The cellar was cold, as expected from the Hollows.
Isaac woke at the fourth bell. Not from the sound, but from the internal clock that ten years of grits and effort had built.
He lay still for a moment. His mind was as clear as the morning air.
Then, standing up, he reached for the notebook. He flipped it open.
Notebook.
The hand moved before the thought did. Flipping through numerous pages, his eyes roamed over the chaotic mess of information—everything that he had been filing.
The flipping ended upon the discovery of the letter tucked in after the 0.3-second window calculation that he had scribbled. He opened the letter and read it once more. Folding it back, he left it on the table, separate from the notebook now.
He realized that over time, numerous information were filed on the notebook. Flipping through pages once more, he pause on one particular sentence,
What am I to Caspian?
Humans are prone to forgetting. That was precisely the reason why he filed his observations.
He remembered that his wand was sabotaged, twice within the week. Someone was targeting him.
He closed the notebook.
All variables must be considered.
He thought about the Mechanism Room. Three days. He won't be able to bring his notebook with him, for it will get in his way. As he left this object in his room, what was the chance of it being stolen?
Call him paranoid. However, all variables needed to be considered.
[The Prism]—it held everything that the notebook contained. The perception, the precision, and the memory—this SSS-rank passive skill granted it all.
The notebook was redundant.
He lit the candle from the shelf above the desk.
He held the notebook's corner to the flame.
It caught the flame slowly. Isaac watched it burn.
The notebook eventually became a pile of ash and nothing more. Collecting it, he dumped it into a waste bin.
The letter was still on the table, which he kept because it was just a record of something that was already public.
He stood. Dressed. The iron charm was in his pocket, giving the same cold weight since the morning of the Rite.
He didn't pick up the bag today, for what awaited him wasn't a lecture but a three-day-long assessment.
He went to the grand hall.
...
The hall was filling when he arrived.
4,384 second-years converged from every dormitory wing. Upon entry, everyone immediately noticed the numbered tiles—all the way from 1 to 1,096—visible on the vast floor. They served as efficient markers for groups to gather.
Isaac found tile 13 without difficulty.
Cassiopeia was already there.
She was standing at the tile's edge with her notebook open on her forearm, writing something with the focus of someone who had arrived early enough to think before the crowd did. She didn't look up when Isaac reached the tile.
He stood on it and waited.
She finished the line she was writing. She looked up, found him, and nodded, "Isaac."
He nodded back.
She wrote something brief in her notebook. Then she closed it and looked back at him with the specific analytical attention she brought to variables that had deviated from established pattern.
Taking his focus off of her, Isaac looked at the room.
Eventually, the third member—a cautious-looking woman with the composed, careful bearing of a lesser noble, arrived within two minutes.
She seemed to have immediately assessed the tile's social geometry before stepping onto it. She registered Cassiopeia first and adjusted her approach into the posture of someone who was being as careful and polite as possible.
"Cassiopeia Terra of House Terra," she said, the formal register of noble introduction precise and unhurried. "Seren Ashveil. It's an honor to be grouped with you."
Cassiopeia looked up from her notebook. "Cassiopeia is sufficient." She looked at Seren with the direct attention of someone conducting a brief assessment.
Seren processed this. "Cassiopeia." A beat, then she looked at Isaac. The caution in her approach was present—not hostility, but the specific social calibration of someone who had heard things and processed them carefully.
"Isaac," he said.
"Seren Ashveil," she replied. The introduction slightly reduced from the one she'd given Cassiopeia. Rank-calibrated. It made her seem a bit opportunistic, but such was the nature of most lesser nobles.
The last member, a man, arrived last, slightly breathless.
In confidence, he looked at Cassiopeia. Three C-rank skills and House Terra, nodded. His attention had the specific warmth of someone investing in people with high-rank skills.
He looked at Seren. B-rank: [Barrier], higher than his C-rank: [Reinforcement]. House Ashveil which belongs within the category of a lesser noble like him. Nodded respectfully.
He then looked at Isaac. Raised an eyebrow as F-rank: [Condensation] crossed his mind. Although there is a rumor that he deflected Jax Wason's B-rank: [Bolt Streak], it was explained by Isaac himself yesterday that the truth was that Jax simply slipped. Tomlin believed those words because it made more sense than [Condensation] deflecting [Bolt Streak].
He made a light snort before turning to face Cassiopeia and Seren.
"Tomlin Greave, miss Cassiopeia from house Terra and Seren Ashveil." he said, to the group generally. His eyes settled on Cassiopeia and Seren warmly. "C-rank: [Reinforcement]. Pleasure to meet you."
Tomlin's passing on Isaac was intentional. Unbothered, Isaac remained silent.
"Cassiopeia is sufficient," said Cassiopeia.
"Now, everyone has gathered." Seren looked between them. "I believe the assessment will benefit from clear leadership. Given the composite of skills represented here—" She looked at Cassiopeia with the specific directness of someone who had made a decision and was naming it without performance. "Would you be willing to serve as the group's primary decision-maker?"
Cassiopeia sighed, having been expecting this since she identified the group composition from the draw. "Yes," she said before returning to her notebook.
Seren nodded once, something easing fractionally in her posture. The structure was established. She could operate within a structure.
"Cassiopeia as leader makes sense. Agreed." Said Tomlin, nodding with an exaggerated eagerness.
Seren and Tomlin didn't bother to wait for Isaac's response. They deemed that his words held no strength.
Isaac, not invested in their reactions, decided to observe surroundings.
From where they stood, tile 1 was just ten meters away.
Silas was standing at tile 1's center. Around him, at its edges, were three students whose F-rank skills had placed them in the same team as him.
Silas had not looked at them as a leader considering teamwork, but in the way someone looked at a dirt in a street.
"Three F-ranks," he chuckled, clearly amused. "The algorithm looked at my result and produced three F-ranks." He said it blatantly, finding it entertain to mock them. "Worthless bags, all three of you. You'll be liabilities from the first moment to the last and we all know it. So let me warn you. The moment the assessment starts, stay back. Don't you dare get in my way."
The three students at tile 1's edges said nothing. The students on adjacent tiles who could hear said nothing.
Lyra, on tile 2, was different, however.
She looked at tile 1. She looked at the three students at its edges, whose gazes were headed down in submission to Silas.
"You're going too far." She said. Not loudly, but with the sharpness in her tone.
Silas turned. The contained static of S-rank: [Lightning Spear] produced its faint almost-discharge quality in the ambient air.
He looked at tile 2. The two E-ranks and the single F-rank standing at its edges with the cautious optimism of students who had processed what Group 2 meant.
"Too far?" He crackled a laughter. "You got two E-ranks and one F-rank as well, princess." He looked at her tile with the same amusement in him. "You too know that these pawns will be nothing but liabilities to us."
Lyra looked at him. Found that any further conversation would be pointless. She decided not to continue.
Silas Fulgur and Lyra Aetherion. Isaac, having watched the exchange, thought, the behemoths of the second-year. S-rank: [Lightning Spear] and A-rank: [Clairvoyance].
He could predict what was going to happen once the assessment began.
This so-called group assessment is likely to be linked to class designation. It means that our combat capability will be measured. Fight and survival. Discord between Silas and Lyra…. There exists a potential for a clash between those two.
Soon enough, the faculty entered from the side door.
Thorne was among them—positioned to the left with his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze moved across the students.
It paused on tile 13.
Two seconds. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if wondering how Isaac will manage to surprise him this time around.
He moved on.
The Proctor took the center of the dais. The hall settled into the specific quality of attention that attached to institutional announcements.
"Second-year. You have your groups." He looked across the assembled students with the patience of someone who had delivered this address before and would deliver it again. "You have had time to introduce yourselves. That time is now concluded."
A pause that had the specific weight of something that was going to follow it immediately.
"A three-day-long, practical assessment will be held henceforth. The purpose of this assessment won't be disclosed."
Then, an explanation.
"For three days, you will be in the infamous Mechanism Room of the Aetherion National Academy. Food and weapons will be present for you to exploit. Your goal is to find an exit and escape."
It was brief, but rich enough for Isaac to gain a more specific idea of what to expect.
"The Mechanism Room is open."
The hall's ambient noise shifted. The specific quality change of 4,384 students processing information they had been told to expect and finding that expecting it hadn't prepared them for its arrival.
At the end of grand hall, a set of enormous double doors—so huge that they were at the height of four men combined—opened slowly.
"You will enter now. Your groups will remain together. The assessment begins from the moment you cross the threshold." The Proctor looked across the cohort with the expression of someone who had already said everything that needed to be said. "Again, find the exit within three days. Move."
The students moved.
Not in a rush, but in the specific organized momentum of 4,384 students who had been sitting with uncertainty for long enough that forward motion felt like resolution regardless of what it was moving toward.
Group 1 moved first. Silas walked with the confidence that he would be the highlight of the assessment. The three F-rank students followed with reluctance and dejection.
Group 2 moved with Lyra's as the lead. Then 3, 4, 5, before it was group 13's turn.
Cassiopeia closed her notebook. She looked at the Mechanism Room's entrance with intrigue in her eyes. Then, she took a step.
Seren followed with the careful composure of someone operating within a structure she trusted.
Tomlin followed with the grin of someone who had done this kind of thing before and expected to perform adequately.
Isaac moved last.
The iron charm was in his pocket.
He crossed the threshold.
The assessment began.