The massive double doors slammed open with a crushing thunderclap that vibrated through the stone floor and rattled the teeth in their skulls. A raw, unchecked hurricane of blinding magical flashes, crackling purple sparks, and a scorching shockwave blasted straight into the corridor, catching their hair and cloaks in a sudden, violent updraft. The dark fabric billowed wildly behind them like wings as they crossed the threshold into the blinding glare.
Right upon entering, Miki reached out with a trembling hand, her tiny fingers clutching the golden hem of Solomon’s heavy royal cloak. She gave it a firm tug, her wide eyes reflecting the chaotic lights of the doorway.
“Psstt… Uncle Solomon… this isn’t a god realm… you aren’t allowed to lie, right?”
Solomon was cut off mid stride by the soft, cautious whisper. The majestic stride of the king faltered for a microsecond. He bent his knees, his golden armor clinking softly as he calmly picked Miki up with his massive arms, balancing her against his chest. He looked the girl straight in her wide, inquisitive eyes, his expression softening into a rare, gentle warmth.
“You, little lady, are far too smart for your age… but that ought to be rewarded… I will tell the truth soon.”
Miki’s eyes instantly began to glisten with pure triumph, and without losing a beat, she whipped her head around toward the shadows behind them.
“REN!” she shouted, her voice piercing cleanly through the roaring wave of magical energy.
Before her shout could even echo, little Ren came zipping in like a streak of violet lightning. He skidded to an abrupt halt right on his heels, the soles of his boots smoking slightly as a tiny cloud of glowing purple dust bloomed around his feet.
“Mik yeah, and?!” he panted, his chest heaving as he bounced on his toes. “Heard it… did you ask for ice cream?!”
Miki and little Ren turned their heads in perfect unison, staring up at Solomon with wide, shimmering eyes full of unashamed, manipulative expectation. Solomon’s formidable composure caved within a single second under the double impact of their innocent gaze. His shoulders dropped, a heavy sigh escaping his chest as a low, rumbling chuckle broke through his lips.
“Yeah yeah, ice cream for everyone.”
Nicola watched the scene unfold with an analytical gaze. He reached up, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and gently tapped Silarias and Nyx on their shoulders.
“Ehh… who do they resemble again…”
The effect was instantaneous. Silarias and Nyx turned bright, burning red from their neck up to their ears. Like two guilty teenagers caught dead in the act, they moved faster than light, stepping right into Nicola’s personal space with their hands waving frantically to shut him down.
“Psst, not out loud… come on, lock in!” Silarias hissed.
Nicola scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he repeated the foreign words softly under his breath, testing their rhythm.
“Lock in, lock-in, lockynn… mm would…”
Silarias saw the visible thought bubble hovering over Nicola’s head and held up his hands hastily, eager to prevent another lengthy academic breakdown.
“Nico, you don’t have to ask… I’ll explain it, alright? You do it for me all the time… lock in is like focusing all your attention on a target. Like having a goal right in your eyes, but like, deep in your head at the very same time, you know?”
Nicola repeated the explanation in his mind, processing the concept piece by piece until a visible wave of profound relief washed over his features.
“Aahh… Sil… interesting way of explaining it… but I get you.”
Silarias beamed with absolute pride, puffing his chest out as if he had just solved an ancient riddle. *Man, I actually nailed that,* he thought to himself, grinning ear to ear. *I can actually explain stuff when I want to.* “Oh yeah?! Really?! So I did explain it right after all!”
While Silarias was still internally celebrating his pedagogical victory, his gaze drifted to the side, landing on the seventeen-year-old beast tamer standing beside him. His smile faded into a sharp frown. He took a short step to the side and gave the boy a thoroughly questioning look.
“Wait… how have the plans changed, Renuardo? Renuardo, is that really your name?” Silarias asked, a raised eyebrow cutting across his forehead while stray sparks hissed in the air around them.
Renuardo brushed him off with a completely casual, infuriatingly nonchalant flick of his wrist. He shrugged his shoulders, adjusted the heavy bead necklace anchored by a bleached animal skull against his breastplate, and stared straight ahead with a faint, knowing smirk.
“All in due time, sir,” Renuardo answered, his voice bone-dry.
Before Silarias could process the dodge, Nyx cut in sharply and decisively. Her silver eyes sparkled with mischievous authority, a small, triumphant smile curving her lips.
“Ohh, let me guess… eehhh… you get to stay here and dad gave you a chance…!?!” she called out, her voice dripping with playful mockery.
In a fraction of a second, the entire group around them fell dead silent. The air grew thick. Even Solomon, who was doing his absolute best to stand tall and majestic in his grand golden cloak, froze mid-step. A single, glistening bead of sweat formed on his temple as he painfully bit his lower lip, his eyes darting away as he quickly averted his gaze toward the grand ceiling. *She caught us instantly,* the king thought in sheer, silent panic. *I am the ruler of the realm and I just got read like an open book by my own daughter.*
Renuardo tried desperately to hold his ground, pressing his lips tightly together in a futile attempt to keep the secret buried, but Nyx was already three steps ahead. She ducked down, scooping the thirteen-year-old Miki onto her hip in one smooth, practiced motion, and stared Renuardo down with an exaggerated, judgment-filled pout.
Renuardo’s resolve shattered under the crushing weight of the collective stares. He threw his hands into the air, his composure completely collapsing as he shouted in pure frustration: “YES ALMIGHTY SERIOUSLY… yeah… ever heard of patience?! Would’ve said it myself, you know!?”
A brief, stunned silence settled over the party before the sheer scale and roaring noise of their new reality dragged them mercilessly back to the present.
From the outside, the main hall had looked like nothing more than an imposing, monumental building, but the reality inside defied every known law of architectural logic. The interior opened up into a grotesque, bottomlessly deep arena of colossal, terrifying proportions. Dozens of sheer marble grandstands rose steeply toward a pitch-black, cavernous dome, packed to the brim with thousands of shouting, stomping students and shadowy professors. The oppressive air tasted of raw ozone, concentrated ancient magic, and a suffocating tension that hung like a dense, static mist.
Balamore tilted his head all the way back, his eyes bulging as he took in the sheer verticality of the space. He slapped a heavy hand against his forehead and aggressively nudged Izamaro’s shoulder.
“Bro… do you see this?! This isn’t normal anymore?! How on earth is this entire castle even floating on magic?!”
Izamaro stared around with his mouth agape, the vibrant quetzal feathers of his headdress trembling violently from the sheer atmospheric pressure.
“Totally insane, man! Those grandstands are literally bigger than our entire village combined! Look at those blinding lights up there!”
All around them, in the endlessly looping queue that snaked toward the arena floor, a bitter, anxious energy hummed. Hundreds of candidates stood shuffling their feet on the cold floor. The vast hall echoed with a symphony of nervous friction: heavy sighs, strained dry coughing, the rhythmic creaking of stretched leather armor, and the sharp, agonizingly repetitive tap-tap-tap of polished metal boots against the marble as restless teenagers slowly lost their minds to the wait.
“Hurry it up up there already!” a pale boy three rows ahead hissed hoarsely, clearing his throat with a wet, nervous cough as he wrung his hands together.
In the absolute center of the abyss, hovering effortlessly above a massive, slowly rotating platform, sat the Oculus Castaway. It was a terrifying, mechanical eye wrought from polished gold and jagged obsidian, its central iris pulsing dangerously with an unstable, purplish flame that cast long, unnatural shadows across the stone floor.
At that exact moment, the Oculus locked its burning gaze onto an arrogant, sharply dressed student standing on the mark. The floating, silver mirror rings encasing the eye began to spin at a sickening speed, gathering the ambient magic until a rasping, monstrously amplified voice thundered through the mountain:
“POWER LEVEL: 4,800! Mmm… I can smell it already! Your bloodline betrays you… your family has already done so much for the Ward! THE PROUD GRIFFINS!”
The crowd on the upper grandstands draped in crimson and gold erupted into an ecstatic, deafening roar, stomping their feet until the stone walls vibrated. The student marched off toward his new house with a haughty chuckle, his chin thrust high.
But almost immediately after the announcement, the fierce purple glow inside the Oculus dimmed down to a dull, flickering ember. The mechanical eye let out a heavy, metallic sigh that echoed through every corner of the arena like a dying furnace.
“Boring business again…” the Oculus muttered, its ancient voice heavy with profound, centuries-old boredom. “Mmm… how wonderful it would be to encounter a real ‘S’ again… or to finally find a Goat again after all these years.”
Solomon raised a hand, signaling his group to halt with a subtle, authoritative gesture. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a low, serious rumble that barely carried over the deafening roars of the crowd.
“Listen carefully,” Solomon said, his gaze hard as flint. “Expect nothing from the seventh house. No people have actually been chosen for The Laughing Goats for years. Ever since the disappearance of the old generation, no ‘special’ cases have come through.”
The king’s heavy declaration sowed immediate confusion through the ranks. Silarias, Nyx, and Nicola exchanged rapid glances, their eyebrows drawn tight. All around their perimeter, subtle murmurs began to ripple like shockwaves through the gathered crowd; neighboring students nudged each other with sharp elbows, whispering intensely behind their hands as they tried to figure out what the imposing old man meant by ‘special cases.’
Near the back of their small cluster, Miki reached down and tugged softly on the frayed sleeve of young Ren’s coat. Her voice sounded fragile and small amidst the chaotic storm of energy surrounding them.
“Ren… but I am special, right?”
Young Ren fell into an immediate, sweating panic. His eyes darted wildly from side to side as he looked up helplessly at Renuardo for an escape route. *Don’t look at me like that, kid, I don’t know what to say!* he thought frantically.
Renuardo, however, let out a short, deep laugh, stepping up and patting the boy firmly on his back with a broad, easy grin.
“What we mean is… you absolutely are, little princess, hahah!” Renuardo said, offering a reassuring wink.
They pushed forward, joining the massive, winding queue that funneled down toward the center of the arena floor. A suffocating atmosphere of pure, aristocratic arrogance hung over the line like smog. Cocky, high-born nobility from various distant kingdoms sneered down at Silarias and his companions, making no effort to hide their disgust as they eyed their battered travel gear and tossed mocking, cruel remarks about bringing toddlers into a sanctuary of power.
Just as the line ground to a painful crawl, a frantic, heavy stomping echoing from the distant entrance threshold shattered the rhythm.
Kaelid came charging through the grand archway at the absolute last second, his boots skidding wildly against the polished floor. Sweat glinted off his pale forehead, his clothes hung completely crooked across his chest, and he nearly plowed right into the back of the candidates holding up the end of the line. In his blind, breathless rush, he hadn’t noticed Silarias or the rest of his friends further up the queue at all.
“WOAH… just in time!” Kaelid puffed, leaning his hands on his knees as his chest heaved for air. He looked up at the stranger standing directly in front of him, a snobby, perfectly tailored noble boy, and hastily ran a hand through his messy hair to force a cool, unbothered smile. “Haha… I mean… have you guys been standing here long too?.. sigh.”
The noble student turned around slowly, looking Kaelid up and down with absolute, icy contempt, before turning his back on him without uttering a single word. Kaelid’s smile twitched, his internal monologue screaming: *Alright, rude… glad to know the hospitality here is top tier.*
Silarias didn’t even register the commotion happening dozens of meters behind him. His attention had been completely seized by the sudden shift in the crowd’s energy. High above, the Oculus Castaway was burning through candidates at an unsettling, mechanical speed. One student after another was scanned, judged, and thrown into the waiting arms of the Griffins, Vipers, or Behemoths under a barrage of flashing lights.
Then, without warning, a strange, unnatural silence rippled across the nearest grandstand. The roaring chant died in a matter of seconds. An older student hanging over the marble railing pointed a trembling finger down toward Silarias, his eyes narrowing in utter disbelief.
“Wait a minute…” the student whispered into his collar, his voice accidentally cracking through the amplified magical microphone built into his uniform, echoing across the entire quadrant. “Is that not… the Land Lord? He looks just like—”
“SILENCE IN THE RANKS!”
A thunderous, iron-clad shout sliced through the air, instantly crushing the boy’s amplified whisper. Two gargantuan, fully armored arena guards broke formation, marching straight toward Solomon’s group with heavy, earth-shaking strides. The brutal steel of their halberds gleamed wickedly under the unnatural glow of the Oculus.
The lead guard slammed his iron boot down, bringing himself to a sudden, terrifying halt right in front of them. His helmeted head tilted downward, glaring with cold detachment at Miki and little Ren, before he raised a heavy, gauntleted arm and pointed an unbending finger toward the dark, exit portal at the back of the arena.
“These little ones do not belong here,” the guard declared, his voice devoid of any human warmth. “Regulations are regulations. The children must be removed immediately.”