The morning did not arrive with the song of birds or the gentle kiss of sunlight; it arrived with the violent shriek of iron grinding against stone.
Aether jolted awake, he had been dreaming of the forest. Of the way the golden-hour light filtered through the oak leaves completely neglecting the outside world.
He scrambled to shove the leather-bound book deep into the moldy straw just as the heavy door groaned open.
Two guards stood in the threshold.
They were War-Beastmen, towering hybrids of wolf and man clad in jagged, obsidian-plated armor that hummed with the dull, red resonance of the Physical Spectrum. Their presence alone seemed to suck the oxygen out of the cramped cell, leaving only the scent of wet fur and cold steel.
"Up, Human," the larger one growled, his voice a guttural rasp that felt like sandpaper on Aether's skin.
Aether stood, his legs trembling. Before he could even steady himself, a heavy, cold shackle was snapped around his right wrist. It wasn't connected to a wall, but to a heavy iron rod held by the guard. They didn't lead him; they steered him like a beast destined for the altar.
The walk through the lower corridors was a descent into a macabre underworld. The walls here were not polished marble but weeping soot-stained rock, glistening with a viscous, oily moisture.
Every few yards, they passed other iron doors where the low-caste labored. Goblins with hollowed eyes turning massive, rhythmic gears that powered the city's elevators; Kobolds sorting through heaps of glowing, radioactive waste from the mana-refineries.
They're looking at me, Aether thought, his head bowed so low he could only see the guards' heavy, clawed boots. Do they think I'm like them? Does the big wolf-man think I'm a monster? I just want to go to sleep and wake up where the air doesn't taste like pennies.
"Move faster, hairless," the second guard barked, yanking the rod. Aether stumbled, his knees barking against the uneven stone. "The others are already seated. We won't have a human filth-stain making the Dean wait."
They ascended via a secondary, cramped lift—a cage of rusted bronze that rattled violently as it rose from the bowels of the earth.
As the lift broke the surface of the academic levels, the transition was jarring enough to make Aether's head swim. The darkness was replaced by an iridescent, blinding brilliance.
The hallways here were vast galleries of light, where the air was so saturated with mana it felt like walking through a warm, electric soup.
The guards didn't remove the shackle. They marched him through the corridors, a tiny, mud-stained criminal flanked by two monsters of war.
Students—Elves in robes of liquid silk and Daemons with horns polished to a mirror-sheen—stopped and stared.
"Is that the one from the outside? Those... Humans?" a girl's voice whispered, sounding like wind through crystal. "He looks even more pathetic in the light."
"Why is he shackled?" another laughed. "Does the Academy fear he'll steal the mana? He doesn't even have a cup to hold it in."
Aether felt the heat of a thousand stares burning into his back. I'm not a thief, he wanted to scream. I'm just Aether.
They reached a set of towering doors carved from heart-wood. The guards unceremoniously unhooked the rod from his shackle—leaving the heavy iron cuff on his wrist as a mark of his status—and shoved him inside.
The room was a vast, descending theater. At the center of the stage stood a pedestal holding a Spectrum Prism—a floating, multi-faceted crystal that drifted in a state of perfect equilibrium, slowly rotating and casting complex, geometric shadows across the walls.
The Professor, a Centaur with a coat like polished mahogany and a beard braided with silver wires, looked up.
"Sit," the Centaur, Professor Chironis, commanded, pointing a hoof toward a solitary wooden stool placed far away from the cushioned benches of the other students.
Aether scurried to the stool, feeling the weight of the iron cuff on his wrist.
"Today," Chironis began, his voice echoing with a resonant, structural power, "We discuss the Etheric Flow, the Magical Spectrum, and the Tiers. The gift of Aetheros is not merely in the power one possesses, but in the ability to harmonize with the threads of reality. Students, observe the Prism."
All eyes turned to the Prism before the Prism vibrated. Emitting a deep, resonating hum of deep and pure mana magic that could be soothing for any species other than the Humans.
"This," Chironis started once more, "Is what happens when the Prism gets into contact with a Tier-1 power source. It emits a deep, resonating hum to stabilize and control its mana flow. Rendering it equal."
As the professor now walked behind the Prism. Touching the Prism once before it started to glow wildly, then suddenly—it spewed out a floating board and a magical piece of chalk before the Prism gradually dimmed its light
As the professor now wrote on the board about what exactly is the Magical Spectrum and what are Tier's of level.
"Now." Chironis started once more, drawing and sketching an eccentric design that Aether couldn't make sense of.
"The Magical Spectrum is measured by the symbol Aⁿ, and is ruled by the God of Aetheros. And Aetheros granted the people of this world parts of their power in which we now call; The Magical Spectrum."
Murmurs of awe and amazement started by the other students, So... Magical Spectrum is derived from the God Aetheros and measured by the symbol of Aⁿ? Aether thought—for a six year old boy, this kind of information was too confusing for him.
The Professor looked at everyone for a moment before continuing, writing and sketching another drawing. "Now, Tiers are tiers of power vested in both the Physical and Magical Spectrum. Tier-1s are the lowest Tier and are considered below average, Tier-2 are considered as normal. This is the Tier where most will be and will stay. Tier-3s are considered above average. Any questions?" The Professor waited for a moment, staring at the class.
Soon, an Elven girl raised her hand, she soon stood up and asked her question, "How does one acquire the next Tier? If it's that hard to pass the second tier?"
The Professor nodded, "Good Question." The Professor soon sketched another drawing; it showed different level of Tiers starting at the first and ending at five. "To pass onto the next Tier you'll have to pass a plethora of different trials and tribulations. One of those trials are being close to death and surviving. In which the Spectrum you'll have, whether it be Physical or Magical, will soon awaken and will deem you worthy for Tier-3."
The Professor paused for a moment before continuing, "You'll know you passed once you feel a weight is lifted off your shoulders."