The gates alone were enough to silence most conversations.
They rose high above the approach, carved from a pale, polished stone that reflected the morning light with an almost deliberate brilliance. Intricate patterns ran along their surface, precise, and untouched by time, marking the academy not just as a place of learning, but as something far older, far more significant.
The structure had stood for over a century.
Beyond them, the campus stretched wide.
Orderly.
Perfect.
Students moved in small clusters along the paths, their uniforms crisp, their voices low but confident. The quiet certainty of people who knew they belonged.
Until he walked in.
The difference was immediate, even if no one spoke of it outright.
The uniform was the same.
That much had been required from every student.
But where others wore theirs open and unguarded, his was drawn differently—a hood resting over his head, casting a faint shadow over his eyes. It wasn't against the rules.
But it wasn't common.
And in a place like this, anything uncommon stood out.
Conversations faltered as he passed.
Not entirely. Not enough to draw attention. But just enough. They looked up.
A glance held half a second too long.
A voice lowered slightly.
"…New intake?"
"Doesn't look like a transfer."
"What's up with his height?"
"What family is he from?"
"How tall is he?"
"He's alone."
"Look at the hood."
He didn't slow down, nor react.
The path ahead led straight toward the administration building, its structure even more imposing up close. Tall pillars framing the entrance, the academy's insignia etched above the doors.
He stepped inside.
Behind the long reception desk, a woman glanced up as he approached. Her gaze lingered briefly on the small tag attached near his collar.
"Name," she said, her tone professional, but no longer indifferent.
"Elias."
Her fingers moved across the panel before her, pulling up his file. The faint glow reflected in her eyes as she read, and for the briefest moment, her expression shifted.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
"Elias Morail. Eighteen years old…You're the scholarship candidate."
It wasn't a question.
A pause followed.
Then:
"And a C-rank Raider."
That part carried weight.
It was not admiration.
Not quite disdain.
But something that sat uncomfortably in between.
On a normal occasion, a C-rank raider is regarded as a capable middle class, but before the light of Rowen prestigious academy, they were nothing.
The academy only recognised B-rank and above.
Behind him, the faint sound of footsteps slowed.
People were listening now.
"Is there a problem?" Elias asked. His hands stayed tucked away in his pockets, gaze blank.
Her gaze lifted to meet his for the first time, measuring. Then, just as quickly, the expression was gone, replaced with practiced neutrality.
"No."
A card slid across the desk toward him
"Your registration is already approved. Dormitory assignment and class schedule are encoded here."
Another pause.
"Orientation begins in thirty minutes."
He took the card without a word.
As he turned, the doors opened again.
Students outside the hall stared at him.
One of them tilted his head slightly.
"…Scholarship? When did we start giving that out?"
The word was soft.
The others followed his gaze, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to faint amusement.
"C-rank," another added after a brief glance. "We actually allowed a C-rank. Rowen's reputation is on the line."
That did it.
Something unspoken settled into place.
A line had been drawn. Nobility and the common ones.
Elias walked past them without stopping.
Behind him, the whispers resumed, quieter now.
"They're letting anyone in now?"
"Let's see how long he lasts."
The card felt lighter than it should have.
A thin piece of material holding everything he was supposed to become here.
He glanced down at the card.
A faint projection flickered to life above its surface, clean and precise.
> *Dormitory Block: C–17*
> *Room Assignment: 3*
> *Orientation Hall: Central Assembly Wing*
> *Orientation time Remaining: 00:21:34*
Twenty-one minutes.
Enough.
The dormitories were positioned toward the eastern end of the campus, separated from the main academic structures by a series of tree-lined paths that softened the otherwise rigid design of the academy. The walk there was quieter, the clusters of students thinner, though not entirely absent.
A few glanced his way.
The building marked _C–17_ stood taller than the rest nearby, its structure simple but clean, its entrance framed by a narrow archway engraved with the same intricate patterns that marked the academy gates.
Inside, the air carried a faint metallic coolness.
Room 3 was on the second floor.
The door slid open at his approach, responding to the card in his hand with a soft click.
The space inside was modest, but far from lacking.
Two beds. Two desks. Storage built seamlessly into the walls. Everything arranged with a precision that suggested no room for disorder.
One side was already occupied.
A bag rested neatly beside the bed, its contents partially unpacked. A jacket with the school crest draped over the chair. No one inside.
Elias stepped in, letting the door close quietly behind him.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Stared.
Taking it in.
Not the room itself, but the quiet atmosphere. It was like a luxury.
No screams.
No countdown.
No sand burning through his skin.
His grip tightened slightly around the card.
A second. Two.
His eyes snapped sharply towards the door.
A faint knock broke the silence immediately after.
The door slid open.
A boy stepped in, pausing briefly as his gaze landed on Elias.
There was a moment, short, but noticeable, where he took in the hood, the posture, the stillness.
"…So you're the other one."
His tone wasn't hostile, but it wasn't warm either.
Elias gave a small nod.
The boy stepped further inside, letting the door close behind him. He moved with an ease that suggested familiarity, not with the room, but with himself.
His gaze flicked briefly to the card in Elias's hand, then back to his face.
"Registration area was talking."
Not even an hour in. Rumors traveled too fast in Rowen academy.
"Scholarship," he continued, setting his small bag down on the opposite side. "C-rank Raider."
A pause.
He raised a brow.
"They don't usually mix those. A student getting a scholarship is a five out of hundred yearly."
Elias said nothing.
The boy watched him for another second, as if expecting a reaction. When none came, he gave a small shrug.
"Name's Kael."
The hooded young man replied.
"Elias."
Kael nodded once, as though confirming something only he understood.
"Orientation's in a bit," he added, moving toward his side of the room. "You'll want to be there early. They like making examples out of late arrivals."
A faint hint of amusement touched his tone.
"First impressions matter here."
Elias glanced toward the door.
"Do they?"
Kael paused, then looked back at him, something sharper settling behind his eyes.
"More than anything."
He headed towards the washroom.
"Freshen up Elias! We'll move in a bit."
Elias's gaze followed his roommate till he was out of sight. The door closed softly behind Kael, before his eyes returned.
"Screen."
A dark screen came up immediately, shimmering in the morning light.
*[Name: Elias Morail]*
*[Age: 18]*
*[Height:6'10"]*
*[Weight:120 kg]*
*[Species: Mortal]*
*[Occupation: Upholder]*
*[Status: Sector seven sole survivor]*
*[Ability: Void Resonance]*
*[Ability Details: Void Pull, Echo Silence, Null Sense]*
*[Countdown until duty: 500,000/1,000,000]*
He narrowed his eyes.
"Half way gone."