Chapter 28: Orientation

The next morning dawned bright, the sky above Eryndor awash in molten gold.

The five from Vorath joined the steady stream of students funneling toward the central amphitheater, an open arena of stone steps carved in vast concentric circles around a raised dais. The sheer number of bodies was staggering, nearly a hundred students packed into the space.

Riven moved with the flow, his hood pulled low. His gaze swept across the amphitheater as he stepped inside, taking in just how immense it was. The space seemed to swallow voices, amplifying them into a dull roar of anticipation.

Groups were already forming.

On one side, the Sigils clustered together, faint glowing etchings running along their arms and necks. Most bore their runes like tattoos. With his enhanced hearing, Riven could catch fragments of their hushed conversations.

"Look at them, Arcanums carrying themselves with such arrogance…"

"Is that an Archetype from Veylin? No way, look at his size…"

"Never seen so many awakened gathered in one place."

Their words weren't mocking, only awed, as if each student were a fragment of some grand, living tapestry they had only now begun to glimpse.

Across from them, the Arcanums stood apart, radiating superiority.

Riven caught one of them sneering at a passing Archetype—Ceyric.

"Brutes," the boy said with a curl of his lip. "Tools, nothing more. Without their fists, they're useless."

Ceyric's jaw tightened, the insult hitting its mark, but he didn't rise to it. Surprisingly.

Riven raised a brow at the familiar look the Arcanum boy wore, it was the same look he once received, over and over. For the first time, he thought: 'So this is what it feels like, standing on the other side of that gaze.'

Kevan leaned toward Lynn. "Not even five minutes in and they're already at each other's throats."

"Normal," Lynn muttered. "Arcanum always think they're above the rest."

For once, Leo spoke, his voice low but carrying weight. "And Archetypes are too quick to prove them wrong."

Riven blinked, glancing at him. It was the most Leo had said since yesterday.

"Didn't think you were listening," Kevan said.

Leo's head shifted slightly. "I always listen."

Before more could be said, the murmurs died.

The doors to the Overseer's Hall opened.

Out strode a tall man, imposing figure in robes of black and deep crimson, streaks of iron-gray hair pulled back. His gaze was sharp enough to strip the skin from bones, a gaze that seemed to leave no corner of a soul unexamined. This was Tael Dros, Headmaster of Astralis.

His steps were unhurried, yet every sound of his boots echoed like a drumbeat across the stone. Authority clung to him like a second skin, fear and respect mingling in the air.

He stood at the dais, surveying the crowd. Silence pressed down, heavy and complete.

"Students of Caelora. Of Gravenholt. Of Vorath," Tael's voice was iron wrapped in silk, smooth yet cutting. "Welcome to Eryndor. You have crossed miles, endured trials at your various schools, and survived the culling of your peers. Today, you stand in Astralis, the seat of the Vanguard Academy. Here, you will be broken, reshaped, and reforged. And should you survive… you will rise greater than you ever imagined."

Murmurs rippled through the students. Some filled with pride, others laced with unease.

'Tormentors, guides, mentors,' Riven repeated in his head as Tael raised his hand. 'Nice way to dress up the word jailors' His thoughts were laced with sarcasm, but his jaw remained still.

At Tael's side, three figures stepped forward.

First came a stocky man with a thick black beard and a scar dragging along his jaw. His folded arms bulged with muscle even beneath his plain tunic. His dark eyes swept over the students like a butcher measuring cuts of meat.

"Dorian Hal, Combat Instructor Archetypes… you'll learn what it means to endure under him."

"Break them, you mean," Dorian muttered, voice gruff, drawing nervous laughter from Archetypes. He cracked his neck, voice harsh and final: "I don't care where you're from or what your bloodline whispers to you. Here, your body is your first weapon. Fail it, and you fail yourself."

A ripple of agreement ran through Archetype ranks. Leo gave a faint smirk at that, muttering under his breath, "Finally, someone who gets it."

On the opposite side, a graceful woman stepped forward. Amira Zeyne, draped in silver and indigo robes that shimmered like liquid light. Her violet eyes glimmered, and with a mere smile she made several boys flush.

"This is Amira Zeyne, Mistress of the Elemental Arts. She will take charge of the Arcanums."

She inclined her head, her voice velvet over steel. "A brute's fist will only take you so far. Here, you will be sculpted into wielders of true artistry."

A clear jab. Dorian scoffed, shaking his head.

Several Arcanums smirked openly, casting disdainful glances at the Archetypes. One muttered loud enough: "Brutes, exactly."

Kevan growled, fists tightening, but Riven pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Not worth it. Besides—" his voice was low, cutting, "they all look weak anyway. Nothing without their lumen."

Dorian's eyes flicked toward Riven, catching the words. A smirk tugged at the man's lips. The Arcanums, however, bristled with offense, one of them opening his mouth to retort, only to fall silent when Tael's hand cut the air.

"And for the Sigils," Tael continued, "you will answer to Instructor Selvar Nox, Master of the Inked Paths."

A tall, thin man emerged, his pale skin alive with hundreds of faint shifting sigils that moved like living ink. His voice was calm and steady.

"Sigils are memory given permanence. You are walking archives of power. Forget this, and you forget yourselves. Stand tall your ink is legacy."

The Sigil students straightened, pride gleaming in their eyes, though a few Arcanums still chuckled quietly.

Tael gestured to the instructors. "They will be your pillars. Listen. Learn. Or be discarded."

The words struck like stone, drawing nervous silence.

A boy near Riven scoffed, whispering, "Discarded? Bold for a headmaster to—" He stopped cold. Dorian's gaze pinned him like a dagger. The boy paled and shut his mouth tight.

"Now," Tael said, his eyes sweeping them all. "You have endured two trials already. You have bled, struggled, endured. But the third trial will be unlike any that came before. And this time, it will take place not in simulation, nor under crafted conditions… but in a true corridor."

The amphitheater froze. Even the veterans stiffened.

"In a month's time, you will enter a Corridor, an abyss we call The Pit."

The uproar was instant.

"What?!"

"A corridor? That's suicide!"

"They can't expect intakes to—"

"They're insane!"

Kevan's face drained. "The Pit? They're serious?"

Lynn shook her head. "That's… insane."

Even Leo's brows lifted faintly.

But for Riven, the name struck deeper. His chest clenched, a tremor racing down his spine. The Pit. His breath hitched, memory dragging him to another dark hole, the place where he nearly died where his awakening took place. His body shook at the phantom pull of that abyss.

The crowd's panic swelled until Dorian Hal stepped forward.

His aura exploded.

The crushing force slammed into the amphitheater like a tidal wave, pressing students flat, choking lungs, bending spines. Proud Arcanums fell to their knees, gasping, their sparks snuffed out in a heartbeat.

Even Riven trembled, knees quivering, but he forced himself steady, gritting his teeth as the black mark along his spine burned faintly beneath his shirt.

Dorian's voice cut through the suffocating silence. "You will be silent."

The command was absolute.

When the pressure withdrew, ragged gasps filled the air.

Dorian's voice boomed, "you will enter. You will fight. And you will learn why we prepare you this way. Those who survive will understand. Those who fall—" he shrugged once, brutal and final "—were never meant to rise. So shut your mouths and listen. The Pit will test you. Break you. Maybe kill you. But you will learn more in its maw than in a hundred safe drills. Consider it your true initiation."

The silence after was heavy.

Beside Riven, Leo whispered, voice calmer now: "A corridor already… That's madness. But… it's also opportunity."

Riven glanced at him. "You sound like you're eager."

Leo's lips twitched into a faint grin. "Because I am. If we survive, we'll be sharper than anyone outside these walls."

'Survive,' Riven thought darkly. 'That's the word that matters.'