The chime faded, but its echo clung to the air like frost.
Silence followed - sharp, deliberate.
Then, a man stepped forward onto the stage.
His robes were deep crimson, lined with dark gold. He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, the polished symbol of the Inner Order pinned to his collar. A herald, but not ornamental - there was too much force in how he stood, too much steel in his voice when he spoke.
"Stand for the Sigils," he commanded, and the room obeyed.
Around Vael, students rose in near unison.
The man's voice rang out again, amplified by no magic, yet reaching every corner of the hall.
"By command of the Grandmaster, the Circle of Seven shall now take their seats."
One by one, the Sigils entered.
Ryne leaned in and whispered, "That's Marshal Caldus. He does all the official stuff. Ceremony, war declarations, disciplinary executions… You know. Formalities."
Vael gave her a sideways glance. "Executions?"
She just smiled faintly. "Only if you're exceptional."
The first figure emerged from the side entrance:
"Drexen Holt, Master of the Hammer."
The man was a slab of living stone. His footfalls echoed through the hall like distant thunder. Broad, scarred, and silent, he gave no glance to the crowd. His seat was on the far left, marked by the glowing hammer.
"Mara Dain, Mistress of the Staff."
Ryne murmured, "She's the scary kind of old. The one that doesn't need to move fast because she already knows where you'll go."
Mara glided to her seat in layered robes that shimmered faintly with runes. Her eyes swept the crowd once, and Vael felt a chill pass through his spine when they paused on him, just for a second.
"Thalia Mire, Mistress of the Bow."
Silent. Watchful. Cloaked in deep green. Ryne whispered, "Sharpest eyes in the Order. People say she can see guilt from across a battlefield."
"Aren Vos, Master of the Sword."
He strode like a blade walking upright, scarred, wiry, and serious. His seat took him past Vael's row, and Ryne gave a low, impressed exhale. "That man's killed more initiates in duels than some border wars. Not on purpose. Usually."
Then came someone familiar.
"Lucian Veyne, Master of the Spear"
Vael's posture didn't shift, but his mind caught on the name.
Lucian.
They'd spoken just yesterday.
Still, he kept his expression unreadable. No one here could know he'd met one of the Seven already.
"Selene Virell, Mistress of the Chalice"
Selene followed soon after, her presence measured, her expression composed. Calm. Exacting. Careful with her words in a way that suggested she didn't waste them.
Ryne gave a small, almost respectful nod. "Chalice leads the support branch. Healing, shielding, and psychic defense. But Selene? She's not just a shield. She's what comes after the fire."
Vael didn't answer.
He was watching the last figure enter.
"Kaelen Rhest, Master of the Dagger."
He was younger than Vael expected. Maybe mid-thirties. Slim, clean-cut, with an easy stride and a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. He moved like someone who could disappear mid-step if he wanted to.
"Assassins branch," Ryne murmured. "Or 'strategic removals,' if you're being polite. Don't trust the charm."
Kaelen sat last, his fingers laced loosely as he scanned the hall with unblinking calm.
The table was full.
Seven seats, seven leaders.
Only one remained.
At the center of the dais, the tall chair carved with a broken blade stood empty.
The Grandmaster had yet to arrive.
The final chime rang out - not heavy like the bell, not sharp like steel, but something stranger. A note that felt like it vibrated inside the chest.
Then, silence again.
The lanterns flickered.
Then the doors opened.
No announcement. No herald.
Just footsteps. Steady. Measured. Final.
Grandmaster Orin entered the hall.
The room didn't fall silent - it was already holding its breath.
He wore black robes threaded with silver and violet. No weapon. No sigil. Nothing to mark his station, because he didn't need to.
Orin was the mark.
Vael didn't move, but his pulse ticked once against his throat. He had seen Orin before. Spoken to him briefly. But standing among hundreds and watching the Grandmaster take the stage… it felt different now.
He passed the seven seated Sigils without looking at them. Everyone of them stood as he approached the central throne.
"That's him," Ryne muttered. "The him."
She didn't joke. She didn't smirk.
For the first time since they'd met, Ryne looked serious.
Orin sat.
Only then did Marshal Caldus speak again.
"By command of the Grandmaster, the Assembly is now in session."
Orin rose. No gesture. No theatrics. Just a single glance across the room - and it was enough to pin everyone in place.
Silence locked into place like iron gates.
He looked across the hall once. Slowly. Not searching. Measuring.
Then he spoke. His voice was low, but it cut through the air like a blade through silk.
"You are not here because you are ready.
You are here because you are unfinished."
A pause.
"You will be challenged, broken, and stripped of every lie you've built around yourselves.
If you remain standing after that, you will be allowed to begin."
Ryne leaned slightly toward Vael, but didn't say anything.
Orin continued.
"This place does not care where you came from.
Your titles, your bloodlines - leave them at the door. They mean nothing here."
"Skill can be learned. Power can be forged.
But clarity - that is earned."
"You will not be trained. You will be tested.
You will not be shaped. You will be sharpened."
"The Order does not raise soldiers. It reveals what was already inside you - and burns away everything else."
Then, finally:
"Survive. And you may become something worthy of this crest."
The sigil on the floor - Sword, Spear, Staff, Bow, Dagger, Hammer, Chalice - glowed brighter momentarily. As if echoing him.
Orin sat.
No more words.
The speech was over.
Marshal Caldus stepped forward again.
"By order of the Seven Sigils and Grandmaster Orin, preliminary testing will now begin."
The air shifted.
Caldus stepped back. His part was done.
From the far left, Mara Dain rose.
She moved like flowing ink, robes whispering across the stone floor. She raised both hands, eyes closing.
No incantation.
Just power.
The air thickened.
Rings of pale gold light spiraled out from her fingers and raced across the Assembly Hall like ripples across still water.
Vael felt the hum of the spell reach his chest, then his bones.
Ryne looked at him and mouthed, See you there.
Then she vanished - lifted in a quiet flare of golden light.
The others followed.
Dozens at a time. Silent flashes. No noise. No resistance.
In under twenty seconds, the entire hall was empty of students.
Except for Vael.
He was still standing.
Unmarked. Unmoved.
The glow around him had tried to take hold. Then… recoiled.
Mara Dain opened her eyes, and for the first time, her mask of serenity slipped - just a fraction.
She turned toward the dais, toward the others.
The Sigils didn't speak. But they were watching.
Aren Vos leaned forward, his gaze sharp.
Thalia Mire stared without blinking.
Kaelen Rhest tilted his head with subtle curiosity.
Lucian Veyne showed nothing.
Drexen Holt simply crossed his arms.
Selene Virell didn't look at him directly, but her fingers tapped once on the table. Again. And stopped.
Only Orin remained motionless.
Vael didn't speak.
The last flickers of Mara Dain's teleportation spell faded into the lanternlight.
He shifted slightly, uncertain. The hall was vast and echoing now, its silence too complete. The Sigils remained seated on the raised dais above him - seven leaders, seven expressions. None of them was surprised. None of them is speaking.
Then Selene broke the silence.
"Don't worry. You weren't left behind by mistake."
Vael turned his eyes up toward the dais. "I know."
"You do?" Kaelen Rhest asked, voice dry.
Vael's brow furrowed. "So what do you want from me?"
"Curiosity," murmured Mara Dain. "That's all. You arrived yesterday. No training. No welcome. And yet here you are."
"You've caused a stir," added Thalia Mire, her voice sharp and quiet. "There are whispers already.
We wanted to see if the name matched the weight."
Vael blinked once. "I don't know what they've heard."
"Neither do they," said Lucian Veyne, folding his arms. "That's the problem."
Drexen Holt's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "So. You are the one who survived a god's attack."
Vael didn't respond.
He'd been told not to.
Selene's gaze held his for a long, unreadable moment. "We're not here to ask about that."
Kaelen leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. "We just wanted to look."
Vael felt the weight of it again. Their eyes. The measure in them. Like he was something pulled from the wrong shelf and set on the main table.
He straightened his back and kept his voice steady. "Am I late for something?"
That got a small exhale from Thalia. Almost a laugh.
Selene nodded once. "There's a trial underway. First test for all initiates. We call it The Hunt."
Vael's mouth tightened. "I wasn't told about any test."
"We know," Lucian said. "You arrived too late for orientation. This would've been explained."
Vael hesitated. "What kind of test?"
Mara answered. "A beast was released into an enclosed region. Dangerous, but controlled. The initiates were sent in. Their task is to track it. Kill it. Together."
"It's designed to push coordination, pressure response, and first blood experience," Selene said.
Kaelen grinned faintly. "And now you'll be dropped in after the fact. No team. No warning. Let's see
how you adapt."
Vael didn't move.
He didn't know how to fight. Not really.
He wasn't ready. No one had prepared him. And now they were throwing him into a trial meant for people who had been trained for days, weeks.
Still, he didn't step back.
Then Orin stood.
His presence pressed against the room like a silent command.
"Enough," he said.
He raised one hand.
The spell began to form.
Vael squared his shoulders. Uncertain. Unready.
But still - he didn't flinch.
And then the world folded around him and sent him in.