Chapter 68: Entrance Ceremony

  Morning came with his dreaming mimicking the sound of a door knocking.

  Three knocks struck the door, evenly spaced and deliberate. Not loud, yet impossible to ignore. The kind of knock that meant more were coming if not answered.

  Lance stirred, breath catching somewhere between dream and waking. Pale light filtered through the tall windows of his fifth floor room, the sky outside washed in early gray and faint gold. For a moment he lay still, suspended in that fragile space where nothing has weight yet.

  Then the knocks came again.

  He sat up.

  “Coming,” he called, voice rough with sleep.

  The door opened anyway. Creaking like some low budget horror movie.

  Three soldiers stepped inside with crisp precision, boots landing in unison against the polished wooden floor. They did not spread out, nor did they crowd the room. They simply entered and stopped, forming a neat line just beyond the threshold as if the space itself belonged to protocol.

  Up close, their armor was even more striking.

  The foundation was unmistakably Roman in influence. Layered bronze plates curved around their torsos in articulated segments, overlapping like the scales of some disciplined metallic beast. Each segment had been polished to a muted gleam rather than a blinding shine, suggesting utility over vanity. Deep crimson fabric fell from beneath the chest plates in controlled panels that reached mid thigh, embroidered with thin lines of gold thread marking rank.

  Yet woven through the bronze were fine channels of glowing script, delicate mana inscriptions etched so precisely they looked poured rather than carved. The blue runes pulsed faintly with contained energy, traveling in narrow pathways along the armor’s seams. Their pauldrons were broader than history would have allowed, reinforced with angular dark steel ridges that hinted at modern combat design. Utility belts at their waists held compact devices alongside their straight edged blades, objects whose function Lance could only guess at.

  Their helmets rested under one arm. Crested not with horsehair but with crystalline fins that arced backward in smooth curves. The crystals hummed softly, attuned perhaps to the city’s mana network or to each other.

  Ancient discipline meeting engineered precision.

  The soldier at the front inclined his head the smallest fraction.

  “Participant Lance,” he said, voice steady and formal. “You have thirty minutes to prepare yourself. All candidates will be escorted to the Ceremonial District for the entry procession.”

  Thirty minutes.

  The words settled heavily.

  “You are to be ready when we return,” the soldier continued. “We will remain stationed outside your quarters. If assistance is required, you may request it. If not, we will escort you upon the final bell.”

  Lance swung his legs over the bed and stood, trying to appear more awake than he felt.

  “Understood.”

  The soldier’s gaze flicked briefly to the silver band on Lance’s wrist, then to his assortment of weapons choices laid on the wall. A spear still draped in cloth, a Sword, and finally, a Pair of Ornate looking Daggers sprawled on the dresser next to the bed. A subtle shift in attention. Clearly interested in why such a young man would carry around so many weapons.

  He didn't bother to look at the gloves still on Lance's hands.

  Then the trio turned in synchronized motion and exited the room. The door closed with a clean, controlled click.

  Silence returned.

  Thirty minutes.

  Lance let out a long breath.

  He moved toward the window first rather than the wash basin. Instinct pulled him there. He wanted to see it again before everything shifted.

  From the fifth floor, the capital stretched outward in layered tiers. The architecture struck him anew in the quiet of morning. Broad avenues paved in pale stone radiated outward like spokes from the distant ceremonial district. The stone itself was veined with silver filaments that pulsed gently, carrying mana beneath the surface. At intervals, tall columns rose along the streets, reminiscent of Roman colonnades, their capitals carved with scenes of historical victories and legendary figures.

  Farther away, he could see the second ring of the City, only a fool would assume it was anything other than the Noble District. Lance wondered if he would venture there in the future.

  But between the classical facades, modernity had grown.

  Crystal mounted lanterns hovered slightly above iron posts rather than hanging from them, stabilized by delicate runic arrays. Bridges arced between upper levels of buildings, reinforced with transparent barriers that shimmered faintly in the rising light. Aqueduct-like channels ran along certain rooftops, not for water but for controlled mana flow, glowing softly in shades of blue and gold as energy streamed toward key districts. If he had to guess, the aqueducts helped the flow of mana how internet lines worked back home.

  It was Rome rebuilt by artificers.

  Purposeful, Domineering while still maintaining beauty and homage to those before.

  Carriages already moved along designated lanes, their wheels hovering inches above the ground, propelled by concealed enchantments. Citizens in layered robes crossed overhead walkways without breaking stride. Guards patrolled intersections in pairs, bronze and crimson catching the sun.

  Lance rested his palm against the cool glass.

  In thirty minutes he would walk into the heart of it.

  A faint stirring rippled through his chest.

  The bond.

  He stilled.

  Within his soul space, that vast dim expanse beyond physical perception, the dormant presence shifted ever so slightly. His bond was finally on the verge of awakening.

  Like something immense stretching in anticipation.

  His pulse quickened in response.

  “Easy,” he murmured.

  He forced himself to turn away from the window and move toward the bathing chamber.

  The bathroom itself was larger than many bedrooms he had known back on Earth. Pale stone walls lined with inset channels of silver script created a subtle geometric pattern. At the center stood a recessed basin large enough to serve as a small pool, steam already faintly rising from its surface.

  A smooth oval crystal was mounted near the wall above a control dial etched with runes. Lance approached cautiously and brushed his fingers against the dial.

  Warmth intensified instantly.

  Mana stone, he assumed.

  The crystal brightened, responding to his touch. Water flowed in from narrow slits along the basin’s edge, already heated, steam thickening as it cascaded in controlled streams. The sound was softer than plumbing, more like a steady whisper than rushing pipes.

  He stripped quickly and stepped inside.

  Heat enveloped him.

  Not scalding, not sputtering out in waves of water. Perfectly regulated. The mana stone adjusted subtly as he shifted, maintaining temperature with quiet intelligence. Faint tingles of energy brushed against his skin, cleansing in a way that felt deeper than soap alone.

  He leaned back, letting the water cascade over his shoulders.

  For a few precious minutes, the weight of expectation lifted. How long has it been since he had something as simple as a shower. He chuckled at the thought, “Knighthelm for all its glory really didn't have a single shower.”

  He thought of the bakery. Of flour in his hair and Ember’s grin. Of Ellowen’s calm presence and the deliberate peace he had carved out in that moment.

  Your last anonymity.

  The bond pulsed again, stronger this time.

  In the stillness of the bath, he focused inward.

  His soul space responded immediately, awareness sliding into that inner horizon. The dormant presence loomed at its center, vast and indistinct, edges shimmering faintly as if reacting to distant vibrations. Threads of connection stretched between them, luminous filaments binding essence to essence.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Today those threads hummed.

  Not violently.

  But insistently.

  The buzz of the concentrated mana must be stirring his bond.

  Lance exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.

  “Not yet,” he whispered again.

  He finished quickly after that, stepping out as the mana stone dimmed in response to his absence. Towels warmed themselves on a nearby rack through subtle enchantments. Even comfort here was engineered.

  He wasn't so naive to believe everywhere like this though, just the building he was in and the room he stayed in alone spoke of lavishness and wealth.

  Dressing felt ceremonial in its own right.

  The provided attire fit perfectly, tailored without a single measurement taken in front of him. Dark charcoal trousers, fitted but flexible. A high collared tunic of deep slate fabric, its weave threaded with silver filaments that caught light in understated flashes. The design echoed the city’s aesthetic. Roman in structure, modern in execution. Structured shoulders. Clean lines. Subtle reinforcement stitched invisibly into stress points.

  He fastened the collar and adjusted the cuffs.

  The silver participant band gleamed against his wrist.

  Another pulse answered it from within.

  Stronger now.

  He returned to the window one last time.

  The sun had risen fully, bathing the capital in warm gold. The ceremonial district in the distance stood radiant. Pale spires etched with glowing script pierced the sky. At their center, the domed hall crowned with its suspended rotating crystal ring shimmered in slow, deliberate motion.

  Somehow, the first time he looked, he totally missed the impossibly long obviously Magic Tower erecting like Sauron's eyeball far to the side of the walled Capital. Completely opposite of the Nobel District. I guess that section is the Academy. Just that section alone dwarfed some of the biggest cities he's been to back on earth. That just went to show how big the Capital truly was.

  Bells began to toll across the city.

  Layered tones overlapping in solemn cadence.

  Summoning.

  His heart matched the rhythm instinctively.

  Fear flickered at the edges of his composure. Not fear of failure alone. Fear of exposure. Of being seen. Of the world knowing what he was before he fully understood it himself.

  Excitement braided with it, bright and undeniable.

  The bond flared sharply.

  A surge of electric sensation spread across his chest and down his spine, radiating outward into his limbs. For a heartbeat, his vision shimmered faintly at the edges.The moving Static even shocking some of hair upwards.

  Emotions really do play a role with my Mana” he chuckled, feeling his newfound confidence after the quick wash over of electricity coursing through his body.

  A firm knock sounded once more at his door.

  “Participant Lance,” came the soldier’s voice from the corridor. “Your allotted preparation time has concluded.”

  Thirty minutes gone.

  He took one final look at the city.

  Stone and crystal.

  Columns and conduits.

  Ancient empire reborn through arcane mastery.

  Then he turned, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the door as the power within him thrummed in quiet anticipation of the day that would change everything.

  _________________________________

  Lance was swallowed by the tide.

  Thirteen year olds surged forward in a restless current, shoulder to shoulder, the last remnants of parental hands and armored escorts dissolving behind them. The soldiers who had guided them this far peeled away at the edge of the grand avenue, leaving the candidates to move as one mass toward destiny.

  The noise was not loud in the way of battle or markets. It was sharper. Quicker. A thousand half whispered fears colliding with bursts of nervous laughter. Boots scraped against veined stone. Fabric rustled. Someone muttered a prayer. Someone else was already boasting about hypothetical triumphs.

  Faces told stories.

  A boy to Lance’s left looked faintly green, lips moving silently as if reciting memorized mantras. A girl ahead of him walked with chin high and eyes bright, practically vibrating with anticipation. Another pair shoved lightly through gaps in the crowd, eager to get closer as though proximity might improve their standing. n

  Lance moved at an easy pace, hands loose at his sides. Where did Slade and Aoife go?

  He had been separated from them while travelling with Ellowen, and by the time he arrived at his sleeping arrangements he did not even spare a thought on not having his two closest friends by him. Well, I am sure they are around here somewhere.

  He lifted slightly onto his toes to scan the crowd but saw only a sea of heads and shifting shoulders. Silver participant bands flashed in the morning light like scattered fish scales.

  He exhaled and let it go.

  They would find each other after.

  The crowd compressed as they approached a series of towering stone arches that marked the entrance to the ceremonial grounds. Each arch rose nearly four stories high, carved from pale marble shot through with luminous threads of gold mana crystal. The carvings along their surfaces depicted scenes of past Ascensions. Figures kneeling before radiant artifacts. Beasts bowing to chosen wielders. Cities rising from ruin beneath the glow of awakened power.

  As Lance passed beneath the first arch, he felt it.

  A ripple across his skin.

  The air itself shimmered faintly, as if he had stepped through an unseen membrane. Ancient enchantments embedded within the stone scanned each candidate as they entered, reading the silver bands on their wrists, verifying identity and intent. The runes along the arch flared briefly in response to each passing child, flickers of blue and silver dancing along carved lines before fading again.

  The tunnel, just beyond curved gently downward, walls lined with inset crystals that emitted steady light without flame. The sound changed here. Footsteps echoed. Voices multiplied, bouncing off smooth stone in layered whispers.

  Anticipation thickened.

  Then the tunnel opened.

  Lance stopped walking for half a heartbeat.

  A laugh almost escaped him.

  Before them stretched a vast circular arena.

  A fucking Colosseum.. Awesome.

  Not a crude imitation, but a monumental fusion of ancient imperial design and arcane mastery. The arena floor was a flawless expanse of pale stone etched with concentric rings of glowing script. Sigils overlapped in complex geometric patterns, forming a colossal array that pulsed faintly beneath the surface like a sleeping heart.

  Tiered seating rose in sweeping arcs around the circumference, climbing higher and higher until they brushed the open sky. Tens of thousands filled those seats. Nobles in jeweled cloaks. Merchants in fine layered silks. Soldiers in polished armor. Scholars with glowing tablets floating beside them, recording everything.

  Halfway up the stands, a broad promenade encircled the structure. Colorful awnings stretched overhead, shading food stalls and vendors selling miniature enchanted trinkets shaped like famous relics of past ceremonies. Steam drifted upward from grills. Sweet smoke from candied nuts mingled with incense and roasted meat.

  Lance’s lips twitched.

  I bet Ember is somewhere up there today.

  Above the highest tier, translucent barrier fields shimmered faintly, forming a protective dome that did not obstruct the sky but would intercept any stray surge of mana. The barrier’s surface refracted sunlight into soft prismatic hues, painting the arena floor with faint rainbows.

  The candidates were guided into ordered lines at the center of the arena, filling the lowest ring of the massive sigil array. From above, they must have looked like seeds arranged upon sacred geometry.

  The murmur of the crowd swelled, then softened.

  At the far end of the arena stood an elevated platform of white stone, accessible by a wide staircase. Seated upon it were figures arranged in careful formation. In the center stood a lectern carved from a single slab of luminous crystal, the sigil of the Academy suspended above it in rotating golden script.

  Lance scanned the platform.

  He expected obvious divisions. Legendary class holders grouped together. Nobles separated by crest and lineage.

  He saw none.

  Instead, the distinctions were in attire.

  Closest to him stood candidates dressed for physical disciplines. Warriors and melee specialists wore fitted tunics reinforced with subtle leather plating at shoulders and ribs. Some bore bracers etched with impact runes that shimmered faintly when they flexed their hands. A few had belts supporting compact weapons sealed by enchantment tags, the blades dormant but present. Their colors tended toward deep reds, forest greens, charcoal blacks. Lance himself was adorned with his several different weapon types, gaining odd looks.

  Pugilist types wore sleeveless vests bound tightly at the waist, forearms wrapped in layered cloth inscribed with strengthening glyphs. One boy rolled his shoulders and faint motes of golden light flickered around his fists before settling.

  Rangers and scout oriented candidates wore lighter fabrics in earth tones, cloaks that seemed to ripple even in still air. Small crystal lenses were embedded at their collars or temples, likely enhancing perception. Quivers rested across backs, arrows tipped with faintly glowing heads.

  Then there were the robed.

  Mages stood out immediately. Flowing garments in blues, purples, and deep midnight hues pooled around their boots. Embroidered constellations shimmered along hems. Thin staves or floating focus crystals orbited near some of them, suspended in gentle rotation. The air around a few felt subtly colder or warmer, ambient mana reacting unconsciously to their affinity.

  Academic classes were present as well. Alchemists wore layered aprons over refined robes, pockets filled with sealed vials that glinted with contained liquids of impossible color. Artificer candidates bore tool belts lined with miniature arcane instruments. One girl adjusted a mechanical monocle that clicked softly as tiny lenses recalibrated.

  Hard to believe a bookworm could make it here.

  But as he watched, he noticed the way some of the quieter robed candidates held themselves. Still. Focused. Eyes tracking patterns in the massive arena array with analytical intensity.

  Knowledge was power here too.

  And then he saw them.

  System Priests.

  Roughly forty figures stood clustered near the front of the assembly, their presence unmistakable. They wore pristine white robes that seemed almost too clean for reality, fabric flowing loosely yet never tangling. Silver threads formed sacred geometry along their sleeves and hems. Around their necks hung crystalline pendants shaped like teardrops, each one containing a faint inner glow.

  The air around them felt different.

  Quieter.

  Stabilized.

  Some held slender staffs topped with circular halos of interlocking rings. Others clasped prayer beads carved from translucent stone. Their expressions were serene, yet their eyes were sharp, assessing the crowd not with ambition but with measured devotion.

  Forty.

  That is a shit ton.

  A murmur rippled through the candidates as more filled the inner ring. Lance felt the enormity of it settle into his bones.

  This was not a small academy trial.

  This was spectacle.

  The bond inside him stirred again.

  Stronger. Almost mimicking the excitement Lance had.

  As if the entire arena were a tuning fork struck against his soul. The concentric sigils beneath his boots thrummed faintly, responding to the collective mana of thousands gathered in one place.

  His heart quickened.

  The noise of the crowd blurred at the edges.

  Above, banners unfurled from the highest tier, each one bearing the crest of a different noble house or guild sponsor. Their colors caught the light as enchanted wind currents kept them extended despite the still morning air.

  Lance drew a slow breath.

  Stone and magic.

  Ancient empire and evolving system.

  A colosseum built not for slaughter, but for selection. And maybe slaughter he wasn't sure yet.

  At the center of it all, he stood among a Thousand children poised on the edge of transformation.

  And somewhere above the roar of anticipation, fate watched with patient interest as the Ceremony was about to be underway.