The first night after the trials, the Academy did not sleep.
Lanterns burned in the courtyards. Students whispered in huddled circles, comparing scores, boasting, or cursing their misfortune. Servants rushed with papers, sealing results and schedules. Teachers drank late into the night, debating which class would dominate this year's cycle.
And at the center of it all, three names were already spreading like wildfire:
Zeryth Malakar, Malrik Veynor, Isolde Thorne.
The S-Class.
Zeryth sat alone by the window of his assigned dormitory, the pale moonlight spilling across his desk. The room smelled faintly of fresh ink and polished wood.
He wasn't sleeping. Sleep was wasteful.
On the desk lay a sheet of parchment, but instead of writing, he traced faint lines of glowing script with his finger. Not visible to others — only to him. His stolen System.
Stats, titles, fragments of power — all of it now his to shape.
But tonight, he wasn't studying numbers. He was studying people.
"Malrik Veynor…" he murmured. The name tasted of steel and sunlight. A boy drunk on honor, plucked up by the Principal like a shining banner. Predictable. Easy to use.
His finger tapped against the wood.
"Isolde Thorne…" The girl who hid her sharpness behind quiet eyes. She wasn't celebrated like Malrik, but Zeryth had noticed the calculation in her gaze, the way she measured every word. More dangerous than she appears. That one needs careful watching.
And then there was himself. Zeryth Malakar. The forgotten background child, now at the center of the board.
He smiled faintly. From the outside, it looks like destiny. In truth, it's only design.
A knock at the door. Three short raps. Hesitant.
Zeryth turned, his face calm, his mind already running scenarios. "Enter."
The door creaked open. Malrik stepped in, still flushed with excitement from the ceremony. His brown hair was tousled, his eyes bright like a boy who had just been handed the world.
"Zeryth," he said, almost breathless. "We did it. S-Class! Can you believe it?"
Zeryth leaned back in his chair. "Believe it? Of course. We earned it."
Malrik laughed, the sound boyish, unguarded. "Still, it feels like a dream. The Principal himself… he chose me. He said I have the makings of a hero."
He looked down, almost embarrassed, then back up with a grin. "I don't know if I deserve it, but… I'll try. I'll fight for it."
Zeryth studied him in silence, letting the boy's words hang in the air. Malrik's sincerity was almost painful — raw, unpolished, but utterly real.
Finally, Zeryth smiled faintly. "Then fight, Malrik. Heroes are needed, after all."
Malrik's grin widened. "And with you and Isolde at my side, we can do anything."
He clapped Zeryth's shoulder before leaving, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
The door clicked shut.
Zeryth's smile remained, but his eyes were cold.
"Anything, hm?" he whispered. "Yes, Malrik. You will do anything. Exactly as I need."
Outside, the moon drifted higher.
Inside, Zeryth's web began to spin.