The boy's smirk twisted into a sneer. "Funny. You must be new here. I'm Ryn, Division Three. C-rank warrior. You're not even supposed to breathe near this row."
"Really?" Lucien tilted his head. "Must've missed that in the rulebook."
The air grew quiet as the students nearby turned to watch. Some whispered, recognizing Ryn's name. Others smirked, eager for a show.
Cael whispered quickly, "Lucien, don't. That's Ryn Kallor. He picks fights for fun, especially with those from Division Five. Just ignore him."
Lucien glanced sideways at his friend, then back at Ryn. "You see, that's the problem. Everyone keeps ignoring people like him."
Ryn's expression darkened. "You've got a smart mouth for someone sitting this close to the floor."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Better a smart mouth than a dull mind."
The insult hit home. Ryn's eyes flared, his chair scraping as he stood. He stepped forward, broad shoulders casting a shadow over Lucien and Cael. "Say that again."
Lucien didn't flinch. He looked up, his voice steady. "Did I stutter?"
The crowd stirred. A few gasped. Cael cursed under his breath, ready to grab his friend if it got worse.
Ryn's hand curled into a fist, his muscles tightening. The veins along his arm stood out as Aether flickered faintly across his knuckles. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he growled. "But let's see if they'll still be inside you after—"
Just then, a sharp sound echoed through the hall, a voice that sliced through the noise like a blade.
"That's enough."
The tone was calm, but it carried weight. Ryn froze mid-swing, his fist trembling in the air. A heavy pressure followed, subtle yet suffocating, like invisible chains locking the air in place.
Every student turned toward the source.
At the front of the hall, a man stood by the lectern. He was tall, with silver streaks running through his dark hair and eyes that seemed to see more than they should. His uniform bore the insignia of a senior instructor, the mark of someone who didn't need to raise his voice to command obedience.
Lucien's gaze lingered on him, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. The instructor's expression was unreadable, but there was a faint spark of curiosity there, like someone who had just found something worth observing.
Ryn slowly lowered his hand, his jaw tight. The tension hung thick in the air.
Lucien sat still, his heart steady, his gaze unwavering. For him, it wasn't just defiance. It was a quiet statement, he wouldn't bow just because someone told him to.
The instructor's presence filled the hall like a storm cloud waiting to break, and though no one dared to move, every student could feel it.
And just as the silence stretched too long to bear, the instructor spoke again, his voice calm, yet authoritative. The tension that had filled the room began to fade, replaced by the quiet scrape of chairs as students shifted in their seats.
Ryn clenched his jaw, shooting Lucien a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You got lucky," he muttered under his breath. "We'll finish this later."
Lucien turned slightly, meeting his eyes with a faint smirk. "I'll be around," he said simply. His tone was light, but there was no trace of fear in it.
He didn't have the strength to go head on with a trained warrior, not yet, but he wasn't the type to lower his head either. He had survived worse things than arrogance, he had stared death in the face in the Rift breaks. Compared to that, this was nothing.
The instructor cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Now that we're all awake," he began, a wry edge in his tone, "let's make use of the time you still have in one piece."
A few uneasy laughs followed.
"My name is Instructor Varas. Today's lecture will cover the foundation of everything you will face as awakeners, the Rifts."
He moved to the center of the hall, his long coat sweeping behind him as faint Aether lights formed a circular projection in the air. It displayed a glowing tear, twisting, flickering like a wound in space itself.
"This," he said, "is what we call a Rift. A tear between realms. It's what separates our world from the endless planes beyond. When the Shattering happened, the Veil that once protected us weakened, and these cracks began to appear."
The students leaned forward, curiosity replacing tension.
Varas raised his hand, and the projection shifted, showing layers of energy swirling around the tear like storm clouds. "Every Rift differs in strength, depending on how deep the corruption runs and how connected it is to the outer realms. The stronger the link, the more dangerous the Rift."
He flicked his fingers, and a set of glowing symbols appeared, letters marking ranks.
"Rifts are ranked from F to S, though only a fool would wish to see anything above a B these days. Still, you must understand the scale."
He gestured, the light forming into distinct scenes as he spoke.
"F-rank Rifts are the smallest, they are flickering tears that appear for a few hours or days. They spawn weak beasts, usually small groups of low-ranked rift beasts with an even lesser number of mid-ranked. New awakeners often train here."
The light shifted, showing a wider, darker tear pulsing with energy.
"E-rank Rifts are more stable. They produce lower to mid-tier monsters, and are used for practical training. You'll start here eventually."
A heavier ripple followed, the image expanding.
"D-rank Rifts… now these require coordination. They spawn beast balanced between the low ranked and mid ranked beasts. Also, the monsters inside begin to show traits of mutation towards bestial intelligence and instincts. A group of D or C ranked Riftwalkers can manage one with effort."
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly. That sounded familiar. The Rift that destroyed his town had been stronger than that.
The Rifts lecture deeply resonated with him given his past experience, making him listen with even greater focus to the instructor who continued without a stop.