The Knight Dormitory was magnificent from the outside—three marble wings, banners snapping proudly in the breeze, and statues of legendary warriors guarding the entrance like silent sentinels.

  Ray stepped inside and instantly regretted it.

  The interior was a war zone. Armor clanged somewhere down the hall. Someone shouted, “STOP SWINGING THAT INDOORS!” followed by a crash that suggested the exact opposite had happened. A group of first-years was already doing push-ups in the hallway for fun, while two older students dueled on top of a dining table as their friends cheered like drunken tavern patrons.

  “…This isn’t a dorm,” Ray whispered. “It’s a zoo for battle maniacs.”

  A boy carrying three spears nearly ran him over. “MOVE, SOFT-FACE!” he barked before sprinting past.

  Ray stumbled forward, clutching his bag. He passed an open door where a group was comparing actual scars like trading cards. Another student leaned out of a room and yelled, “HEY! ANYONE WANNA PRACTICE BATTLE CRY FORMATION? FIRST ONE TO PASS OUT LOSES!”

  A shiver ran up Ray’s spine. Jocks. Loud, overconfident, chaotic jocks. For one awful second, he wasn’t in Aetherion—he was back in his old high school, standing by the lockers, waiting for his brother Nathan to finish practice while the sports guys shouted across the hall. He’d never belonged there. He didn’t belong here, either.

  I’m not a Knight, Ray thought, his wristband pulsing a defiant crimson. I’m a mistake in the sorting algorithm.

  “Room 207,” Ray muttered. “Okay… okay, it can’t be that bad.”

  He turned a corner only to see a student doing squats while holding another student over his head like a dumbbell. The “weight” boy gave Ray a thumbs-up. Ray turned around to flee, but a stern assistant spotted him.

  “Melborne! Room 207 is this way. Move!”

  The assistant shoved open the door, and Ray was thrust into his new reality.

  Inside were three boys built like they trained by fighting mountains.

  Rian Torvald was the first to notice him. Broad-shouldered with a buzz-cut and a square-jawed grin, he looked like a walking welcome banner. “New roommate! Nice! Helps keep the room from echoing.”

  Harel Kessin was wiry and sharp-eyed. His uniform was neatly pressed, his gloves adjusted with obsessive precision. “We heard you’re noble-born,” he said mildly. “Can you loan us money for snacks? Training fund purposes. Mostly.”

  Calen Merris was the serious one. He held his spoon like a training tool and eyed Ray with grim suspicion. “Do you snore? If you snore, we drown you in the washbasin. I’m not joking. I have drills at dawn.”

  “Looks like we’re lucky,” Harel said dryly. “We got saddled with Number Two.”

  Ray blinked. “Number two?”

  Calen nodded. “You placed second in the written exam. Or did you forget?”

  “Oh—right…” Ray had forgotten. His mind had been too busy melting down over Lucien D’Roselle.

  Rian leaned back on his bunk. “Speaking of Number One… I had my people look into him. Lucien D’Roselle. Son of some small countryside baron. Tiny estate. Barely on the map.”

  Ray’s thoughts spun. A minor noble? Someone from a nowhere barony CRUSHED me? A cold shiver moved down his spine. This was a classic trope: the underfunded, quiet prodigy from nowhere who turns out to be the true "Hero" of the story.

  And Lucien had just glitched his [Analyze] skill.

  I’m not dealing with a rival, Ray whispered to himself. I’m dealing with a walking error message.

  “I’m taking the top bunk,” Ray declared, pointing at the empty bed with all the authority of a conquering general.

  Rian shrugged, but Calen and Harel snapped their gazes up.

  “No,” Calen said flatly. “That’s mine,” Harel added. “I need elevation for airflow optimization.”

  Earth-Ray would have backed down. Earth-Ray would have taken the floor if asked. But this wasn't Earth. Ray planted his feet, lifted his chin, and said with a heroic gravitas he absolutely did not possess:

  “Let’s fight for it, then.”

  Harel and Calen stared at him. They looked at his "2nd Place" ranking. They looked at his mysterious, confident stance. Then they looked at each other.

  “Actually, you know what? Take it,” Harel said, backing away. “I need the bottom bunk to… stretch my hamstrings,” Calen grumbled.

  Ray blinked. Did… did that actually work?

  He climbed the ladder with smug triumph, settling into the mattress like a king returning to his throne. Rian laughed. “Man, I like you already.”

  Ray folded his hands behind his head, a slow grin forming. Top bunk secured. Dorm established. And tomorrow? The Engraving Ceremony. His heart thumped with excitement as sleep finally crept in.

  “GET UP!”

  The dorm didn't just wake; it shook. Ray flailed so hard he nearly performed an unscheduled flight off the top bunk. Rian jolted awake with a guttural war cry, Harel began muttering calculations in a sleep-deprived panic, and Calen hit the floor in a perfect crouch, as if he’d been training in his dreams.

  The door slammed open. “FIRST-YEARS, ON YOUR FEET! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”

  Ray scrambled down the ladder, nearly tripping over his own legs. “This is illegal,” he muttered, fumbling with his buttons.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “The sun isn't even up,” Harel wheezed, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands.

  “It’s Engraving Day,” Calen countered with grim reverence. “Sunrise is merciful. The soul is most receptive before the sun burns away the morning mist.”

  They rushed into their uniforms, grabbed their gear in a frantic blur, and sprinted into the main Knight Hall.

  Hundreds of first-year knights crowded into the massive stone hall. Banners rippled overhead in a draft that felt charged with static. Ray stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his roommates, still trying to force oxygen into his lungs.

  Across the hall, he spotted the unmistakable "Peacock" wave of hair. Rowen Vernhard stood tall with his arms folded, wearing the smuggest, most instructor-pleasing expression Ray had ever seen. Every time an officer's gaze passed him, Rowen adjusted his posture like he was posing for an imperial monument.

  Ray clenched his teeth. Of course he looks perfect. I probably have bed-head and one sock inside out.

  An instructor stepped forward, his voice booming like a cannon. “FIRST-YEARS! TODAY YOU WILL RECEIVE YOUR ENGRAVINGS.”

  A roar of cheers erupted, shaking the very dust from the rafters. Ray’s heart leapt into his throat.

  “You will enter the chambers by assigned order. Engravings take time to perform and verify. Expect a full-day rotation,” the instructor continued. “Maintain discipline. Maintain your place. And remember—Engraving is a sacred process. Fail to respect it, and you will be pulled from the roster.”

  “People faint sometimes,” Calen whispered, his eyes fixed forward. “And cry,” Harel added. Rian grinned, crackling his knuckles. “I’m gonna do both.”

  Ray barely heard them. His pulse was a frantic drumbeat. This is it. The moment every hero receives their power. The start of the real game.

  “…I’m gonna be sick,” Ray whispered.

  From the upper balcony, where the upper-years watched the "fresh meat," Garret’s voice echoed down, already sounding annoyed: “DON’T YOU DARE EMBARRASS THE FAMILY, RAY!”

  Ray groaned. The day had only just begun.

  The first-years marched in tight formation, leaving the Academy walls behind. They followed a winding stone path through a dense, ancient forest that seemed to swallow the morning light. Ray expected a simple building or a boring ceremonial chamber.

  He was wrong.

  They stepped into a valley, and the valley breathed.

  Ray stopped walking. So did everyone else.

  Before them stretched a vast sacred landscape carved into distinct elemental zones—each one pulsing with its own aura, its own temperature, and its own unique atmosphere. It felt less like a training ground and more like a place where the laws of the world came to kneel.

  The air shifted from the smell of mountain pine to the sharp tang of ozone, then to the heavy, sulfurous heat of a forge.

  An instructor raised a hand, his silhouette framed by the glowing ley lines that crisscrossed the valley floor.

  “Welcome, first-years… to the Engraving Grounds.”

  The air in the valley was a chaotic symphony of elemental pressures, clashing and harmonizing all at once. For Ray, it felt like standing in the middle of a high-end gaming PC's cooling system—pure, raw power being redirected with terrifying efficiency.

  The instructor paced before the group, his shadow stretching long across the ley-lined grass. "The shrines are not merely locations," he warned, his voice cutting through the hum of magic. "They are living conduits. Choose the path that matches your resonance, or the path that challenges your limitations. But choose wisely—the stone does not forgive a lack of conviction."

  The landscape was divided into distinct "Biomes of Power," each one a physical manifestation of the Empire's magical foundation.

  The valley is a masterpiece of elemental engineering, where the geography itself has been bent to serve the soul. Each shrine isn’t just a location; it is a pressurized environment designed to force a resonance between the student and the magical ink.

  Located on an eastern plateau of scorched obsidian, the Sunforge is a place of absolute intensity. Even under a heavy cloud cover, a column of unnatural, golden sunlight beats down upon this spot, focused by ancient runic pillars that act as solar conduits. The air is thick, sulfurous, and shimmering with heat waves that distort reality. It tests the "will to burn," as the heat here recognizes the kinship in fire-affinity students and draws their internal mana to the surface. It is widely considered the most physically demanding path, known for a pain threshold that forces many students to their knees before the needle even touches them.

  To the west lies a shallow, perfectly circular lake that defies the laws of nature. Not a single ripple moves across its surface, regardless of the wind, creating a profound silence and a biting cold. A thick, waist-high mist clings to the shoreline, muffling all sound from the rest of the valley to evaluate a student's clarity and emotional control. The water doesn't just sit there; it reacts to the presence of the soul, with ripples moving toward those it deems worthy. It is a mental trial of reverence and absolute, crystalline calm.

  A ring of towering white stone pillars stands to the south, acting as a massive flute for the world's breath. Inside this ring, the laws of gravity feel lighter and the air is in constant motion. Threads of wind twine through the space like playful, invisible serpents, lifting leaves and debris in intricate spiraling patterns. It measures the agility of the spirit, as the wind here is sentient and temperamental; it can buoy a student up or violently reject those who lack a proper internal anchor. A high-pitched, harmonic hum fills the ears, creating a sense of constant, vibrating energy.

  In a northern hollow overgrown with ancient moss and coiling roots, the Earth Shrine feels like the literal heart of the world. The environment is heavy and grounded, smelling of damp soil and ancient stone, while a deep, rhythmic thrum vibrates through the soles of the feet. It demands absolute stability from its applicants. It is said that if a student’s spirit wavers or shakes during the ceremony, the very ground will reject the contact. This shrine offers a feeling of crushing gravity and immense, unmoving power.

  Located at the exact geometric center of the valley, this is an amphitheater of plain, weathered gray stone. Unlike the others, it has no elemental flair—no fire, no wind, no mist. It feels unsettlingly neutral, acting like a void in the middle of a storm that absorbs the elemental noise from the surrounding shrines without reflecting any of its own. This is the destination for the unclassifiable, the unstable, or the exceptionally rare. It is where the soul is tested against pure mana, providing a cold, clinical environment where your essence is laid bare without the distraction of elemental heat or cold.

  The first-years whispered among themselves, their voices a mixture of awe and dawning panic.

  “Is that actual sunlight over the Sunforge? The clouds aren't even moving.” “The water… it's like a sheet of glass. How is it that still?” “The wind pillars aren't just blowing. They’re singing.” “Does the earth feel like it’s… breathing to anyone else?”

  Ray’s jaw hung open as he took in the impossible geography of the valley. Each site felt like a localized rip in reality, tailored to a specific force of nature.

  “So,” he croaked, his throat suddenly tight, “this is where we… get branded with destiny?”

  Rian slapped his back hard enough to rattle his teeth. “BRANDED WITH GLORY, Ray! Imagine the power!”

  Harel adjusted his glasses, his face pale. “Branded with anxiety is more like it. The margin for error in these atmospheric conditions is statistically terrifying.”

  Calen merely crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the Earth Shrine. “Branded with responsibility. Power without a purpose is just a loud way to die.”

  Ray nodded weakly, his knees feeling like they were made of jelly. “…Branded. Yes. Exactly. All of the above.”

  The head instructor’s voice cut through the murmurs like a thunderclap.

  “FORM LINES BY AFFINITY! THE ENGRAVING BEGINS NOW!”

  Ray’s heart slammed against his ribs. The crowds began to move, splitting into streams of red, blue, green, and silver. His turn was coming. His mark, his power, his fate—it was all waiting behind the veil of elemental energy.