Chapter 2: The Silver Resonance
The gates of the Argent Academy were not mere iron and stone. They were a towering testament to the divide of the world—white marble infused with liquid mana that shimmered like a veil of stars. To enter was to become the elite; to fail was to be forgotten.
Rowan Caelum stood at the edge of the examination plaza, his presence a jarring contrast to the finery around him. He had spent the last week in the deep woods, using the Vacuum Core to forcibly knit his shattered arm back together. He looked like a ghost—pale, wearing travel-worn leathers, his right arm bound in a simple linen sling.
Around him, the sons and daughters of High Lords arrived in gilded carriages. They smelled of expensive perfumes and radiated arrogant, untamed Aura.
"Is that... the Caelum failure?"
"Look at him. He looks like a beggar. I heard Lucius had to be carried back to the Duchy on a stretcher after a 'training accident.' Surely Rowan isn't here to take the exam?"
Rowan ignored the whispers. His golden eyes were fixed on the center of the plaza, where a massive, obsidian monolith stood: The Resonance Stone. To pass the first gate, one had to strike the stone with their primary power. It measured the depth of a Mage's Circle or the weight of a Swordsman's Aura.
The Moonlight Prodigy
"Next! Seraphina Valois of the Silver-Tier House Valois!" the proctor shouted.
The crowd went silent. Rowan felt it before he saw her—a sudden drop in the ambient temperature, a hum of energy that resonated with the very marrow of his bones.
A girl stepped forward. She wore a simple, charcoal-grey mage's robe that couldn't hide her sharp, ethereal beauty. Her hair was the color of moonlight, tied back in a practical braid, and her eyes were a piercing, intelligent violet. Unlike the other nobles, she carried no staff or wand. She walked with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was.
As she passed Rowan, she stopped.
She didn't look at his ragged clothes or his sling. She looked directly into his eyes. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to tilt. Rowan's Vacuum Core gave a violent, hungry throb—it felt like a parched throat finally sensing water.
"Your energy," Seraphina whispered, her voice like velvet over gravel. "It's... hollow. Why is it so quiet?"
"Quiet is better for listening," Rowan replied calmly.
She lingered for a second longer than necessary, her brow furrowing, before turning toward the Monolith. She raised a slender hand. She didn't chant. She didn't shout. She simply released a pulse of silver mana.
BOOM.
The obsidian stone didn't just glow; it vibrated with a low, mournful frequency. Five rings of light erupted from the base—the mark of a 5th-Circle Mage prodigy.
The plaza erupted in gasps. A 5th-Circle at sixteen? It was unheard of. But Seraphina didn't look proud; she looked tired. She stepped away, her gaze drifting back to Rowan as if searching for something.
The Iron Spike
"Next! Rowan Caelum!"
The laughter started immediately.
"What's he going to do? Bleed on it?"
"The 'Useless Son' is going to break his hand on the obsidian!"
Rowan walked to the stone. He didn't have a sword; his brother's blade was still in pieces in a ravine. Instead, he reached into his belt and pulled out a simple, six-inch iron spike he'd taken from a blacksmith's scrap pile.
The proctor, an elderly mage with a hooked nose, sneered. "A common nail, Caelum? This is an academy, not a barn-raising."
"It's enough," Rowan said.
He closed his eyes. In his mind, he visualized the Eternal Edge. He didn't try to push mana out; he did the opposite. He opened the "pores" of the iron spike and turned it into an extension of his Vacuum Core.
He didn't strike the stone. He touched the tip of the nail to the obsidian surface and inhaled.
The Monolith, which had stood for three hundred years, let out a screeching sound. The silver mana Seraphina had left behind, and the ambient aura of the hundreds of students nearby, was suddenly sucked into the point of Rowan's nail.
Then, he released it all in a singular, microscopic point.
CRACK.
A hairline fracture spider-webbed across the indestructible obsidian. No rings of light appeared. No flashy colors. Just the sound of ancient stone yielding to a superior force.
The Vacuum Revealed
The plaza fell into a silence so heavy it felt suffocating.
"Zero mana detected," the proctor stammered, looking at his sensing tools. "And yet... the stone is damaged. This... this is a failure! Physical vandalism is not magic!"
"Check the internal sensor," Seraphina's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She had stepped back into the circle, her violet eyes wide with realization.
The proctor adjusted his spectacles and looked at the base of the stone. His face went pale. Underneath the surface, the "Aura Veins" of the stone had turned a deep, bruised gold.
"Internal damage... Master-Tier penetration power," the proctor whispered. "But... he has no Circle. He has no Aura Arteries."
"He is a Spell-Blade," Seraphina murmured, her voice filled with a strange, heated hunger as she stared at Rowan. "A vacuum that consumes."
Rowan turned away from the stone, his sling-bound arm throbbing. The effort had drained him, but the core was already beginning to refill by siphoning the shock and agitation of the crowd.
He walked toward the dormitory registration, but a hand caught his shoulder. It was cold, yet it sent a jolt of heat through his chest. He turned to find Seraphina standing inches away.
Up close, the resonance was overwhelming. Her "Primal Mana" was overflowing, leaking from her skin because her body couldn't contain its purity. And his Vacuum Core was the perfect container.
"You're hurting," she said, her eyes dropping to his bound arm. "The way you use power... it's tearing your body apart from the inside, isn't it?"
"A small price for the results," Rowan replied.
"I have a room in the Silver Wing," she said, her voice dropping so only he could hear. The air between them grew thick, charged with an attraction that was more than just physical—it was a biological necessity. "My mana is... restless. It needs a place to go. And your body is starving for it."
She leaned in closer, her breath brushing his ear. "Come to my quarters tonight, Rowan Caelum. Let's see if the 'Useless Son' can handle the weight of a true Mage's soul."
Rowan watched her walk away, her silver hair swaying. He felt the eyes of the entire nobility on him—jealousy, confusion, and hatred. He didn't care.
The Saint-Knight had found his source. And tonight, the Soul-Bind would begin.