Andrew could only endure and do his best. He got all he could from the last days before the start of the studies. He had pushed himself, and Lucy, to their limits. Their sparring sessions became a blur of strikes and blocks, feints and counters. His small body, once so vulnerable, now moved with a nascent power, a coiled spring ready to unleash. He felt the hum of qi beneath his skin, a constant reminder of his progress. The academy loomed, a daunting shadow on his horizon, but he met it with a quiet determination. He would be ready.
The day arrived when a messenger, a young woman with a crisp uniform and an air of detached efficiency, delivered his academy attire. Andrew ripped open the package. The uniform was blue, a deep, rich indigo that seemed to absorb the light. It came with several shorts, practical for training, and an equal number of pants for more formal settings. T-shirts, soft against his skin, were folded neatly alongside heavier robes, designed to ward off the chill of high altitudes or cold seasons. Each item bore the academy's emblem: a stylized bolt of lightning, sharp and precise.
He knew the symbol well. Many cultivators adopted insignia, a quick visual cue to their affiliation and power. The lightning bolt meant strength, speed, and sometimes, a certain ruthless efficiency. He slipped on a pair of the shorts, the fabric smooth against his skin. They felt good, a subtle promise of the challenges to come.
He looked at his reflection in the polished surface of his inner chamber's mirror. The blue contrasted with his dark skin, making the lightning bolt on his chest stand out. He wasn't a child in a costume anymore. The uniform transformed him, a subtle shift in perception. He saw a nascent warrior, a student embarking on a journey.
The morning of the intake ceremony, a sleek, self-driving carriage, polished to a mirror sheen, glided to a stop outside his home. It hummed silently, a testament to Vavilon's advanced technology. Andrew, dressed in his new full uniform, the blue robes flowing around his small frame, stepped out to meet it. His heart beat a steady rhythm, not of fear, but of anticipation.
Lucy stood by the door, her expression a mix of pride and concern. She smoothed down a stray lock of his hair.
"You've worked so hard," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.
He met her gaze, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.
"I won't disappoint you," he replied, his voice firm. He climbed into the carriage, sinking into the plush seats. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing him in.
The city of Vavilon blurred outside the window. Towers of polished metal and glowing energy rose into the sky, their tips disappearing into the clouds. Sky-bridges arched between them, ethereal pathways traversed by silent hover-vehicles. The academy, he knew, lay at the heart of it all, a beacon of cultivation and knowledge.
He thought of the others, the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of young cultivators converging on the same point. Competition. He savored the word, testing its weight. He did not fear it. He embraced it. He had worked for this, prepared for this, built himself for this.
The carriage ascended a long, winding ramp, eventually pulling into a vast courtyard. The academy itself was a monolithic structure, its dark stone walls reaching for the heavens. Arches carved with intricate patterns led into its depths. Statues of legendary cultivators, their eyes fixed on horizons unknown, lined the pathway.
Students, a sea of blue uniforms, milled about the courtyard. They ranged in age, some no older than Andrew, others on the cusp of adulthood. Excitement, fear, and nervous energy crackled in the air. Andrew disembarked, stepping onto the ancient paving stones. He adjusted the collar of his uniform. The lightning bolt felt like a brand, a permanent mark of his new identity. He was no longer just Andrew, a child of Vavilon. He was a student of the academy, a cultivator in the making. The true test began now.
Andrew sought his own path. He did not want to shadow Lucy, hoping her presence would somehow smooth his way. This journey belonged to him, his reputation to forge, not borrow. To hide behind her now would be to sabotage his own beginning. He expected the sleek carriage to whisk him away to some secluded intake area, a quiet antechamber for new arrivals. He was wrong.
The carriage driver, a woman with tight, dark braids and an impassive face, turned her head slightly. "We've arrived." Her voice, a low rumble, broke the vehicle's comfortable silence.
Andrew blinked. He peered through the tinted window. The courtyard teemed with students, a kaleidoscope of blue uniforms. He saw Lucy, her blonde hair a bright beacon amongst the darker heads, her shoulders already surrounded by a small knot of other girls. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. This was not the quiet entrance he envisioned.
Before he could process the full implications, the driver continued. "A representative will guide you."
As if on cue, a woman detached herself from the throng, her blue robes pristine, her bearing confident. She moved with an easy grace, her gaze sweeping over the parked carriage. Andrew let out a long, silent sigh. He saw no escape. He pushed open the carriage door and stepped out.
A sudden hush fell over the immediate vicinity. Conversations died. Heads turned. A ripple spread through the crowd. Andrew stood on the paving stones, his small frame dwarfed by the academy's massive architecture, a lone figure amidst a sea of curious eyes.
A commotion erupted.
The younger girls, their faces still round with childhood, simply stared. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed on him. They pointed, whispered behind cupped hands, their giggles like the rustle of dry leaves. He was an anomaly, an exotic animal presented for their inspection. He heard snippets of their hushed conversations.
"Look at his skin."
"He's so small. Only seven."
Their words swirled around him, a buzzing cloud of childlike wonder and innocent curiosity.
Then he noticed the older girls. They watched him too, but their gazes carried a different weight. Their eyes, sharp and assessing, raked over his body. Not with childish wonder, but with a predatory gleam. They saw not a child, but a morsel, a prize. A few audacious ones winked, their lips curving into knowing smiles. He was a piece of meat, a raw cut to be judged and devoured.
Andrew felt a flush creep up his neck. He saw it then, laid bare in their reactions. His small stature, his dark skin, his presence here at all — it made him a spectacle. He was a big deal, a focal point. Not for any achievement yet, but for his sheer existence. The attention was overwhelming, a tidal wave against his small boat. He tightened his jaw. He would not cower. He would not hide. He met their gazes, one by one, a defiant spark in his eyes. He would show them what this "exotic animal" could do.
The woman from before, the one who had guided his carriage, stepped forward. Her presence alone seemed to quell the buzz in the courtyard. She held a delicate scroll in her hand, its edges gilded. Her voice, amplified by some unseen artifice, resonated through the open space.
"Welcome, new students, to the Vavilon Academy." Her words echoed off the ancient stonework. "Today marks the beginning of your journey. A journey of self-discovery, of discipline, and of immense power."
She gestured towards the massive gates of the academy. "Within these walls, you will forge your future. You will learn the secrets of cultivation, unlock your potential, and serve our great city."
Andrew watched the sea of faces around him. Around a hundred new students, all roughly his age, though some appeared older, their bodies already hinting at adolescence. They shifted nervously, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He felt their collective anticipation, a tangible hum in the air. This annual ritual, he realized, was more than just an enrollment. It was a rite of passage.
The woman continued, detailing the academy's structure. Four normal classes, one for geniuses. The path to Foundation Establishment, the benchmark for true achievement. The career prospects, the stark reality of what awaited those who fell short. Andrew listened, absorbing every word, translating the lofty rhetoric into practical implications. He knew his aptitude. He knew his goal.
The ceremony began. A long line of children, most of them noticeably taller than Andrew, formed near a raised platform. One by one, they ascended the steps. A man in formal robes, his voice deep and resonant, read their names, their ages, and their cultivation aptitudes. He then directed them to their assigned classes.
"Liu Mei, age seven, cultivation aptitude three. Class A."
"Chen Long, age eight, cultivation aptitude three. Class B."
The names blended together, a steady stream of young hopefuls. Andrew watched the expressions on their faces. Pride, relief, disappointment. A boy with a cultivation aptitude of four shuffled off the stage, his shoulders slumped. The man's voice remained impassive, a detached arbiter of their destinies.
Then came the first "genius."
"Lin Xia, age seven, cultivation aptitude two. Genius Class."
A ripple of excitement went through the assembled students. Whispers broke out. Lin Xia, a slender girl with keen eyes, walked with a newfound confidence. The girls who had been staring at Andrew now murmured about her, their attention momentarily diverted.
More names, more aptitudes. Andrew remained at the edge of the crowd, observing the patterns. The normal classes filled steadily. The genius class remained sparse, a testament to the rarity of true aptitude. He felt the weight of expectation. His own moment approached.
Finally, the man's voice called his name. "Andrew, age seven, cultivation aptitude two."
A hush fell over the courtyard once more. The collective gasp was almost audible. Seven years old. Cultivation aptitude two. It was an unusual combination for a male. The murmuring began anew, louder this time, tinged with a fresh wave of surprise. He walked towards the platform, each step deliberate. He held his head high, ignoring the myriad of eyes now fixed upon him. He ascended the steps and stood before the man in formal robes.
"Genius Class," the woman stated, her voice betraying a hint of something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps recognition.
Andrew nodded, a small, concise motion. He looked out at the faces in the courtyard once more. He saw a few of the older girls from before, their predatory glares replaced by something resembling awe. He saw Lucy, her face alight with a fierce, possessive pride. He saw the genuine shock on many faces, the sudden realization that the "exotic animal" was also a prodigy. He had their attention. Now he would keep it. He turned and walked towards the designated corridor for the Genius Class, his blue robes swaying with each confident stride.