction at once. "Your first assessment is Astralis Theory." Sheets of paper materialised on our desks in flashes of pale light before she added, "Show me how you think."
The paper before me displayed four Astralis core diagrams arranged in precise detail, each one deceptively simple at first glance. The first was stable and almost textbook-perfect, the second inefficient but functional, and the third dangerously close to resonance collapse. The fourth, however, defied the structural laws of six-element harmony entirely.
Around me, pens began scratching across parchment as students confidently marked answers, some already dismissing the fourth diagram as impossible. I studied it longer than the rest, noting that this is my core, and it shouldn't be impossible. The counter-rotating inner spiral and the unstable outer ring should have torn it apart within seconds. It wasn't impossible — it was incomplete.
If a seventh harmonising frequency existed to regulate the opposing rotations, the collapse could be avoided entirely. Starlight. The erased element.
I kept my explanation neutral as I wrote, framing it as a theoretical extension rather than an assertion of forbidden knowledge. "Under a six-element limitation, structural failure is inevitable; however, the introduction of an additional harmonising frequency could theoretically stabilise the opposing resonance," I penned carefully. It was enough to show thought without revealing certainty.
Halfway through the allotted time, the ceiling's constellations began to glow brighter, and the crystalline pillar emitted a low pulse that resonated uncomfortably through the desks. A boy several rows back stiffened, sweat forming at his temple as his Astralis signature flickered erratically under the strain. Moments later, his paper vanished, and he was quietly escorted out, not for a wrong answer but for instability.
So that's it. They aren't just reading the paper — they're reading us.
Snow's pen stopped at some point, and even without seeing her expression, I could feel her focus sharpen on the same diagram I had lingered over. Arielle appeared troubled beside her, hesitating before writing cautiously, as though aware that something about the question was intentionally misleading. Celestara High didn't want correct answers; it wanted the minds capable of doubting the question itself.
When time expired, every sheet dissolved into light before anyone could glance at another's work. The room felt lighter yet more dangerous, as though invisible threads had tightened around each of us without our awareness. Principal Celestine reappeared on the screen, her lips curving into a faint, satisfied smile.
"Some of you memorised," she said calmly, her gaze sweeping across the hall. "Some of you observed." For a split second, I felt her attention pause in my direction before she added, "Those whose cores destabilised under cognitive strain have been dismissed."
A concealed doorway opened at the far end of the chamber, revealing a dim passage that led deeper into the academy. Stella peeked out from my pocket again, her eyes shining with restrained excitement as she whispered, "You passed the first filter." I nodded subtly, knowing full well this had only been the beginning.
As we rose from our seats and began filing toward the next chamber, Snow brushed past me deliberately, her shoulder grazing mine just long enough to be intentional. "Try not to stare," she murmured, her tone unreadable yet familiar in a way that made my pulse skip. She paused for half a heartbeat before adding, "Your gaze feels… familiar."
I remained still for a second after she walked ahead, resisting the urge to respond in a voice she might recognise. Stella tilted her head up at me slowly, a mischievous grin forming despite the tension in the air. And somewhere ahead in the dim corridor, the next layer of Celestara's psychological dissection waited patiently for us.
The second chamber felt different from the first, colder but sharper, as if the air itself had been refined into something more precise. At the centre stood a single stone pillar etched with faint Astralis veins that pulsed softly like a dormant heart, while delicate rune threads shimmered across the floor and walls in near-invisible lattices. The moment the final candidate entered, the doors sealed shut behind us, and a calm voice echoed through the chamber, "Elemental Application examination. Destroy the pillar."
Several students reacted instantly, summoning raw Astralis into visible form without hesitation. Crimson flares and golden bursts slammed into the pillar, each impact sending tremors through the chamber while loose Astralis particles scattered violently across the rune network. The pillar remained standing, though faint cracks began to spread — not from weakness, but from strain against the reckless output surrounding it.
I stayed still, letting my suppressed core circulate slowly while extending a thin strand of shadow Astralis across the floor like a quiet tide. Unlike the others, I wasn't targeting the stone itself; I was tracing the flow of Astralis within it, mapping the rotation patterns embedded beneath the surface. The pillar wasn't built to withstand overwhelming force — it was built to punish it.
"They're measuring efficiency," Stella whispered from my pocket. "If someone overloads the resonance grid, they'll be eliminated."
As if on cue, a boy with a blazing red core condensed excessive Astralis into a single concentrated blast and hurled it forward. The impact didn't shatter the pillar — it destabilised the surrounding rune lattice, triggering a sharp backlash that flung him off his feet and caused the chamber's voice to respond coldly, "Collateral disruption detected. Candidate dismissed." Guards appeared almost immediately to escort him out.
The atmosphere shifted after that.
Snow stepped forward next, her Astralis forming into a refined stream of pale blue frost that spiralled around the pillar rather than striking it directly. Her ice didn't attack; it constricted, subtly lowering the rotational speed of the pillar's outer layer and testing its structural response with elegant restraint. The cracks along its surface deepened slightly, but she withdrew before pushing too far.
Arielle followed, her light Astralis manifesting as thin, radiant threads that illuminated the pillar's internal circulation lines. Instead of blasting it, she revealed it, exposing a faint inconsistency near its base where the internal rotation faltered momentarily before correcting itself. Her approach wasn't destructive — it was diagnostic.
So that's the flaw.
I stepped forward quietly, allowing shadow Astralis to pool at my fingertips in a dim, almost unnoticeable ripple. Rather than expanding outward, I compressed it into a fine, needle-like strand and directed it toward the faint rotational imbalance Arielle had revealed. The moment it slipped into the unstable seam, I twisted the frequency ever so slightly.
The effect was subtle but immediate.
The pillar trembled once, then twice, and a fracture spiralled upward in a controlled line as the internal Astralis circulation collapsed inward on itself. Instead of exploding outward, the structure folded neatly, dissolving into fragmented light that scattered harmlessly before fading entirely. Silence filled the chamber.
For a few seconds, no one moved.
"Minimal output," the chamber's voice stated calmly. "Zero collateral. Resonance destabilisation successful."
I withdrew my hand as if it had required no effort at all, keeping my core suppressed and steady despite the faint sting of compression still lingering in my chest. Snow's gaze lingered on me longer than before, her expression unreadable but sharper, while Arielle's golden eyes flickered with quiet realisation. The others who attempted brute replication without understanding the resonance flaw triggered minor fluctuations in the rune network and were dismissed shortly after.
The ceiling's embedded crystal pulsed faintly, undoubtedly recording more than just visible output — measuring control, emotional spikes, and reaction to pressure. I kept my breathing even, resisting any trace of satisfaction that might cause my Astralis signature to flare. This academy wasn't impressed by spectacle; it was impressed by discipline.
When the remaining fragments of the pillar dissolved completely, the doors at the far end of the chamber slid open to reveal another corridor leading deeper into Celestara High. "Elemental Application complete," the voice declared. "Proceed."
Stella peeked out slowly, her tiny eyes gleaming with pride. "Shadow really suits you," she whispered playfully. I ignored the warmth rising in my chest and began walking forward with the others.
Snow passed by me once more, her shoulder nearly brushing mine again before she moved ahead without speaking. The air around her carried a faint chill of restrained ice, not hostile but wary, as if she were trying to place something just out of reach. And somewhere beyond the corridor's dim blue glow, the next test waited — one that would demand far more than simple control.
The third chamber opened into an arena.
The arena was enormous, a circular stone floor stretching far beyond where the eye could see, etched with faint Astralis veins that pulsed like quiet lifeblood beneath our feet. Candidates moved cautiously, their cores glowing faintly above them — some crimson, some gold, some pale blue — all of them eager, proud, and unaware that the test would punish anyone who tried to show off too early. I kept my shadow Astralis suppressed tightly, a quiet black ripple across my skin, as I scanned the remaining students, looking for patterns, tendencies, anything I could exploit.
Our teams were being assigned randomly, which meant I had no idea who I would be paired with — or against. Names and races were called, one by one, over the booming voice of the invisible examiner. I was summoned with three others. The first was Ronan, a tall human with sun-kissed skin and a bright amber core that pulsed aggressively; he had the confidence of someone who had been praised for every minor victory. The second, Elira, a lithe elf with silver hair and pale green eyes, her core radiating a calm jade glow; she moved with deliberate precision, clearly the type to observe first, act second. The last was Durgan, a dwarf with a broad frame and a stubborn-looking frown, his deep crimson core barely controlled, already twitching with impatience.
We gathered at the centre of the arena, awkwardly circling each other as the voice continued in the background, "Form your teams and plan your strategy. Survival is key. Leadership is optional." Ronan immediately spoke, his voice loud and commanding. "Alright, I say we charge first and take the initiative. If we overwhelm them early, we control the fight!"
Elira shook her head, stepping slightly back. "Rushing is reckless. We need to observe, understand their weaknesses, and coordinate attacks. Efficiency matters more than brute force."
Durgan grunted, slamming a fist against his palm. "Bah, strategy is fine, but hesitation gets you killed. I'll hold the front and break the most serious threat first!"
I remained silent, letting them argue just long enough to assess their priorities. Ronan was aggressive, craving glory. Elira was calculating, valuing precision over attention. Durgan was reckless but physically imposing — a blunt instrument. I noted their tendencies while keeping my shadow core compressed, barely moving.
Finally, I spoke, my voice calm and low. "If we split focus, we'll be overwhelmed by stronger teams. Let's assign roles according to strengths. Durgan, you take the brunt and hold a choke point. Ronan, you circle to distract and test openings. Elira, support from range, and keep an eye on environmental hazards. I'll stay in reserve, intervening only when it matters most."
They exchanged uncertain glances. Ronan frowned, clearly itching to argue, but Elira inclined her head ever so slightly, impressed by the quiet confidence. Durgan grunted but gave a reluctant nod. "Fine," he said, "but I'm not holding back. If things get messy, I'll smash through."
I allowed a faint ripple of shadow Astralis to pulse beneath my skin, testing my control and subtly gauging their reaction to it. It was small, barely noticeable, but enough to show them that I wasn't completely passive. Not too much. Just enough to assert a quiet presence without drawing attention.
We circled together, mapping our positions in the arena, agreeing on signal gestures and safe distances. Each of us instinctively tested a small burst of Astralis in a controlled flare — Durgan's strength was raw, Ronan's energy flashy, Elira's precise. I didn't flare. I didn't need to. Observing them was enough; knowing how they would act in the chaos ahead gave me the advantage already.
By the time the first signal to start sounded, our strategy was loose but functional, balancing aggression, observation, and restraint. Most of the other teams had already begun moving chaotically, flaring cores wildly to assert dominance. I stayed in the shadows at the edge, letting them rush forward and make mistakes first. The first round of the Betrayal Exam was about to begin, and I was ready to watch, learn, and strike at exactly the right moment.
Every team surged forward like a tide of raw Astralis energy. Ronan immediately leapt ahead, flaring golden Astralis around him in blinding arcs, striking at the nearest opponent with reckless precision. Durgan followed, barreling forward with brute force, his deep red Astralis forming thick, jagged projections that slammed into stone and opponent alike. Elira hung back, her pale green core steady as she weaved defensive threads of Astralis to shield us from stray attacks, but even she flinched at the chaos unfolding.
Our team moved in fits and starts, coordination faltering almost immediately. Ronan overextended repeatedly, leaving openings that the other teams exploited, while Durgan's raw strength collided with enemies head-on, knocking a few back but drawing too much attention to us. Every time I considered intervening, I suppressed my shadow Astralis further, letting small gaps appear so I could measure how each teammate reacted under stress. Observation was more important than action — Celestara was watching, and showing off now would only mark me.
The first wave of attacks tore through us. Opposing teams pressed relentlessly, exploiting our disorganised formation, and we began to lose ground. Ronan's flashy assaults drew the attention of the arena's hidden surveillance, while Durgan's brute swings triggered defensive wards that sent small shockwaves back at him. Even Elira, precise and calm, had to shift constantly to patch the gaps, leaving her exhausted. I stayed just behind, extending tiny, almost imperceptible strands of shadow to stabilise the edges of our formation, preventing total collapse — but never enough to look impressive.
It didn't take long before the first member of our team was eliminated. Ronan had overreached, chasing a fleeing opponent, and a carefully timed counterattack threw him outside the arena boundary. He shouted in disbelief as he vanished, leaving the rest of us rattled. Durgan roared, charging recklessly at the same enemy that had taken Ronan down, but his raw power wasn't enough to overcome the precision of the opposing core, and he too was dismissed after triggering a boundary trap.
Elira and I were left alone, our cores pulsing faintly in exhaustion, the arena now scattered with fragments of light from the dismissed candidates. She glanced at me with a mixture of frustration and relief, clearly expecting me to act. I allowed a tiny ripple of shadow Astralis to flow across my fingers, testing the resonance of the floor, the remaining opponents' positions, and the pattern of attacks without drawing attention. "We… weren't ready," I murmured, letting her think the statement was for her sake, though it was equally for my own calculations.
By the time the first battle ended, our team had failed — a slow, messy defeat that left the arena littered with glowing fragments of Astralis and the echoes of the dismissed. The invisible evaluators had likely recorded everything: who overextended, who panicked, who remained calm, and who measured instead of striking. I had stayed almost invisible, unremarkable, and still learned more in those moments than anyone else would in a full day of fighting.
As we were guided to the side, watching the remaining teams continue into the next skirmishes, I suppressed a faint smirk behind my blindfold. The defeat wasn't a failure — it was an experiment. I had observed, catalogued, and noted exactly when and where each teammate faltered. And next time, I would use that knowledge.
The arena reset itself, faint pulses of Astralis coursing along the stone tiles as the next round began. This time, our new teammates were strangers once more, each assigned at random, their cores flaring bright with impatience and confidence. I stayed at the edge of our formation, letting the others move forward first, observing patterns, noticing who acted recklessly, and silently calculating where a single, precise intervention could change the outcome. Shadow Astralis remained suppressed to a near-invisible ripple, enough to let me feel the flow of energy without drawing any eyes toward me.
The first clash erupted quickly. Opposing teams surged forward, their cores blazing with raw power, while our teammates scrambled, some overextending and others hesitating. Golden arcs of light, whirling ice threads, and jagged bursts of fire collided violently in the centre, throwing fragments of stone and residual energy into the air. I let them make mistakes, noting who panicked, who protected others, and who could be manipulated into a trap, all while keeping my presence nearly invisible. Each failed strike and overcommitment revealed exactly where the team's weak points lay, and which enemies were careless enough to leave themselves exposed.
Then the opportunity came. A heavily overextended human with a crimson core launched a reckless assault against two opponents at once, ignoring the formation's gaps. I stepped forward, letting a thin strand of shadow Astralis snake around his legs, not enough to throw him down immediately but enough to subtly destabilise his footing. At the same moment, I nudged a small pulse toward the fractured rotation of the arena tiles beneath another opponent, causing them to stumble and misalign their attack. The cascade was subtle but effective: the first human lost balance, the second misfired, and suddenly the momentum of the fight shifted.
Ronan's replacements and Durgan's new teammates began faltering as the pressure subtly mounted, their attacks no longer coordinated. I moved just enough to intercept critical strikes aimed at our weakest member, a young elf whose green core quivered in fear, using shadow to absorb the shock of each blow rather than attacking directly. Elira's strategies from the previous round had clearly inspired the remaining team members — some of them instinctively covered weak points — but it was my small interventions that allowed the pattern to hold. Every strike I made was precise, minimal, and calculated; nothing flashy, nothing noticeable, but enough to turn near-disaster into an advantage.
By the time the round reached its final seconds, the enemy teams were disoriented, overextended, and vulnerable, while our team had regained composure and coordinated subtly. I delivered a single, controlled pulse of shadow Astralis into a fractured tile beneath the last opponent's feet, sending them tumbling just enough to be counted as defeated without any outward spectacle. The arena's sensors confirmed our victory, and the doors slid open with a muted hum.
As we exited, my teammates were breathing hard, exhausted but unaware of how small my contributions had truly been. They praised each other, attributing the win to luck, timing, and teamwork — which, in a sense, was correct, but not entirely. I kept my shadow Astralis compressed, hiding the faint glow from any lingering eyes, while Stella peeked from my pocket, her tiny smile glowing with excitement. "You made that look like luck," she whispered. "Quiet, perfect, and no one suspected a thing."
Even as the arena doors closed behind us, I knew the evaluators had recorded everything: who held back, who panicked, who noticed openings, and who acted with minimal, decisive impact. Showing off would have been catastrophic, but waiting, observing, and intervening with subtlety had guaranteed success. That was the Celestara way — precision, patience, and quiet power.