Aaron stepped through the bastion—straight into the shadow of five looming cannons.

  The street churned with life, but the crowd kept a careful distance. Voices called greetings, always ending on Anax. Two lines of armored figures stood like statues—four in wooden armor like Bark’s, ten in insectoid suits, and four in something new. Strange grey hazmat suits.

  His gaze snapped to the guards. Not all carried halberds. Some gripped push-daggers, warhammers. Bucklers strapped to their left arms. But the firearms—

  Double-barreled shotguns, slung across their backs, easy to reach. His brows furrowed. Melee and firearms, side by side. Why? This wasn’t like any battlefield he knew. Muskets? Rifles? Sure. But shotguns, warhammers, and bucklers all in one unit? A nagging unease curled in his gut. What the hell kind of fighting happens here?

  Theon noticed his staring and pointed at the metal-armored figures searching commoners and slaves and inspecting wares behind the row of power-armored guards.

  Theon’s eyes flicked to the checkpoint guards, his voice dropping. “They’re jumpy today.” His gaze lingered on the commoners being searched. “Something’s stirring.” Thanks, Theon, I now know what a police checkpoint is. Aaron smiled instead. Theon walked confidently up towards one of the titanic tree warriors. The men stepped aside silently, and Theon led them through a smaller portal next to the main gates.

  “Can’t let the nobility use the same path as the commonborn,” Rhea whispered in a chilly voice. So this is a VIP entrance. It sure is convenient. I could get used to this, part of his mind whispered.

  Aaron shifted from foot to foot. After a few further steps, they entered a large cavern. It was well lit and extended hundreds of steps upwards. Several elevators, in various stages of ascent, loading, and descent, were operated by slaves and counterweights.

  Aaron looked around the circular chamber. It seemed oddly normal. Then he noticed the cannons and murder holes several steps above them. This city really is a fortress. But why do they use cannons if they have magic? Probably for the non-mages.

  Aaron stepped onto the platform. The wood groaned beneath his feet. The ropes twitched. The platform jolted. His stomach dropped. Oh. Fuck no. His fingers locked around the railing, knuckles aching. The elevator lurched. The pit in his stomach churned. His breath came too fast, too shallow. Don’t look down. Don’t look—

  His gaze slipped. The cavern yawned below, endless, waiting. The thin ropes creaked, groaned— His throat tightened. His fingers burned. Focus. Breathe. Don’t you fucking vomit.

  The ascent stretched forever. Then—solid ground. He staggered forward. A hand steadied him.

  Rhea. She smirked. “You good?” She guided his swaying steps off the platform. “Thanks,” he mumbled. Aaron forced a nod, swallowing hard. Why do heights still scare me after I killed about ten people? About. Not a good word in that context. Cold crept up his spine.

  Then, just as he steadied himself— His breath caught. Both looked concerned. Then he focused on the panorama before him. His mouth opened in awe. The city sprawled across the mesa, whitewashed buildings packed in a chaotic web of streets. Wide avenues choked with foot traffic and wagons cut through the maze. Oxen lowed, smoke curled from chimneys, and the wind carried the scent of roasting spices.

  Theon walked up to Aaron on the viewing platform. “Only the best for the aristocracy. Can’t have them emerge on the city street, after all,” Rhea said behind them. Aaron looked back and caught the scandalized looks from several elegantly robed figures. Probably nobles. But they don’t even dare to speak against us mage aspirants? Not sure if I should be worried or thankful.

  Theon stepped to the edge, scanning the city—then froze. Two suns burned above. One distant and fixed, the other a searing orb hovering low over the plateau. The Sage of Fire was hovering over the city like the Eye of Sauron. Waiting. Watching. Warning all of his power. Theon gulped. It is awe-inspiring, yet terrible. Like a bomb frozen in the first stage of explosion.

  Then Theon rallied. He rapidly and with all his focus began pointing out buildings. Theon gestured to a sprawling temple. “The Acropolis—founding flame, theaters, and the revival necropolis.”

  Aaron frowned. “Revival necropolis?” Rhea smirked. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Theon moved on, pointing to a monolithic black stone fortress. “The Hall of the Sixteen.” Next, a smaller white structure gleamed in the sun. “The Hall of Presidents.” Then, a reddish stone bastion loomed, edged in gray metal. Theon hesitated before naming it. “The Hall of Warriors. Where we stand above savages and tyrants alike.”

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  Then he smiled, the looming fireball seemingly forgotten. Placed between each of two towers, there were two large lakes. Both surrounded by parks. On the opposite lakeshores sprawled complexes—one with five spires, the other with eight. “The Argo, the house of Martial Virtue. Our old home.”

  Theron and Rhea both smiled at Aaron. “And the Academy, the house of Arcane Virtue. Our new home.”

  Rhea nodded. Aaron took a deep breath, drinking in the view. Aaron couldn’t help himself. He grinned. This place has already upstaged Hogwarts.

  With the sightseeing done, they walked down a spiraling staircase into the city. The streets of Pella were bustling—heat, voices, and the scent of roasting spices mingling in the air. The smells of street food and the cries of its vendors followed them through the city.

  Occasionally, people looked to the sky, concern written on their faces. They proceeded swiftly and left the common quarters. Following an avenue through a parkscape full of villas, they approached the lake. Near the Academy, they found a crowd.

  A large amphitheater was halfway lowered into the ground, one of many surrounding the spires of the Academy. It was a majestic sight. The parks looked wild and disciplined at the same time, carrying a variety of beauty of plants that could stand against any botanical garden. Aaron felt the relaxing air of this place after the bustle of the city.

  They joined the other young adults sitting in the amphitheater. About six hundred people filled it, a quarter of them as old as the trio. All wore the same white robes with burgundy cloth bands. They sat down in silence. Aaron was looking around. This place is overwhelming. So much is happening here. It is amazing.

  A short while passed, and a man wearing blue robes and a gem-bedecked golden headband stepped onto the stage. Silence fell like a heavy coat. Rha whispered to Aaron. "It is the Senior President." Theron nodded. Aaron raised an eyebrow. A Senior President implies a junior one? Isn't there supposed to be just one? And why is he wearing a crown?

  With a grand gesture, the man spoke up, his voice booming through the amphitheater. The air behind him was shimmering, just like when the mage in the arena spoke loudly. Is that sound magic?

  "I greet the young aspirants on this well-woven day of rising. You have faced the trials. You have overcome them and shown your worth. The performance of certain future Epoptai was particularly auspicious this year."

  Aaron sat taller. Pride warmed his chest, curling through his limbs. This moment mattered. He mattered. The President’s gaze swept over them.

  Aaron straightened. His hands twitched. His heart pounded faster. Why does this feel so… right?

  A twinge. A flicker. A pull.

  His stomach turned. Wait.

  Something pressed, gentle as silk, firm as iron.

  Not admiration. Not respect. Something else.

  The shield in his mind twitched. His throat tightened as his hands clenched. The President’s words flowed, each syllable curling into place like a key fitting a lock. Aaron took deep breaths and controlled his fury. When does the manipulation end? Can it even end if there is such a thing as a social attribute?

  The speech had continued. “…Pella’s might. The strong will rise to the ranks of the Epoptai. The weak will serve. We are surrounded by enemies. Our league is facing agitators and savages. You are the hope of the future. You will bring the light of civilization to those living in tyranny.”

  The crowd roared. The energy pressed in, like a tide pulling him under. His hands twitched, his body on the verge of moving. No. He gritted his teeth. Not real. Not my thoughts.

  A beat too late, he forced himself to clap. I can't stand out.

  “As mages, this is the responsibility we hold. She chose us because we had the potential to transcend. If you ever doubt yourself, you have been chosen from birth to have the potential for greatness. All you have to do is polish that gem with the strength of discipline and—”

  A jet-engine roar swallowed the Senior President’s words. Heat lashed Aaron’s face, scorching the air. He flinched as a fireball plummeted—stopping just above the President. His robes smoldered. The crown wavered in the scorching updraft.

  Then, the flames spoke. “Senior President, I thank you for the introduction. You may take your leave now.”

  The blue-robed mage shuffled off the stage while maintaining as much dignity as a fleeing man could. Aaron’s eyes grew dry from the heat. He could not look at the source of the voice. It emerged from the vortex of incandescent flames above them.

  Suddenly, the fire disappeared. Through a cloud of brown smoke, a figure wearing one of the strange rubber armors fell from over thirty steps in the air onto the stage. Their armor shimmered like a rainbow. White metals decked with blue and green sapphires completed their outfit. Grandiose. Functional. Terrifying.

  The fire roared. The Sage spoke. “Aspirants, I have decided to bless you with my—”

  Light flared. Heat crashed against Aaron’s skin. The world broke open. A crack split the air, not sound—force. The ground screamed. Molten stone burst, liquid fire splattering onto the amphitheater’s edge.

  The flames bowed. Aaron gasped. Something else had arrived. A figure stood in the ruin, silhouetted by burning rock.

  A black mantis. A blade-wreathed nightmare, black metal gleaming, limbs too sharp, too long. Screams ripped through the amphitheater.

  The creature didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t need to. Then—it turned. And locked onto him. Aaron’s pulse stopped.

  It didn’t look away.

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  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

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