The echoes of the test still lingered in the Academy. Whispers slithered across corridors, common rooms, even the instructors' halls.
"That boy… Zeryth Malakar."
"He didn't just win—he erased the competition."
"What did he do? Those beasts—why did they suddenly collapse?"
They didn't understand. They never would. That was the beauty of it.
I walked the stone halls, every step calculated to seem ordinary. Hands folded behind my back, expression blank, a shadow among children who thought they were destined to be heroes.
But two pairs of eyes cut through the crowd, sharp enough to deserve acknowledgment.
Malrik Veynor. His posture screamed confidence, but there was a stiffness in his jaw, a weight behind his gaze. He was used to winning, to standing on top. My presence had unsettled that. He was already preparing his next move, strategizing how to surpass me. Predictable. Admirable, in its own way.
Isolde Thorne. She did not glare, did not clench her fists like Malrik. Her eyes were cool, like a river flowing over stone. She observed without reaction, but her silence was not ignorance—it was calculation. She had the look of someone who collected details, stored them, and sharpened them into weapons later.
Perfect. A rival with fire, and another with ice. Both useful. Both fragile.
The Codex whispered.
[
I smiled faintly. The System was gone. The Codex was mine. Their destinies no longer belonged to the world—they belonged to me.
Malrik found me first, of course. He strode across the courtyard, sword at his hip, aura blazing with restrained mana. Students turned to watch; a challenge was expected.
"You." His voice carried like a thrown blade. "Zeryth Malakar. How did you do it? The beasts—what trick did you use?"
A crowd gathered instantly, hungry for spectacle.
I tilted my head slightly, my expression calm, unreadable. "Trick? No. I simply… saw further than you."
His jaw tightened. He wanted me to explain, to reveal, to validate his frustration. But why would I? Instead, I let silence stretch, forcing him to fill it with anger.
Isolde approached then, her steps measured. She didn't interrupt, only stood a few paces away, eyes locked on me. A judge, not a challenger.
Malrik pointed a finger at me. "Don't think today's result makes you the strongest here. Next test—I'll surpass you."
There it was. The fire, the pride. A useful tether.
I gave him a slow, deliberate smile. "Good. Try. You'll make the game more interesting."
The crowd murmured, Malrik scowled, and Isolde's lips curved—just slightly. Not a smile, but recognition. She understood.
That night, I sat in my dorm, Codex floating before me.
[
Perfect. Malrik's rage, Isolde's suspicion—they weren't obstacles. They were investments. The more they struggled, the more predictable their paths would become.
I whispered their names in the dark.
"Malrik Veynor. Isolde Thorne."