The entrance examination did not begin with a blade.
That turned the wound into a door.
Blades were honest. Their purpose was simple, their direction visible, their consequence immediate. A blade at the throat asked one question and accepted only one answer.
Astral Zenith Academy preferred prettier weapons.
Paperwork.
Applause.
Ranked seating.
Names called in public.
A thousand students gathered beneath the glass dome of the Eastern Assessment Hall while sunlight fractured through floating prisms above us, turning the floor into a battlefield of gold and white. No blood had been spilled yet, but the room already smelled like ambition sweating through expensive perfume.
Excellent.
The academy had invented a massacre and dressed it as orientation.
