Faster, sharper, smarter. He had always been better. It wasn’t a boast, nor a wish, nor a demand. It was simply truth.

  Wherever he went, people followed. Whatever he said, people listened. They gravitated towards him as if he were the axis upon which their world spun. They obeyed, they admired, they submitted.

  And yet, there was an issue. A singular stain upon his otherwise perfect self. An invisible blemish that clung to him like a curse.

  A word so dreadful he wished it didn't exist.

  Orphan.

  Once, that word, that dreadful word, would have hurt him. He remembered a time, in painful detail, when mere insults from his classmates could enrage him, wound him. A time when he would watch parents embrace their children at the end of the school day and weep, longing for something he never had.

  Those days were long gone. He was smarter now, greater, prouder. He had learned that his lack of family was not just a weakness, it was also a gift. Yes, being born into a noble house would have given him power, wealth, influence, but it would have also chained him to a legacy not of his own making.

  Without a family name, he was free. His dreams were his own. His ambitions, his risks, his triumphs, all his own. Even his name was his own creation.

  A facade.

  He knew it. The echoes of childish taunts still rang in his mind. Cassius had not been given to him by parents who loved him. Valerian was not a name tied to generations of history. It was nothing more than a lie, a carefully constructed illusion.

  And yet, that was exactly what he needed.

  He had no real name, no true identity. Which meant there would be no hesitation when he cast it all aside. He was greater than mere names, greater than bloodlines and histories.

  And when the world finally saw it, it would kneel.

  He stood upon the decks of the Aurelian Fleet, unmoved by the dawnrise sky spilling gold across the horizon, indifferent to the seabirds’ song or the endless stretch of the ocean.

  Such things were beneath him.

  His attention lay elsewhere, on the pulsing thaumaturgic veins woven through the Academy’s flagship, on the sheer scale of its engineering, on the undeniable supremacy of Aurelian Academy itself.

  Yes. This had been the right choice. The necessary step toward his dream.

  He lifted his gaze. Higher, beyond the sails, beyond the very clouds themselves. His gaze pierced the heavens, reaching for the Zenith Expanse.

  The gods were up there somewhere, watching, whispering to their favored ones, dangling the promises of grandeur before those deemed worthy.

  There were those born as gods, the true, the real, and those who had merely ascended: false gods.

  He refused to dream about being a pretender, a mere performer draped in borrowed might, a parasite increasing its value by feeding others. He rejected the hollow vanity of borrowed divinity.

  No, he would ascend higher, greater. He would ascend as true divinity, unshackled by mortality, just as only one before him had.

  A single flaw, a single whispered doubt, had denied him recognition once. He would not allow it again.

  His jaw tightened as a single stray thought crossed his mind.

  Second Place.

  He had lost before he even arrived. Outperformed. Overshadowed.

  He had placed second in the Grand Selections Exam, a feat impressive enough to cement his status, but not absolute victory.

  Elliot Corvus, no, Elias? No, that was the Thalorin kid who had topped a few years ago. Irrelevant. Whoever he was, he would be put in his place soon enough.

  Not that it truly mattered. It wasn’t truly pain, just an annoyance, a fleeting stain on an otherwise perfect record.

  Movement in the corner of his vision drew his gaze.

  A red-haired girl with delicate features and gold-red eyes. An aristocratic boy with ash-blond hair, neatly combed, and steel-grey eyes, hiding arrogant kindness. Both part of the diplomat path, he would be studying alongside them.

  Two faces, two names, both familiar.

  Maximilian Beaumont, and Anastasia Crowley. Children of legacy, raised above their worth. All because their history, their name, commanded power.

  The Supreme Nobles, highest of the high. The coddled brats were speaking to each other in hushed tones, already lost in their private bubble. But they felt his eyes on them. Slowly, deliberately, they turned.

  For a brief moment, there was something there, a flicker of arrogance, the same unspoken condescension he had faced all his life. Common-bred. Orphan.

  But Cassius Valerian did not bow. He did not yield. He only stood taller, his certainty colder than their inherited thrones. Soon enough they would learn, the earlier the better.

  And so, after a single beat of silence, they nodded. A subtle allowance, an unspoken submission.

  Sheep, instinctively drawn to power. It would be easy to gather followers.

  With a flick of his fingers, a thaumic mirror shimmered into existence before him, small but flawless, hovering just above his palm.

  He studied his reflection, knowing those girls in the corner were doing the same, whispering, giggling, casting glances when they thought he wouldn't notice.

  He wasn’t merely observing, he was analyzing.

  His long coat, deep midnight blue and tailored to fit him with absolute precision. Gold embroidery lined his lapels, cuffs, and hem, subtle but deliberate, the final placement a quiet testament to his attention to detail.

  The insignia of his chosen Paths emblazoned on his chest, a golden laurel wreath encircling a quill, marking him as a Diplomat; beneath it, the Scholar’s sigil, a tome beneath a quill, stitched in aged parchment gold. His marks of identity, his future, at least for a while.

  His high-collared shirt, ivory, pristine, offering a controlled contrast against the dark fabric of his coat. His hands, gloved in fine leather, lined with Thaumaturgical stitching so subtle that only those who knew what to look for would recognize its presence. His waist sash, navy, embroidered with silver filigree, cinched tight yet unrestricting, a mark of authority and precision.

  But none of it is more striking than his face.

  Chiseled, symmetrical, ruthlessly perfect.

  His cheekbones, sharp as a blade, cast faint shadows beneath the warm candlelight. His jawline, strong, imperial, does not betray softness. His emerald-green eyes, piercing, unwavering, hold no warmth as they take in his own reflection. When calm, they are fathomless, unnervingly deep, filled with calculations no one else can see. When angered, they smolder like green fire. But now? Now, they are something else entirely.

  He watches himself as a king might assess a portrait painted in his honor. Not with vanity, but with expectation. He does not see a boy. He does not even see a student.

  He sees a man who will shape the future.

  Cassius does not smirk, does not smile. His verdict was the same as the girls giggling behind him, thinking themselves discreet.

  Flawless.

  Another flick, and the mirror dissolved into nothingness. Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers of awe following like a tide.

  Sheep.

  The fleet stirred. The first ship slipped from the docks, carving a path toward inevitability.

  At last, Cassius smiled.

  The shores of Aurelios shimmered like a dream.

  Silver-flecked sands stretched along the coast, untouched by time, glowing under the midday sun. The waters of the Azure Expanse lapped at the shore, impossibly clear, their depths pulsing with unseen Thaumaturgic currents. In the distance, the Tidecallers’ Edge loomed, jagged blackstone cliffs carved with inscriptions older than the Ministry itself.

  Cassius Valerian barely spared them a glance.

  As the fleet docked, the first years surged to the rails, their voices hushed but trembling with awe. Before them, the island of Aurelios unveiled itself in impossible grandeur, the towering Verdant Arches, living structures of entwined emerald vines and ancient wood, pulsed faintly with latent energy, their roots sinking deep into the bedrock of the isle.

  Even the sky bore the island’s mark, charged with unseen force, tingling with a power that bent reality to the citadel’s will.

  For all their culture, their training, their noble blood-not a single student was immune to the sheer magnitude of Aurelios.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Whispers, whispers all around the deck, restrained gasps slipping away from even the most calculated faces. Some gripped the rails so tightly their knuckles turned white. Others were frozen in place, taking it all in, their fragile minds too dull to even comprehend the view before them.

  Cassius simply stepped forward, unmoved. It was beautiful, but exactly as he had envisioned from his readings. Nothing more, nothing less.

  And there, at the very edge of the docks, stood the Gate of Ascendance. An ethereal passage of shimmering blue light, not just a monument, but a work of art, a modern masterpiece.

  The gate lived, breathing with a slow, delicate pulse, an inseparable part of the island, fused to it for eternity. It was a thing of beauty, an image of perfection, threads of iridescent silver dancing within its depths, coiling and unraveling in intricate patterns that defied understanding.

  But the true moment of arrival came not with the sight of the citadel, nor the glimmering threshold of the Gate of Ascendance, but with the shadow that devoured everything. A shadow standing tall, in front of the enormous backdrop of the Aurelian Fleet, covering it entirely.

  At first, it was merely a distortion upon the waves, an unnatural stillness where the sea should have surged. Then, the waters convulsed, rising in towering, foaming spirals as something vast and ancient emerged from its depths.

  The ocean itself seemed to bow, submitting in respect to a beast which had lived since before the creation of this small little star itself. It parted and rippled like a fanatic crowd surrounding its deity, as the impossible form of a serpentine colossus appeared to view.

  Water cascaded from his midnight-blue scales as his body coiled through the air, massive fins slicing through mist. His abyssal eyes, gleaming with unfathomable wisdom, swept across the gathered students.

  He was Nythros, the Ancient Supreme Water Dragon. The undisputed king of all seas.

  He was a being older than time, older than existence. His head was crowned with sleek, curving horns, a silent declaration of his dominion. His elongated snout held no need for a savage maw bared in threat; he did not need such gestures. His power was not in roar or claw, but in the mere fact of his being.

  A ripple of silence passed through the first years, their breaths stolen from their lips. Even the proudest of them, those born with the knowledge that they would one day rule, those who had never bowed to anyone else in their lives, felt something primal coil around their very soul.

  It was not fear.

  It was a reminder.

  Cassius did not need to guess what they were thinking. He was thinking it too.

  If this was the beast that guarded Aurelian, the beast the Headmaster had once saved, then how powerful was the Headmaster, really?

  Or More importantly, what could have existed that once threatened a being of ancient divinity like Nythros?

  And then, Nythros spoke.

  His voice was a tide crashing against stone. Ageless, commanding, layered with a depth that none could grasp. He spoke in a language lost to all except Magnus Aurelius.

  Almost all.

  Cassius moved before he could think.

  He strode forward, past frozen students, past those still caught in their awe, and then, he bowed.

  Deep, with purpose. Not in submission, but in recognition. A greeting to a being he could not help but respect.

  Then, with perfect cadence and unwavering confidence, he spoke.

  In Draconic.

  "It's a privilege, great dragon"

  The moment shattered like glass.

  Chaos reigned behind him, gasps of awe and fear, admiration and wonder. They stumbled back as if he had shattered through the Solaris itself. Even the professors blinked, as if rousing from a dream.

  But none were more surprised than the Supreme Dragon himself.

  For a single moment in time, the ancient being simply regarded him. His vast, abyssal gaze locked onto Cassius with something unreadable, something almost… curious.

  And as the moments stretched, Cassius wondered if he had made a mistake.

  Then, impossibly, Nythros bowed back. A few words of acknowledgment, a final lingering gaze, and he vanished into the depths.

  A breathless silence followed. Even those who whispered couldn’t believe it. They looked at him as if he was already a god.

  Cassius straightened and turned back without another word.

  Sometimes, he wondered if he was the only one in the world who bothered to read. The Headmaster's notes on Nythros were publicly available afterall, all that was needed was dedicated analysis and decoding.

  Such shock over a mere language.

  Sheep. Every last one of them.

  The journey through Aurelios was breathtaking, at least, for those who were capable of feeling small before something greater than themselves. Cassius did not linger on the beauty of the Celestial Bay, nor did he marvel at the natural thaumic currents pulsing through the Verdant Arches.

  It was impressive, but ultimately, beneath him.

  One day, it would all fade away, and only he would remain.

  He ignored the awestruck students around him. He barely noticed a girl giggling behind him or a boy making a string of jokes about the glowing tide pools. None of it mattered, not truly.

  At the head of the procession, two figures awaited them.

  Deputy Headmaster Leonidas Drake. Tall, silver-haired, his presence exuding the weight of battle and discipline. He watched Cassius with the sharp gaze of a man assessing something valuable, something with potential.

  Undoubtedly, his brief moment with Nythros had made an impression on the Deputy Headmaster.

  And beside him, Vorian Luthair, Arcane Steward of Aurelios. Thin, composed, his dark robes flowing with subtle enchantments. But unlike Leonidas, his gaze was unimpressed. Cassius could only guess why.

  The first true test of his control was not the Gate of Ascendance, nor the shadow of Nythros. It was the walls encasing the Aurelian Citadel.

  A fortress without flaw, it was not built by mortal hands alone. Towering three hundred feet high, it loomed over the shore like an unbroken ring of obsidian stone, dark as a starless night, smooth as polished glass, yet utterly impervious to time or assault. No wind eroded it. No siege weapon could scar its surface. It had stood for centuries, warded by enchantments so vast and ancient they pulsed through the very air like a heartbeat.

  Runes of deep gold flickered with quiet power, threading intricate veins across the surface, forming an endless lattice of Thaumaturgic script. Tattoos upon the unblemished skin of this eternal beast.

  They shimmered like dying embers, blazed with arcane brilliance, shifting with the unseen flow of magic itself. Each symbol was a command, a binding, a whisper from those who had forged the Academy’s foundation in the earliest days of its reign.

  Four gates, each more ethereal than the Gate of Ascendance, marked the entry into this undying fortress.

  Yet, they did not walk toward the gates. They were heading straight for the top of these walls.

  The ascent was a privilege, a rare honor.

  Cassius knew this because he had read about it. The Aurelian Citadel did not grant its first-years such grandeur lightly. But even knowing this, even expecting magnificence, he had not expected this.

  They ascended the Stairs of the Ascended, a grand staircase of ethereal stone, its steps edged in radiant blue sigils. It spiraled up the inner wall, leading toward the citadel’s true entrance. The stairway did not merely climb, it twisted, folding space upon itself, defying the very laws of ascent. In little more than a hundred steps, they reached the top of the three-hundred-foot wall.

  And at its peak, the Bridge of Titans awaited.

  This was no mere crossing. It was a structure born of myth, looming over the world like a threshold between humanity and divinity. Its foundation was neither stone nor steel but something greater, black marble laced with molten gold, vast yet impossibly weightless

  From here, the Aurelian Citadel unfolded before them, stretching beyond sight, beyond comprehension, vast as a slumbering god.

  A world unto itself.

  A monolith of black stone, vast beyond reckoning, its silhouette alone blotting out the sky. Enchanted glass rose between its spires, gleaming like mirrors of frozen lightning, catching the sun and moon alike in their reflection. Golden runes, so intricate they seemed woven rather than carved, danced across its surface, shifting in patterns that no mortal eye could fully decipher.

  The Academy Proper, the beating heart of Aurelian Academy.

  This was where the chosen would be forged. Where ambition, strength, and cunning were tested until they either shattered or ascended.

  He could feel its magic thumming around him, caressing him softly, inviting him to find his own greatness.

  He had been wrong. The Academy was neither a choice nor an achievement. It was destiny.

  Cassius knew how to observe. He knew how to notice every detail, to commit it all to memory for later use.

  But here, he could do nothing but stare in wonder, enchanted, entrapped.

  He had spent his life among sheep, towering above them, watching them be amazed at the simplest of things.

  But now he was among them.

  He hated the thought, hated the truth of it, but he could not deny it, would not deny it.

  To deny it would mean to disrespect the sheer marvel he was witnessing, to deny it would mean to ignore what he felt.

  Yes, he could feel the Citadel itself. Not just the sheer scale. Not just the vastness of the structure. Not even the power but the Citadel itself.

  It was breathtaking, beyond words. The very air thrummed with an epic presence that defied explanation.

  Thaumaturgy saturated the very walls, pulsed through the bridge beneath his feet, coiled through the air, alive, like the Citadel itself was breathing. It was unlike anything he had ever known, would ever know.

  And for the first time in his life, Cassius was simply glad to be somewhere. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just observing.

  He burned this moment into his mind, determined to etch every sensation, every detail into memory. He could not, would not, forget it. This was the first time in his life he had felt such joy, such wonder. Forgetting was not an option here, an unforgivable sin he refused to commit.

  A part of his mind screamed at him to pay attention, to the Professors, the Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, the Underhall Caretaker and his mysterious staff—

  He ignored them all, he silenced the voice with ruthless coldness.

  Later. That could be done later. This was more important.

  He wanted only to stare, and then, he felt it.

  A presence.

  It was distant, yet undeniable. A force radiating from the Apex Spire itself, from the Headmaster’s Study.

  The Apex Spire. The highest point of the Academy. The pinnacle of its power, floating above the Citadel, piercing the clouds with its sheer majesty.

  It was not made of stone; its peak was pure energy, a pillar of golden thaumaturgy, pulsing with an unbroken connection to the very lifeblood of magic itself.

  Yet, it wasn’t the spire itself that called to him. The presence was undeniably human, and yet something more. It was presence beyond even the thaumic currents that wove through the Citadel, a presence greater than what was quite possibly the greatest creation of magic ever.

  Cassius had read about Headmaster Magnus Aurelius. Everyone had, to some extent. He was a man you could not simply ignore.

  But Cassius hadn't simply heard of him or read about him. He had studied his history, his philosophies, and his impact on the Academy. He had carefully analysed each of his public essays, notes, and speeches with intricate detail.

  And yet none of that could explain this. The man had done the impossible many times, yes. His mere existence was an impossibility if one was being honest.

  To be born without thaumaturgy, yet wield it, and master it beyond all others. Magnus Aurelius was a man rooted in impossibility and myth.

  And yet, this was something else entirely. The aura was neither human nor even Thaumaturgy itself.

  A subtle force tugging at the fabric of reality itself, bending space, not with magic, but with something deeper, something beyond any spell, any enchantment, any discipline of thaumaturgy he had ever known.

  As he focused on the aura, the thread of magic coming from the spire, Cassius finally understood. It was only now that he realized why Magnus Aurelius was a name synonymous with Magic, with power, with mastery.

  He was lost in a haze, in wonder, in deep thought when suddenly-

  "Cassius Valerian"

  His name rang through the air, and the daze shattered. He was back among the common sheep.

  The bridge, the Citadel, the power thrumming through his very bones, it all snapped into sharp focus once more.

  It was time.

  With a slow, controlled exhale, he stepped forward. Suppressing the haze in his mind, he Ignored the lingering awe clawing at the edges of his thoughts, beckoning him back into the world of pure magic.

  Instincts forged through discipline kicked in, and he moved toward the Deputy Headmaster.

  His movement was flawless, and his steps never faltered. As he approached the rune, his fingers twitched in a practiced motion, and with a flicker of precision, he activated it without hesitation.

  It was a scene taken straight out of a teleportation guide, executed to perfection. A perfect teleportation sequence.

  But just before he vanished, a single name reached his ears. A name he had forgotten. A name which threatened all his ambitions. A name whose face he did not know, yet it irritated him beyond reason.

  "Elias Corvus."

  Cassius’s breath stilled.

  His eyes flicked to the source.

  The boy who had bested him. The one name standing above his in the GSE rankings. The one challenge to his promised dominion among his peers.

  And as his vision blurred in the light of teleportation, Cassius caught one final glimpse, hazel eyes glinting with amber amusement. The same boy who had spent the entire journey here laughing, making jokes.

  Pathetic.

  And then, in a blink, he was gone.