Gurella City, Lord Greyheart's mansion.
In a world where the Gods ruled from the heavens and Fate bound all living beings like puppets on invisible strings, mages were the only existence that dared to challenge destiny itself.
Eight thousand years had passed since the apocalyptic End War between Gods and Mages, yet the scars of that conflict still shaped the world.
Talents had grown scarce. True geniuses had become nothing more than myths whispered in ancient records.
Until, on a single day, two heaven-defying anomalies appeared.
...
In a pristine white ceramic bathtub filled to the brim with scented water, a vague figure lay completely submerged. Arms folded across the chest, the person remained motionless. Occasionally, a small bubble escaped their nostrils, floated to the surface, and vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Then, suddenly—
Splash! Splash!
Water spilled onto the polished brown floor, darkening it momentarily. A faint blue glow emanated from the wet patches, then evaporated, leaving the floor pristine once more.
The torso rose above the water while the lower body remained submerged.
Jane Greyheart.
One of the most influential teenagers in all of Gurella, she was the daughter of Gary Greyheart, a Peak Rank 3 Grand Essence Mage. Her jet-black hair clung to her scalp, drenched, and her mesmerizing green eyes could captivate anyone with a single glance.
She stepped out of the tub, wrapped a thick white towel around her chest, and approached the glass screen door. At her touch, it slid silently into the wall, revealing her private room bathed in sunlight.
The walls were painted pure white, while the ceiling bore awe-inspiring depictions of ancient beings radiating holy light, locked in battle with forces wreathed in suffocating darkness. Jane had seen the murals too many times to pause.
She sat at her dressing table, studying her reflection. Fifteen years old. Her body had begun to develop into that of a woman—yet household duties never interested her. Her father, on the other hand, spoke only of crushing enemies and growing stronger.
Today was the Appraisal Ceremony. She silently hoped her magical talent would at least be Fourth Grade.
A shadow passed over her thoughts. Her elder siblings had all been schemed against and killed, victims of pride and arrogance. But she? She had been carefully nurtured, the last surviving Greyheart child, destined to succeed her father.
She could not fail him.
Her eyes drifted to the long white dress laid out on her bed. Moments later, she rose, opened her room door, and stepped into a vast hallway. A velvet carpet stretched endlessly under her feet, soft and warm. Towering chandeliers bathed the corridor in golden light.
"Good morning, Young Miss Jane."
The servant bowed deeply. The Greyheart Mansion was massive; children of age were given private apartments. Almost all of Jane's siblings were gone. Only she remained.
Outside, the sun's orange crown pierced the clouds, dyeing the sky crimson. The servant stood straight as bamboo, dressed in red and white with polished knee-length boots. Behind him, a premium carriage drawn by four disciplined racehorses waited silently.
The sound of the fountain splashing combined with birdsong to form a morning symphony. The servant opened the carriage door. Jane stepped in without a glance.
Moments later, he took the driver's seat and cracked the reins.
"Giddy up!"
The horses surged forward in perfect unison. Inside the carriage, Jane sank into the plush cushions, closing her eyes.
Then, from the ceiling, thin rays of light converged into a floating holographic mask. Hollow and white, it stared at her with empty eyes.
"Good morning, Jane. How can I assist you?"
Jane barely opened her eyelids. "Bugger off, Genie! I don't remember summoning you."
"I detected a twenty percent increase in your heart rate and adrenaline. You appear angry… or nervous."
She said nothing.
"I understand. Appraisal Day can be… intense for a fifteen-year-old. Based on my estimates, your aptitude should at least be Second Grade—"
"Elsa! Enough!"
"…Would you like me to play a song—?"
"Power off!"
The mask vanished instantly. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Ever since her eldest sibling's death, Jane had carried her father's hopes like an invisible weight. The only way she could honor them was if she had the magical talent to do so.
Signs usually appeared around age seven. For Jane, nothing came until twelve, and even then, it was faint, ghostly. Everyone assumed she would be of the lowest grade. Even Elsa had confirmed it.
Jane raised her left hand, exhaling slowly.
"…Try to feel that slight pulling force… and pull back…"
Her father's voice echoed in her mind. Almost immediately, the golden sunlight outside dimmed, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
---
The carriage rumbled over the winding road. Ancient, medieval-style buildings lined the streets—red bricks cut with surgical precision, blending modernity and tradition. Elderly couples sat on porches. A man watered a flowerbed while chatting with a neighbor. A teenage boy pushed a lawnmower. A woman hung clothes.
At first glance, Varkon seemed peaceful. But beyond Gurella City, darkness and chaos waited. Here, tranquility existed only because the city was under the Light Mage Domain, ruled by a Rank 5 Grand Mage.
Children between fourteen and fifteen moved about. Some looked gloomy—without magical talent, or thought to have none. Others were excited, nervous, waiting for the appraisal.
The carriage came to a halt in front of a towering building, its walls pulsing faintly with defensive runes:
Forceful entry is useless.
A gatekeeper in a blue-and-black uniform approached. His Rank 3 aura leaked subtly.
"Your gate pass, please."
The servant handed a jade-green card. After a brief verification, the gatekeeper returned it with a smile and gestured toward the gate.
The carriage entered the vast complex. A fountain displayed a statue of a broad-shouldered man pinning a sea monster. Tall pine trees stood like sentries. Grey stone slabs covered the ground, extending to the first building, whose polished glass façade gleamed harshly.
Across the glass, bold letters read:
National Essence Mages Regulatory Commission (NEMRC)
Between olive branches and a crossed sword and scale, the insignia radiated authority.
Groups of Mages whispered in clusters.
"Oh, look who decided to show up."
"Isn't that Jane?"
"Greyheart's last surviving child…"
Their murmurs pressed in. Jane's heart raced. Fists clenched. Teeth ground faintly.
"These fools…" she muttered.
"Just you wait."
No matter her grade—Second, Fourth, or even the legendary Sixth Grade—she would make them eat their own words.